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post #11 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-26-15, 04:23 AM
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Name: Tyberus Ghralkor

Age: 119

Homeworld: Nostramo

Physical Appearance: Tyberus is "short" for an Astartes, standing at "only" 7 feet, his shoulders though are exceptionally broad and even though he looks up to some of his battle brothers by as much as a half foot, he is no less imposing. His cold eyes are a near ice blue, his black hair runs down to his shoulders and his face offers little in the way of expression most of the time, aside from a slight arrogant smirk that tends to find its way across his face.

Armour Appearance: The armor that Tyberus wears has been acquired over years and honed to his personal tastes. Comprised of a pastiche of components that would either best suit his purposes or were accessible for him to get his hands on. Originally issued a set of MK III armor that caused a strain on the armor's power supply, Tyberus has taken the MK III and made it unique to him. Through painstaking efforts and salvaging from fallen foes (And comrades) he equipped himself with greaves from a MK IV set of armor, as well as MK IV gauntlets. The chest plate remains the original MK III, as well as the helmet, however the interface has been upgraded by the techpriests to allow the helmet to move in a manner more similar to the more modern suits such as the MK IV. Tyberus has also taken the extra precaution of having ablative plating added to the collar of his power armor cretaing a gorget, using molecular bonding studs to affix the extra armor. His armor is a deep blue, with the chest fading to an almost black shade. His greaves are adorned with lightning bolts, the MK IV shoulder plates are adorned with spikes on the left side and a single large gold bat-winged skull emblazoned on the right. There are several adamantium chains that hang from the shoulders of his armor, crossing over the breast plate, as well as chains on the thigh plates that connect to the greaves of his armor. The chains serve no purpose other than to add to his imposing visage, as he does not partake in the wearing of skin cloaks.

Personality: Tyberus could best be described as calculating. He is not quick to unleash his temper, but when his ire is drawn he is capable of near unthinkable vengeance. He does not view the killing of his once battle brothers to be reprehensible in any way, nor does he see it as something to relish. For Tyberus it is simply the cost of war, sides were taken and he views those on the other side quite simply as his enemies. Within the Night Lords, however he uses his cold and calculating nature to take what he wants though not always through open conflict. When a challenge is issued, Tyberus has no qualms with dispatching any foe or battle brother alike, should he feel his honor is challenged he may opt to fell the offender at that very moment. While he, like many of his battle brothers, possesses a warped sense of code and honor, he does adhere to it, but places victory above all else and is not opposed to allowing friendly fire to "resolve" unfinished problems with those who would show themselves as enemies or disloyal to himself or the 4th Company. Though he has committed numerous atrocities along with his battle brothers he still holds himself and his brothers accountable to their bond of loyalty. He knows that without the loyalty to one another they will simply die, and the dead cannot raid and pillage their enemies. As such since joining the Command Squad, he has, on occasion "removed" some of the more 'cancerous' (as he has termed them) elements from the 4th Company personally. Often without others even knowing the act was carried out by a fellow Night Lord. Tyberus' bond with Xandrek is not always harmonious, but as a result of this willingness on both parts to cordially disagree, both have garnered the respect of the other. Tyberus has great respect for Xandrek and is loyal to him and the 4th Company's cause undyingly. This much could be evidenced by Tyberus' most infamous and widely viewed displays that took place not long after he had been assigned to the Command Squad. Challenging the now deceased former battle brother Sergeant Maerek Koutz to an honor duel when Maerek made a negative comment about the tactics that Captain Xandrek had decided upon after the tactica counsel and Command Squad had finished their deliberations on the matter. It was especially offensive and disrespectful to Tyberus as Maerek did not voice his opinion to those privy to the deliberation, but did so in front of other battle brothers. With Xandrek's approval, Tyberus challenged Maerek to an honor duel, despite his own belief that Maerek would be too quick and too savvy of an opponent for him. The duel was surprisingly one sided as Tyberus quickly caught Maerek off guard using fluidly chained attacks from his power maul. The thought-to-be slower moving Tyberus kept the pressure on until he finally disarmed Maerek and moved in for the kill. Xandrek called a halt to the bout, feeling as if the message had been sent clearly. However Sergeant Maerek did not return from the combat drop, having disappeared in the chaos of battle. Those battle brothers with keen eyes have made comments in hushed tones that the MK IV components of Tyberus' power armor, underneath the new paint and the chains look rather like those that once belonged to the now deceased Sergeant Maerek. Amongst his fellow Night Lords, there is a begrudging respect given to Tyberus for his calculating and ruthless methods.

Marine Class: Legion Veteran

Background: Living in the slums of Nostramo as a boy was not easy and as with all those who sought to survive, Tyberus learned to operate as a man very quickly. He started out as a simple messenger, running messages from the headquarters of the slum boss for whom he worked and carried his orders to the lower level thugs who would then carry out the atrocities asked of them. Seeing the power, accommodations and extra rations these men were given Tyberus sought to join their ranks and move up a step from mere messenger. The denial of his request was both verbal and then a rather unnecessary beating at the hands of the head of the small band of thugs named Kortai. Tyberus was enraged, but being only 12 he did not yet have the means to carry out his revenge. As several years passed as he continued to carry out orders from his boss (whom he never actually interacted with face to face as he was the upper class of the hive system), and continued to give Kortai his assignments. When aged 14, Tyberus had acquired some weapons of his own, and was turning into a rather large physical specimen. No longer just carrying orders from upper levels of the hive to the lower levels, Tyberus was now an active member of Kortais gang, answering to The Boss. When given orders to take down a rival in the upper hive, Korpai and his gang were met by rival thugs, sent by the rival they had been sent to kill. In the confusion Tyberus took the opportunity to inform the then grievously wounded Kortai that he had not forgotten the beating years earlier. In fact, he had been the one who gave their rivals the notice they needed to stop Kortai's attempted raid. Tyberus smugly spat onto the dying Kortai who could only gaspingly reach up, staring up into the hardened, cold, and vengeful blue eyes, the now common arrogant smirk forming on the lips of his killer to be, before Tyberus sent the man on his way with a blast from a slug gun. Soon thereafter he was conscripted to join the VIII Legion based on his physical development as well as his keen instincts and near savagery in inner gang warfare that plagued the hive cities of Nostramo.

Once a full fledged Astartes, Tyberus' combat skills shone above even those of many of his battle brothers, equal parts tactically sound and terrifyingly savage. A member of the 4th Company's assault squad, Tyberus had been given the field rank of second in command of the 2nd Assault Squad. Their savagery in combat was well known throughout the company, and their sergeant Lourkaz was given the opportunity to join Xandrek's command squad. Lourkaz however explained to his longtime battle brother that he could not give up command of the 2nd Assault squad, as it was his duty to those who served directly under him to lead them into battle. He gave Xendrek the recommendation of perhaps enlisting the younger Tyberus to join the Command Squad, as he possessed an astute understanding of tactics as well as a terrible ferocity in combat that was growing in infamy across the Company.

The war had swept through the universe, the part of the Eighth Legion was that of shock troops, savaging enemy lines at the command of their lord, the Night Haunter. Tyberus had seen their Primarch on Istvaan, a glorious campaign, the Astartes who had turned their backs on their brethren were caught off guard and forced to pay a high toll. However, now the true war would begin, there was no more gamesmanship, there could be no more surprise attacks, every Legion was fully thrown into open war.

Tyberus embraced the chaos of war, using every opening available to him to gain further footing within the First Claw. Tyberus' ambitions have been fired, and since his time aboard the NightFall he has held a desire to take up arms as a member of the vaunted Atramentar, however, this is something he keeps to himself, and openly seeks what he views as the open station of Champion after the events of Istvaan. As company Champion he would stand to gain great glories.

Weapons: Tyberus carries with him a storm bolter that has been equipped with a scope. His close combat weapon of choice is a power maul, which can crumple armor with ease and turn flesh and bone into mere dust and gore. The power maul has dark, aged gold etching work on the pommel. His sidearm is a tried and true bolt pistol, which remains largely looking as it did when first rolled out by the techpriests.

Pistol:
Bolt Pistol

‘Light’ Ranged Weapon:
Storm bolter w/ scope


‘Heavy’ Ranged Weapon: N/A

Close Combat Weapon:
Power Maul (Previous weapon. May change)

Equipment:
Frag and Krak Grenades, Storm Bolter Scope, Melta Bombs
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post #12 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-26-15, 04:24 AM
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Revan, can Tyberus use a chain hammer or chain maul? I know Night Lords aren't exactly chaos, but I mean, it'd be awesome to have a totally unnecessary chainblade in a hammer or maul
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post #13 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-26-15, 06:04 AM
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Name: Corvis Sejanus "Young Blood"

Age: 80

Physical Appearance: Like all Nostramans Corvis's eyes are pitch black from the lack of sun. Without his power armor on Corvis is a modest 7' tall without armor on. Corvis' skin is almost translucent from the absolute darkness of his homeworld. Owing to his criminal past, Corvis' body is swarmed by tattoos: the more faded ones from gang allegiances, Nostraman sayings, and more personal reasons from his old life and newer ones markings of special kills or particularly terrifying styles after becoming a Night Lord. These markings cover his body up to his neck and down to his elbows, leaving only his face and forearms free of the ink. If not for the blessing of being taken in by the Night Haunter, Corvis would have probably remained a scrawny ganger in the streets and alleys of Nostramo. Most likely because of this destitute background, Corvis' body is more lithe than muscular, his body consuming every ounce of protein he could consume in his training to be an astartes

Armor Appearance: After receiving the gene-seed of his Primarch, Corvis walked through the Armory of his Legion, picking through the bits and pieces of old armor suits that were salvaged from the dead Night Lords before him. As such he was able to threaten and steal his way to finding an almost complete suit of MK. III Power Armor, only the helmet being a MK. II piece. After taking his prized armor suit, Corvis made it his own by spending hours shaping it to his own needs: adding spikes to his left shoulder pauldron and painting a demon's grin from his worst nightmares onto his helmet while also adding a screaming bleached skull onto his shin segment of his right leg armor piece.

Personality: Corvis is a product of his own environment, and as such is a sociopath. Growing up around killers and thieves, Corvis has no intention of seeking the bond of brotherhood that so many other Legion's share. In fact you could probably find an Iron Warrior with more friends than Corvis. It isn't from being anti-social however, Corvis just always remembers using the sharp tongue his mother gave him to cause more trouble for himself. Corvis knew from childhood that if one was to survive and rise to another sunless day on Nostramo, they had to be willing not just to kill, but to fight dirty and gut the fool who thought themselves better at what they do than he. There is only one individual that both terrifies and inspires him: Konrad Kurze. While the Emperor may have lifted Kurze from Nostramo, Corvis knew that it was the Night Haunter who lifted Nostramo from itself, and paved the way for Corvis to ascend to his post-human status. As such, it is the Night Haunter who keeps Corvis a Night Lord, and gives him his reasons for killing.

Marine Class: Legion Veteran.

History: Nostramo. That bleak world standing still in the galaxy, seeming to suck in whatever light would touch it. It is there that Corvis' tale began. Growing up with his father, a ganger from a lowly street crew, and mother, a cheap dive bar server, Corvis grew up knowing mostly hunger for food, greed for more in his life, and fear of the Night Haunter who would steal you away in the night and leave your faceless corpse strung up on a streetlight. When Corvis was merely 8 years old his father was shot dead in a running fight with another gang who wanted another street to call their own. It was at this time in his life that Corvis knew his childhood was over. In an effort to provide for his family, Corvis began turning to crime to help his mother feed herself and him. Stealing from shopkeepers, passers-by, and the occasional wealthy ganger when he passed, it wasn't until he was 10 years old that Corvis first killed a man. Even today Corvis can close his eyes and smile at the image of the bleeding fool who tried blasting his head off with a shotgun laying dead in a pool of his own blood.

For three years Corvis lived the same empty life generations of Nostramans had lived before him: shaking down those who were travelling by themselves with a gang of fellow youths and sometimes mugging the money collectors for the big crime bosses, although they were becoming fewer and fewer as the Night Haunter's work became more and more obvious as the years passed. It wasn't until the Emperor of Man, bedecked in such golden light that most could not even attempt to look at him, came to Nostramo and lifted his son to the stars. Several months later word spread like wildfire through the streets: the Night Haunter needed the young sons of Nostramo to fill the ranks of his Night Lords. Like hundreds of boys like him Corvis lept at the chance to become a Night Lord. However, unlike the hundreds before him who were, Corvis was not found wanting despite his scrawny and famished frame. For months upon months Corvis trained his body and mind to reflect that of his Primogenitor. The grueling exercises threatened to overwhelm him on more than one occasion, but the mental mindset Konrad Kurze was instilling in his legion already had a foothold in Corvis' mind. By the time he was gifted with the gene-seed of his legion when he was 15, Corvis was truly a Night Lord of the Imperium of Man.

It wasn't long before Corvis realized how truly effective the Night Lords were at their style of war. Let the Luna Wolves fritter away at surgical strikes, let the Iron Warriors beat themselves to death in sieges, and let those posh dandy Emperor's Children try and perfect the ultimate style of charging up a hill they desire. Konrad Kurze knew the true way to win a war: Fear. An enemy who is too afraid to pick up the gun will not strike at you. An enemy who sees his leaders strung up screaming and wailing is a demoralized enemy. The Night Lords knew this and Corvis Sejanus knew this. It was his willingness to not only inflict this pain and terror but to use it to the best possible end that attracted the attention of Xandrek. Facing a rebellious Imperial Army faction on the world they were on, Corvis' squad and he used the cover of the night to sneak up to what they thought was a simple refueling station for the dissidents. As it turned out an entire regiment had stopped there for the night before they were to push on in the morning for the Imperial lines. Howling blood curdling cries, Corvis and his fellow Night Lords crashed straight into the camp and began opening fire. As more and more traitorous scum appeared, one by one Corvis saw or heard his squadmates dying. It was only until he and one other brother marine were all that were left when the enemy finally broke ranks and scattered to the wind. Wading through the carnage, Corvis was surprised and gleeful when he stumbled onto a mewling officer who begged for mercy. With his fellow Night Lord calling in for an evac rhino or dropship, Corvis used careful precision and gave the traitor enough terrifying images that he divulged the whereabouts of the major supply depots and the location of the traitorous Colonel and his cabinet. Finished with his captive, Corvis split the wretch's belly open nailed his palms to gates of the depot for any of survivors to see.

By the time he was done an Imperial dropship landed with a whole score of Night Lords arriving to continue on and press the advantage. As he watched his fellow squadmate being carried onto the dropship, Corvis felt no sympathy for the fool for letting humans nearly get the best of him. Lost in thought, Corvis almost missed a Night Lord with an aura of fear surrounding him approach. Introducing himself as Xandrek of Fourth Company, Corvis almost laughed when he commented on how little of his squad remained standing. After relaying to him the story of what happened at the depot, Xandrek appeared to swallow and think. Finally, looking straight into Corvis' eyes and smiling with a murderous grin, Xandrek offered Corvis a place in his Claw.

Following his recruitment into the 4th company's first claw, Corvis noticed that most of the other marines serving Xandrek were far older than he. In fact, there was hardly a member of the claw that hadn't been fighting for decades longer than he had been born. This manifested itself in the early duels between himself and the Night Lord's he faced in the pitch blackness of the training deck, in particular Xandrek's Champion Azrael. Almost a full century older than Corvis, Azrael never wasted time showing how much the young Night Lord still had left to learn of swordsmanship. In one particular duel overseen by Xandrek himself, Corvis finally felt himself feel like he had the upper hand against Azrael. Pushing his luck, Corvis was blind to the pivot the cursed shade performed as he brought his blade screaming downwards into nothing but air. Within the next moment Corvis felt the cold steel of the ship on his back as he crashed like a fallen tree, blood seeping from the wound in his leg where the Champion sliced deep. Cursing and stumbling to his feet Corvis watched the Champions swagger as he calmly cleaned what blood remained on his sword before sheathing it and turning to Xandrek. Whispering just low enough to not be heard, Corvis could only guess at what they were discussing, although both his ego and paranoia told him that it was about him. Finally noticing that Corvis still stood before them, Xandrek let out a light chuckle as if at some joke Corvis was not invited to know about before addressing the young Night Lord directly and ordering him to get his leg taken care of by Veptus. However, it was not with his name Xandrek had ordered him. Young Blood. That is what Xandrek called him. Young Blood. As he left for the apothecarium, the pain in his leg a dull ache as his body fought against the blood loss of the severe cut, Corvis rolled the name over in his head. True, he was definitely the youngest member of First Claw, but that was no reason to mock him. Walking into the apothecarium, Corvis simply allowed the Apothecary to tend to his wound before he dismissed the title. What did it matter, eventually he would earn himself a title that truly befitted himself and new generations of Nostramans would be the young blood's of the Legion. Fate, as it would have it, can be quite fickle though.

When Kurze brought the Legion back to the homeworld to give it his final message, Corvis watched along with the rest of the Legion as Kurze condemned the planet to death. Corvis knew this was no madness, being from one of the last waves of Night Lords that Kurze didn't distrust, he remembered the stories about the planet's slip back into anarchy, crime, and ignorance of the Night Haunter's message. Nostramo didn't just need a reminder, Corvis told himself, but the entire Imperium did, especially the Emperor. It was strange to him at the time but looking out the viewports of the Battle Barge as it hurled fiery destruction onto Nostramo, as it's tectonic plates gave way under the intense bombardment of the Night Lord's fleet and imploded, Corvis couldn't have cared for the fact that his family was most certainly dead or that his people and culture were annihilated. All that he could think about was his title. Young Blood. Indeed, with the homeworld gone and the Night Lord's set on the path of war, Corvis realized that he would be the youngest blood the 4th company would see for a long time. With a macabre smile, Corvis chuckled as he left his world to burn in the void.

During the events of the Dropsite Massacre, Corvis savaged the Raven Guard caught in the whirlwind of death as First Claw punched their way deep into the loyalist’s ranks. While Xandrek, Azrael, and Veptus propelled themselves forward, Corvis operated on his own attacking the Raven Guard when their attention was focused elsewhere. Following in the trail of the Lord of Lies, Corvis did not catch what had transpired that had caused such discord between Azrael and Xandrek, but knew to keep his ears open for the faintest whisper. By the time 4th company pulled out from Isstvan, Corvis had a score of kills and a severed Raven Guard sergeant’s head as a trophy. The galaxy had been set aflame, and Corvis knew his Primarch and Lord were only getting started as the Night Lords broke off from the Warmaster’s host and began carving their way through the False Emperor’s Imperium.


Weapons: Plasma Pistol, Bolter, Single Lightning Claw

Equipment: Frag/Krak Grenades, Nuncio-Vox, Plasma Pistol Scope.


Last edited by Nightlord92; 04-26-15 at 06:07 AM.
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post #14 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-26-15, 01:00 PM Thread Starter
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Krymson - Why do you want a chainhammer/maul?

Allow me to point out - Power Weapons (swords, axes, mauls etc) will always be better than Chain-Weapons, as the energy field gives them an advantage.

Which also means if you decide to pit your chain-hammer/maul against lets say a Crozious/Power Mace then you might get 1 maybe 2 hits with it before your weapon shatters.

Chain-Swords/Axes/Glaives are similiar but all they end up doing is losing teeth which can be replaced.

Already, you exalt me for my triumphs, When I ask only that you remember me for my treacheries

Victory is nothing more than survival.
It carries no weight of honour or worth beyond what we ascribe to it.
If you wish to grow wise, learn why brothers betray brothers. - Khyron, First Grand Master of the Eighth Brotherhood.
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post #15 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-26-15, 05:19 PM
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Default IC = Kesh Yael Trevas

(From last "Tales of the 8th Legion" RP)
Name: Kesh Yael Trevas

Age: 103 years.

Homeworld: Nostramo

Physical Appearance:
Although shorter than most, Keshyael has a very heavy build; even amongst his brothers, he is noted for stamina and endurance. His hair, face and body are kept meticulously hair-free, taking time to shave his skin (where missions permit) as he sees contact with people outside of the Legion as possibly polluting his pure essence gene-gifted by the Primarch.

Unlike other of the Legion, he only carries one tattoo, a realistic full head rendering of his human skull beneath (his natural skin colour makes up the ‘bone’ element and the rest of his head is shaded and/or coloured black to look as skeletal as possible).

Outside of his armour, both of his arms are very obviously bionic. However, they have a more ‘industrial’ appearance (rather than trying to be lifelike or cutting-edge quality/style) with exposed cabling and muscle fibres intertwined through harder black steel plates/hinges/etc.

If possible[?] he appears to be left-handed.


Armour Appearance:
His full suit of Mark 3 armour appears “battered around the edges”, but is kept in good condition.
This used to belong to his first Sergeant, Yael Grask.
His armour is mainly basic midnight blue, but his elbow pads and knee pads are bone coloured and are intricately inlaid with gold kill-markings with either of two symbols : the Legion’s number for every fortress he has helped to fell, or with a lightning bolt for each heavy tank eliminated.
He wears 2 nameplates (“Kesh” and “Yael“) on his right shoulder pad. Over his groin and upper thigh armour, he wears a tasset belt which initially appears to be chainmail, but it is made up of the finger-bones of defeated enemy vehicle/tank crews.


Personality:
When amongst the Legion, he has a ready smile and is enthusiastic during training and pre-battle, often carrying this through to combat situations, using it to taunt enemies. There’s nothing wrong with his memory, but saying things aloud also helps him to remember the battles more clearly, helping him learn and making him a more efficient killer for next time.
He knows that others might look to him for inspiration, but he’s not cut out to be a direct leader and is happy with this role in life.
Not to the extent of being intrusive or knowing ‘inner secrets, but he is watchful and tries to support his brothers by knowing as much about the Legion’s structures and personnel as he can (including names/icons of people serving in other Companies).

Kesh might have a bit of ‘hero-worship’ towards Yael as he dedicates his successes not only to himself and his wargear, but to Yael’s memory. He doesn’t mind the comparison, as Yael (to him) was a good example to follow.

Marine Class: Veteran

Background:
Born into a life of privileged luxury, Kesh was surrounded by high-living and all of the debauchery that only the wealthiest families could afford.
Although he initially revelled in it, as his childish consciousness grew he realised that it was wrong and he saw that the endless parties were merely a front for fear which began to permeate their mansions due to the increasing paranoia and violence outside.

Soon, instead of being a victim of crime, he indulged in it. His upbringing had already taught him to casually discard people like rubbish and he had no problem with taking part in drive-by shootings from his limousine or abandoning bodyguards in ‘the wrong part of town’ just to see what would happen.
Contempt towards his family grew as he watched them cower still further behind gates and walls until one night rampage came to their doors. He gave the intruders access to the family armouries and took part in the ransacking of his own home. His increasing violence even startled most of the attackers around him.
This brought him to the attention of the Legion and he proved himself during training, demonstrating higher endurance than his peers.
This trait has continued through the period of implanting: where possible, he asked for lower dosages of anaesthetics to be used than normal (as though trying to purge the excesses of his family through the medium of pain?).
His unusual levels of endurance have continued into life as a full Marine, too.

During an accident in space, Kesh’s first Sergeant (Yael Grashk) was sucked out into space and died before he could be recovered. Kesh lost both of his arms when they were cut off by a closing airlock whilst he was trying to pull Yael back into the ship.

Whilst he recovered, Kesh requested that the rudimentary-looking arms of the servitor who had caused the accident be grafted on as replacements for his own lost limbs. They are a reminder for him to always be vigilant; about what can happen if you let your guard down for even a moment.

His main young adulthood experiences have taught him that the weak flee for the relative safety of vehicles and behind fortifications when fear takes them. So he has taken on the role of destroying these refuges, making it easier for his battle-brothers to get to the soft flesh inside.

Having been allowed to join by Xandrek, Kesh knows he has a lot to prove to this new unit and hopes he will be worthy of his new brothers.

Weapons = Boarding Shield & Chainfist & Plasma Gun.
Equipment = frag + krak grenades, 2 bionic arms

Urgently trying to trace any living relatives of Private Sam/Samuel "Jock" Wilson (Black Watch, No. 6 Commando, UK Army Service ID 2764432, died 10.06.44). Any info/suggestions gratefully received.

"Mockles! Pent on silpen tree, blockards three a-feening. Mockles! What silps came to thee, in thy pantry, dreaming?"

Please check out the HOES (Heresy Online Stories) threads and vote for the tales.
More feedback = better stories for everyone.
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post #16 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-27-15, 01:54 PM
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Revan, technically a chain hammer or maul is a power weapon with one or more chain blades. It would basically just function like a chainfist or Red Wakes lightning claw/chain fist weapons.

I'll just stick with the maul i suppose
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post #17 of 64 (permalink) Old 04-28-15, 10:41 PM
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Name: Pelegon

Age: 153

Homeworld: Olympia

Physical Appearance: Outside of his armour, Pelegon stands at seven and a half feet in height - while once excessively muscular and bulky, even by astartes standards, he has intentionally limited both his training and nutritional intake over the last eight months in an effort to shed some bulk to make himself more suited to stealth - the end result is a marine of average physical proportions for his height. The Iron Warrior's skin, once dark and swarthy like that of all Olympians, has greyed thanks to the mechanicus assimilation that he has inflicted upon himself, and an utter lack of any form of exposure to sunlight. Unusually for a marine, Pelegon is fairly hirsute, with moderate levels of dark body hair on his arms, legs, chest and stomach.
On closer inspection of Pelegon's skin, a viewer would notice that some of the bulging veins appear to be odd colours (carrying, as they sometimes do, substances other than blood), and that some of his muscles appear to be grey, nearly metallic in appearance beneath his thin skin - though not directly robotic, the assimilation that has partially mechanised the marine, making him compatible for further implant instalments and reducing his need for oxygen, is noticeable.
Pelegon has, in the IVth legion style, grown his hair to a moderate length on the top of his head, and adds a little oil to it to keep it shining and slicked back in a single smooth wave, without a parting. This conceals the layer of cranial armour over his skull. Regarding other modifications, he has submitted himself to one of the most painful, yet effective, treatments of skeletal petrifaction; his skeleton has had liquefied metals injected directly into the marrow, making his already resilient bone structure nearly indestructible, given away by how hard and solid any bony protrusions (such as the jaw or kneecaps) would feel, combined with how hard he can now punch as a result.
The marine's throat is, when he does not speak, apparently perfectly normal. However, speech reveals the minute, complex system that lies beneath his vocal chords, miniature pistons, air pumps and septums moving, expanding and controlling air flow. While this used to give the Iron Warrior a semi-mechanised growl for a voice, the strains and peculiarities of the Nostraman tongue have necessitated his modifying it, returning his voice to a more human, if still bassy, tone.
Facially, Pelegon is dark-eyed, square-jawed and ruggedly handsome, the only mar on his face being a badly crooked nose from where it was broken from the force of his own helmet being slammed into it on multiple occasions.

Armour Appearance: Pelegon has two suits of armour; the first, now rarely worn, is his own personally-crafted artificer armour, modelled to resemble his favourite design; the Mk III "Iron" power armour. Lacking any form of embellishment bar the Iron Skull of Peturabo, forgoing even the brass trim and yellow-and-black hazard stripes adopted by some of his comrades, the armour is as brutally plain as it is functional - the only exception to this are the eyes. Coming from the sloping, knightly face-plate of the Mk. III doppelgänger, they burn a bright incandescent blue. The armour is iron-grey, and is a shining example of craftsmanship, as Pelegon painstakingly cleans it whenever, wherever he can, believing maintenance of his equipment to be of paramount importance.
Made of the most purified, highest-density ceramite that Pelegon could acquire as a reward for his flawless service, folded with his own bare hands countless times, the armour offers a layer of protection that most power armour users can only dream of. Thanks to the nature of the work that he had to do when cleansing the Hrudd warrens during the Great Crusade, it also has an embedded Siege Auspex; an auspex with much less range than a standard model, but enormous penetrating capacity to compensate for it.

The second suit of armour, personally crafted by Pelegon in the Maiden of Sorrow's forges - having proven himself to be more than technologically capable, he was rewarded use of the forge to make a new suit of armour, his old unsuited for the particular requirements of Night Lord warfare. Based heavily on MkIV, but borrowing elements from its new, lighter MkVI cousin, it is considerably lighter, with few overlapping plates and heavy degrees of curvature offset by hardened, pointed edges - somewhat akin to the armour favoured by the XVIth Legion's Reavers. Forged the midnight blue of the Night Lords, it has only three signs that betray its owners origins; the legion emblem on the left pauldron is the Iron Skull of Perturabo, framed with the VIIIth's red bat wings, the armour lacks gold trim on any parts bar the edges of the pauldrons, and its helm's faceplate is forged into the shape of Perturabo's Iron Skull, albeit blue rather than iron-grey.
Unlike Pelegon's other suit of armour, the MkV, as he calls it (though it is no true MkV, but rather a term used due to its mixture of MkIV and MkVI design) is lightweight as well as protective, better designed to allow him to sneak and move with the speed and stealth the Night Lords so favour. With reinforced joints, careful maintenance and the power supply unit of a MkVI suit (looted from one of the many Raven Guard corpses aboard the Nightfall), the armour makes little to no noise when either moving or standing still. Hanging from a chain at his waist, Pelegon carries only two trophies; the mummified heads of two foes, mouths and eyes stitched shut. The first, slightly larger, is bald and on its browned skin dark tattoo swirls are still visible. The second is covered in a curtain of lank black hair, its pallor leaving its VIIIth Legion origins no mystery.

However, the Iron Warrior only wears his armour when he knows conflict to be impending; for the most part he silently stalks the halls of the Maiden of Sorrow in heavy-duty boots, dark grey BDU trousers and a midnight blue tank top, with whatever tools he needs attached to his belt - for the most part, this is for both exercise and to test his own abilities, learning to rely more on dodging blows than simply weathering them.

Personality: Like all Olympians, Pelegon is extremely intelligent; calculating, careful and methodological in his approaches, he views all problems as puzzles that need to be pieced together, or, as the situation requires, broken apart. Cold and relentless in the way that he conducts every action, the end always justifies the means for Pelegon, and this was a mentality that allowed him to excel when he was made an Iron Warrior. But the one quality that has most helped him throughout his existence is his iron will; Pelegon will never accept any compromise, no matter how small, of either himself or others, and will not be shaken when determined to walk a particular path. Pain is little barrier to him, causing him merely to grit his teeth harder and push on to the other side. Retreat is understandable, sometimes even a tactically sound, favourable option, but surrender is unthinkable.
However, what sets Pelegon aside from his fellows in the IVth legion is his ability to put aside his differences under a mask of seemingly genuine affability, allowing him to blend in and socialise with members of the other legions very well, this ability earning him tasks as a liaison officer more often than not. That he can do this with a mechanical growl for a voice and a slope of iron for a face is testament to his choices of vocabulary, body language and general demeanour.

Marine Class: Veteran (Liaison Officer)

Background: Born into a middle-class family on Olympia, Pelegon was raised into a highly competitive environment, one in which the strong led and prospered and the weak died in droves at their feet, their flesh forming mountains which the mighty could better use to elevate themselves. Thus the most fit to survive, those most fit to push the boundaries and limits of their society forward were being constantly discovered and encouraged.

When the forces of the Emperor arrived on Olympia, Pelegon was but a boy. He crawled into one of the eyries that formed the planet's mighty fortresses and watched from afar as the Lord of Iron, their mighty warlord and later primarch, ordered his assembled legion to commit ritual decimation. The mighty warriors, obedient yet unwilling to show pain, died without a sound as they had their necks wrung by their own fellows. Pelegon witnessed first hand the cost of their lord finding his men wanting, and from that day swore that one day he would please him, that he would strive his utmost to become a marine and prove his worth. Far from traumatized, but in fact inspired, the young boy studied and trained both mind and body to and beyond breaking point, earning his place as an astartes in the IVth legion.

This attitude carried him far; though he had no particular self-preservation instincts, where innumerable of the IV's finest died around him, the flower of Olympia's male youth bleeding, bullet-riddled wrecks in shattered armour that had become their coffins, Pelegon endured, relentlessly training and striving to improve himself. It was here that his somewhat more social attitude (at least more social than other Iron Warriors who rarely spoke even to each other) allowed him to learn from the marines of other legions who he encountered, giving him a wide variety of skills that made him deadly both at a distance and up close. Highly proficient with a variety of weapons, Pelegon found no equal in either his martial prowess or dedication to self improvement. With his unique plethora of abilities, Pelegon was given the option of choosing which, if any, specialisation he would like to take; the Iron Warrior decided that he would focus primarily on wielding, manipulating and coordinating heavy weaponry, earning himself a position as an Iron Havoc, the IVth legion's finest supporting infantry. Through years of battle experience and copious quantities of expended ammunition, Pelegon perfected his aim with a variety of heavy weapons and artillery pieces, sending many a vehicle crew to their doom with the squeeze of a trigger, though he never allowed this ability to come at the expense of others, rigorously training and sparring with his brothers when possible, even volunteering for positions as an assault squad member to better hone his melee capabilities.

When breaking the Hrud fortresses of planet Gugann, Pelegon's technical expertise and ability to make split-second calculations was finally noted, when he designed an extremely elaborate system of tunnels that ran parallel to those in the Hrud's warrens, complete with a way of tunnelling them that had a low chance of detection. The plan was to fill the tunnels with Iron Warriors, then break the thin partitioning wall that lay between their tunnels and the Hrud's, thus providing a constant flow of the grey-clad warriors behind the Xenos' walls. The success of this tactic saw Pelegon, little more than an (albeit decorated) Iron Havoc, a high-ranking veteran but no officer, given an option; to either work as a permanent liaison officer, or see himself driven up the ranks to Siege-Breaker, one step below Captain, that itself one below Warsmith, one of the most coveted and treasured positions any Iron Warrior could hold.

Had Pelegon been given this option years beforehand, he would have stayed within his legion immediately. Yet having talked to the members of other legions over the course of his life, he wanted to expand his mind and intellect, and thought that it would be better to see what the rest of the universe could offer him. The choice to become a liaison officer would be the one that saved his life, as the sacrificial force left behind to deal with the Hrudd after the bulk of the IVth legion moved to Istvaan would be slaughtered to a man.

So it was that Pelegon's commander, the Warsmith and member of Peturabo's Trident, Forrix, assigned him to work with the VIIIth legion. Though their tactics could not have been more different, as were their social attitudes, both legions shared a common ruthlessness, contempt for the weak and master; the Warmaster, Horus. So now Pelegon finds himself awaiting assignment to his particular squad of the VIIIth legion, to witness first hand how they fight and learn from them, and to perhaps teach them some of what he knows in the process. Both legions are pariahs in their own ungrateful Imperium, a factor that may drive the warriors together.

On Istvaan, Pelegon brought both himself and his legion honour through claiming the heads of over nine of Corax's sons, one of which was particularly notable; Nirantius, a company champion, who engaged Pelegon in single combat and duly met his end. However, he took what would likely have been a mortal blow from one of the XIXth's techmarines, a strike from a thunderhammer crushing his chest and bursting one of his hearts - though Pelegon crushed the Crow's head with his bare hands, the injury necessitated the implantation of a bionic heart and left the Iron Warrior out of action for a handful of days following Istvaan V. In secret, Pelegon also disposed of one of Lorgars bearers of His Word, leaving his body on the red sands alongside his hated enemies.

Since the battle of Istvaan, Pelegon has undergone heavy and severe training with Sergeant Kirik of the Ninth Claw, learning how to move unseen - as a result of his growing preference for stealth, the Iron Warrior rarely wears his armour, highly unusual for one of the sons of Perturabo, and now mostly moves around in the shadows, unseen and unheard by the Night Lords he stalks - never to kill, but to observe in their native state.

The Iron Warrior has also found an equal in their Corpse Master, Veptus, around whose Apothecarion he can occasionally be seen "operating" on patients, the apothecaries (or even sometimes their dread master himself) occasionally pointing him in a slightly more favourable direction - though as much trial and error as theoretical understanding, Pelegon has been learning how to torture and conduct a victim's nervous system like an orchestra, to play the tunes he wishes to hear.

Weapons: Bolt Pistol - standard Mk 1 "Phobos" model
Melta Bombs
Power Sword - Pelegon traded his looted thunder hammer for the components to forge this blade, and it is one uniquely well-adapted for the Iron Warrior's own hand - around a foot shorter than most power swords, its blade is covered in erratic, swirling notches and barbs. Its horrifically brutal nature, accentuated by the spikes on the knuckle-guard to render it as much a punching as stabbing weapon, leave the damage that it could inflict absolutely beyond question. With perfect balance and made of the highest quality materials that the Iron Warrior could obtain, its crude appearance is the perfect mask for its high quality, and Pelegon looks forward to the day when he makes a parry with the blade that his opponent might expect to shatter it.
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post #18 of 64 (permalink) Old 05-02-15, 07:31 AM Thread Starter
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Off to a gaming weekend, be back monday guys.!

The Night Lords and their allies of Knight House Artaris are off to war!

Already, you exalt me for my triumphs, When I ask only that you remember me for my treacheries

Victory is nothing more than survival.
It carries no weight of honour or worth beyond what we ascribe to it.
If you wish to grow wise, learn why brothers betray brothers. - Khyron, First Grand Master of the Eighth Brotherhood.
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post #19 of 64 (permalink) Old 05-05-15, 04:34 PM
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post #20 of 64 (permalink) Old 05-05-15, 08:25 PM
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I Name: Shrayvus Droglan

Age: 84
Home world: Nostramo

Legion class: Legion veteran

Equipment: Bolt pistol
Chainsword
Melta Bombs

Physical appearance: Shrayvus is a tall, slim figure. His skin is very white even for a Night Lord and his skeleton looks as if it might burst through the skin. There is only a paper thin amount of skin, so Shrayvus makes sure his skeleton is in tip-top condition and his bones not easily broken. His hands are crooked which make them look like talons. His hair is kept down to the bottom of his sharp edged ears, and of course he has the coal black eyes of a Night Lord.
Shrayvus has a hooked nose which gives him a creepy,vile appearance and his toes are pointed at the edges. His slim appearance makes Shrayvus able to slink into the shadows easily. Despite his tall, slim appearance Shrayvus is surprisingly strong and incredibly fast. Shrayvus is often thought to be the weakest but his opponents underestimate him every time. His voice is a deep low voice, barely above a whisper. His creepy voice strikes fear into mens' hearts. He is scarred from head to toe from 70 years of combat, the most notable a scar caused by an Ork tusk striking from the top of his forehead and through his eye.


Armor appearance: Shrayvus possesses a suit of Mark V armor. The back of the helmet forms to make a "tail(sort of like the elite helmets in Halo) and there are three white lines on each side of his dark blue armor, each 3 under the eyes. The helmet eyes are crimson enough to make it look like blood is pouring out of his eyes. It was forged in the Maiden Of Sorrow by Shrayvus himself. The pauldrons have spikes lining the outline. The entire armor has a scarlet lining on itself. The most notable feature are three black words scribbled on the torso in high gothic. The words read " Bringer Of Death" and is what he is called by his enemies.
The greaves and bracers are covered in lightning that goes all the way from the upper arm to the toes. The boots are ironically pointed like dress shoes and this somehow increases the speed of Shrayvus. He has talons for fingers which can scratch through 4 centimeters of ceramite.

Personality: Shrayvus is both extremely intelligent and calm and collected.His Motto is " It's either us or them, and no one gave you permission to die." He cares about his squadmates and leaves no one behind. He is on alert until every enemy is dead. He has a shoot first ask questions later attitude but this does not mean he will disobey orders. He has other ways of killing an opponent other than a quick sweep of a Chainsword. He is a very disciplined disciplined Astartes who always follows his orders no matter what. Shrayvus is happy to accept a challenge but knows when he needs to make a "strategic withdrawal" from his opponent, though he'll come back a minute or two later.

Background: Born to a father who was leader of a major gang, and a mother who died shortly after his birth, Shrayvus had a rough childhood. He was only 9 when he killed a man, a rival gang member who pulled a gun on his father. He would raid caravans from the upper hive and would also sling explosives at the spires. His father told him that the rich men killed poor men, even if they were innocent and not criminals. Shrayvus was in a firefight with a rival gang and when he returned to his pathetic excuse for a home, four stick with a metal sheet on top, his father was a corpse, his head blood splatter from a hellfire round.

Shrayvus would begin a six month long hunt for the killer, eventually finding the murderer and killing him with his bare hands. When he was 14 he was one of a fresh batch of neophytes. He was at the top of his unit with flying colors so it wasn't long before Shrayvus could don the sacred armor of a Battle-Brother. He was assigned to 1st Claw, 3rd Company. They were deployed to the Lathros sector from a large scale Xenos speciesinvasion. This species was unlike anything the Imperium had ever experienced before. They had crablike legs that could eviscarate a man in the blink of an eye and they were smart enough to steal Imperium along with other races' technology. This would spark a 60 year long campaign between Shrayvus and the Xenos. Not to mention the constant Ork WAAAAAAAGHS! that besieged the sector. Shrayvus counted each and every one of his kills, which all calculated to equal 14,768.

The unit's final battle would be what we now call the Drop Site Massacre, where a squad of Raven Guard hefting an auto cannon would mow down the units where they stood. Shrayvus slaughtered his way through the Raven Guard line until the enemy's backs were to him. He would then go on to slaughter 4 Veteran-Sergeants , their heads now rattling on chains around his waist. However, Shrayvus was wounded from a plasma blast blowing into his torso. Luckily, Shrayvus was alive and made his way to Xandrek's Thunderhawk. Xandrek welcomed him in and said that it was great to have "brothers that follow orders". This led Shrayvus to the Apothecarion, where he met the rest of 1st Claw.

Last edited by Defenestration47; 05-21-15 at 10:00 PM. Reason: Need to make a detailed character sheet
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