Some kind of.....aura..entered The Bloodwrath. A feeling felt by all. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stick up, made you alert. Was it fear? Uneasiness? The clamor of The Bloodwrath dampened slightly, but it was barely noticeable. Someone important was coming. It was a man, but he looked nothing short of a beast. He was 6'4, with a very muscular build and broad shoulders. A black leather jacket, devoid of all light, stretched across him. He wore pants, the same lightless color as the jacket. Black combat boots that seemed belonging to a soldier, touched the ground where he stood. Under the leather jacket was a shirt the color of blood, tight against the man's muscular body. Every article of clothing he wore was covered in dirt, grime, and most notably, blood. He appeared unarmed, but the feeling he gave off was enough to tell anyone who gazed upon them that his fists were the only thing he needed. His face was strong, hard, experienced. Covered in scars, fresh and faded. Red and white. New and old. He had, dirty, brown hair that ended near his neck. A thick, yet short beard with the same brown color as his hair. He began to walk, slowly, yet subtly. Not too many looked over, yet not too many ignored him. He sat down near the bar and uttered one word. "Beer." His voice rung through the room. He was something. Not a man. But an ideal. A concept. A sin. [b][u]Wrath has come.[/u][/b] [spoiler]open[/spoiler]

gay

Need 2 320+ for poe 42

[i] Among the loud clamor and voices of the patrons, a new figure enters the bar of the Bloodwrath. He is about 6'2", clad in slim, form fitting black armor. A yin-yang symbol over crossed swords sits on the breastplate, partially obscured by a long black cloak that falls over his shoulders. At his hip, are three katanas in clear view. The first is a vibrant white and gold, a stark contrast to the black of his outfit. The second is a non-descript, dull olive green, with an oriental dragon head for the hilt. The third blade, matches his armor more fittingly than the first. Handle, wrappings, sheath, all in a complete and utter black. No, not black..something darker. Squid ink at midnight couldn't be more black. There were two defining things about the man: the first, was where his face should be, is a black demon mask, twisted snarl and fangs. The second, was his mere presence. Anyone with power knew the feeling. It was the vibe that made innocent onlookers turn their gaze back to their drinks and conversations. The man walked with lithe grace and power, like the living embodiment of death. Almost as if his figure was a simple vessel for unrestricted power. The man walked to the corner of the bar's room and has a seat at an empty table. It seemed like a normal action, but anyone with common sense knew that it was because he wanted to see the whole room, patrons, entrances, and exits. The [b]Bloodwrath[/b] was in for a treat. The [b]Ronin[/b] had arrived.[/i] (OPEN.)

"You want me to be a spy?" Abaddon questioned, his eyes blazing with green fury. The fine-suited man siting on a throne of skulls and horns sighed. "No, Abaddon. You are my top General. You are The Embodiment of Wrath for crying out loud! You're not there to spy, you're there to assimilate and blend in. Beings of Chaos as themselves will see you as another daemon." The suited man scoffed, his shaded and unseen head shifting, as he placed his hands on his lap, folded. Abaddon remained a statue. "What is my goal here?" The man responded almost instantaneously. "Do what you do best, friend. War." Abaddon blinked his green infernal eyes. He began to speak but the man cut him off. "Be subtle, discrete. They'll tear you apart if you're not." "As you wish, my master." Abaddon bowed subtlety. The figure waved his hand, an at ease of sorts. He then snapped his fingers, as a roaring, red portal opened behind them. Abaddon turned to it, his red cape being pulled towards the vortex. He looked back at the man. "And if I fail?" The man leaned forward, revealing a set of red eyes, a perfect face, and neatly groomed pitch black hair. He smirked. "You won't." Abaddon nodded, as he approached the portal, and entered. [spoiler]closed[/spoiler]

[b]Deep thoughts[/b] [i]Xavier sits in his room, pondering. When did he come into this dimension? He thinks. He might have been brought here for a reason. Either he coincidentally was brought here, or was teleported by a supernatural power. Xavier looks at his hand, Psionic energy dancing between his fingers. He's been brought to other dimensions before, and helped repair their conflicts. This one, though... This one's special. Xavier puts on his glasses, and closes his eyes. The lenses of the glasses crack a little bit.[/i] [spoiler]Open. Would really like Ful here.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]Could a character of ours die if we're not careful enough... if so i don't mind the sweet tale of death. not to be creepy or anything but i do have experience writing the deaths of many of my great characters be it spartans on the battlefield, imperial stormtroopers in the midst of a dogfight, Chaos Space Marines being torn to pieces by their brethren, or just the nonsense of killing a certain Tomb Raider or the measly crushing of the famed Engineer who survived the Ishimura/Sprawl/Tau Volantis anything can happen just wanting to be sure if the Game Master (OP) welcomes such a violent presence in the Warp and on this... Bloodwrath. you need a quick short paragraph of a character's death. then look no further.[/spoiler] (sorry for long post)

[b][i]Chapter 1.3 - Deceitful Aftermath[/i][/b] [b][i]Aliza prepares the bar for patrons.[/i][/b] [i] Several Imperium and Chaos officials are seen entering the Crimson Flagon for a discussion on the great hall massacre. Some patrons overhear the conversation. [b]"I don't feel safe anymore with tyranids and demons running amuck in general quarters.." Begins one of the officials. "I know what you mean, I hear Libreous is going to organize a search party to venture into the quarantine zone to assess security and threat level, I can't imagine the Summoner allowing that.. It could get ugly real quick.." Answers another. "They have to cooperate, we live here too now. A threat to us is a threat to them, there's not a choice.." They continue. One of them interjects with a sudden realization. "I suppose we can wait and see, but do you suspect someone opened a quarantine zone on purpose?" They all ponder the question, but end the discussion as they notice some Chaos warriors listening in. Aliza and the other bar tenders begin taking orders. More patrons walk in, Edmond Glass, Ostan Del'Rothas, and a few off duty units of elite Imperial guard known as the Ghosts. [/b][/i] [spoiler]open post, feel free to mingle with each other.[/spoiler]

[i]A trifecta of three figures enter the bar amidst the conversations of the Chaos and the Imperium's lower-ranking soldiers, but immediately after the conversation that had taken place only moments before. [/i] [i]The first person to wander inside the establishment was a strange figure to many. With his face half charred and scarred into oblivion, his ugly mug on the leftmost half shows a menacing look to the figure, while the right side portrays his innocence fairly well with only a single, angelic white beard that ran along his face, somehow growing atop the burnt face. Rather, his beard grew at one point, which it seemed to stop after some moment, and the facial hair had barely noticeable burn marks lining the right half of his beard near the top, where it connected with his ugly face. The duster that remains draped over his body was tattered and torn, showing years of usage and fights survived while bearing that outfit. The dirt at the very deepest depths of his outfit carried a darker yet less noticeable brown due to the minuscule amount of dirt that was there, but the outfit quickly grew to be a lighter shade of brown as it went higher and higher, the long jacket showing a strange patch on the right shoulder, that reads [b]Nation Without a Home[/b], above another that reads [b]Outlaw Squad, OSIRis[/b], ending the chain with one that reads [b]Fireteam November[/b]. Across his back rests a single shotgun, one with three barrels and no stock, the words [b]TRIPLE TAP[/b] etched into the top barrel, engraved with an onyx colour. At his sides lay a pair of twin revolvers, either looking to have a slightly longer barrel than the average revolver, although from the way the man carried himself it was clear that he could still draw the weapons faster than half the patrons in the bar. [/i] [i]The second to head inside the bar was far more strange than the first, this being her first time entering the building. Her long, curled red locks flowed over her right shoulder, draping down to touch the side of her breast. Her fiery hair seemingly heated the air around her immensely and filled the bar with pure heat, all the while her icy blue eyes cooled it back down swiftly. Her outfit consisted of a crimson red shirt, the laces that acted as straps running over either shoulder in a nice, dark black colour. The shirt fitted tightly around her body, much like the pair of blue jeans that fitted on her flawlessly, if not taking the image that it formed around her body. Her black boots went overtop the clothing that she bore, and looked to be standard combat boots. Finally, she let a single black leather jacket rest overtop her hourglass figured body, remaining unzipped. She too had the words [b]Nation Without a Home[/b] on her jacket, although unlike how the cowboy carried it on the right side, she carried hers on the left. Her firearm load-out consisted of your standard military gear: An M4A1 with a red dot sight fitted to it, finished only by a fore grip that matched the sleek, unpainted gun. Her sidearm that lays on the left half of her hip was simply an M9, standard police-issue, that had been bought widespread by the NWH Private Forces that she had commanded as a general for the cowboy that accompanied her, back at her home. [/i] [i]The last figure looked to be the most out-of-place one within the confines of the bar, his body encompassed by a pair on onyx black military cargo pants, with matching boots, and a black shirt of the same grade. His jet black hair matched the gloves he wore over either hand perfectly, and the way he moved inside the bar conveyed a sense of discomfort in his figure. He seemed to be taller than the cowboy by four inches, as the man already stood at six-foot-two, and his emerald green eyes looked far different than what the other two had for themselves. Unlike them, he had no idea what he was doing, and so he followed merrily, his rifle, Lightning, draped across his back while Law and Order, his twin pistols, rest at his sides. [/i] [i]The crew made haste towards a booth seat lining the wall in the Imperium side of the bar, each shooting one another a glance of trust, one that was only given by the last man and received by the first two figures, for he seemed to be new to their unit. They all sat in silence until the cowboy finally spoke. [/i]"Well sir, what would your name be exactly?[i]He asked the strange man before him, his voice laced by a heavy accent of Texan descent. [/i]"Hutch Ryder, ex-PMC, Extryte." [i]He responded, his voice laced by no accents whatsoever. The way he spoke led the cowboy to look at the woman beside him, shooting a curious glance. [/i]"He doesn't seem to be lying, JT." [i]She stated to the man that leaned back in the booth. Unlike JT or Hutch, her accent was British, the words conveyed with a thick accent. JT looked back to the woman, before glaring to the man, and uttering a single phrase. [/i]"Diana says you're good, kid." [i]And with that, the trio relaxed. [/i] ((Open))

[b][i]Chapter 1.2 - Sinister Agenda[/i][/b] [i] A man in an expensive bath robe enters the Repliest Lodge, deep within the Imperial section of the ship. He takes a seat in the sauna, steam quickly fills the room. He reads a paper and collects his thoughts as he waits for Brimstone to arrive.. He has a business matter of common interest with the former Inquisitor. He feel a familiar presence in the mist and smiles knowing he is safe from harm. He waits for Brimstone to arrive.[/i] [spoiler]Open to Brim and anyone else.[/spoiler]

"The Hunters' Folly" Character (s): Venator and Cerberus Venator and Cerberus somehow end up on the ship after making a flee from Dissidan. They both get up in immediate confusion. Venator looks around while having blurred vision. "Cerberus, where the hell are we?" "I don't know mentor, but it seems like a huge ship." "First the Infected and now this? -blam!- my life..." The lights on the ceiling of the ship seem to flicker. This gives a sense of helplessness and anxiety to the normal man as without a memory of how they arrived and the eerie atmosphere, this would surely make fear stir. They both load up their finest arms, their visors light up, as well as their shield emitters. "Cerberus, on my lead." "Understood." Their footsteps making a clamping noise with the metal ground, at least it's known the gravity is on the ship. Their MK XLIII Multi Purpose ship or the "Pathfinder" could not be traced by any signal possible, making them damn near stranded. [spoiler]Open.[/spoiler]

I'd rp But never again will i write all that much shit out and not get a reply like before lmao

What an ass

[b][i]Chapter 1 - The Prison[/i][/b] [i] A large gathering takes place in one of the great halls. Giant banners of Imperial and Chaos divide the room in half, Imperial on the right and Chaos on the left. Warriors of both sides file in, glaring at each other with murderous intent. Large pillars of black marble stretch hundreds of feet up to the arches ceiling, supporting large beams that suspend giant, flaming spheres of chaos energy that bathe the massive chamber in multicolored shades of violet and Crimson, the effect is bewildering. Nine spheres in all are suspended in single file from the back to the front of the chamber. At the front of the chamber is a large, elevated podium fit for the stature of a giant. It too seems to be made of smooth, black marble. Behind the podium are two dark iron braziers, warp fire burning in unison with the dangling spheres overhead. Officials of the Imperium gather near the front as champions and warriors continue to enter the room from the rear. The cease fire remains in effect. [b]A massive stone door opens behind the podium and the warp light explodes into dark blue flames. A giant, 15ft tall warrior clad in demon cast armor steps through the room. His armor is solid black, tortured faces within the plate armor scream silently and shift about as the demons attempt to escape, but are permanently enslaved to the armor. His cloak is long and dark, shadow vapor wafts up into the air like burning leaves caught in an updraft, and dissolving into nothingness. [spoiler]https://www.bungie.net/en/Forum/Post/149340961/0/0[/spoiler] The Summoner steps up to the podium, and the all on the left side of the room falls to their knees while the right side stands defiantly, but as the Summoner turns to regard them, most drop to their knees in fear. Few among the Imperials remain standing, Commander Libreous-Tibrarium being one of them. "Welcome to my capital starship, the Bloodwrath. It is your new home, and when you die, your souls will be consumed by her. You will become one with us in the end, like it or not." Says the Summoner, eyes glowing with bale flames. She has rebelled against me..." Begins the Summoner, his voice carrying through the large chamber with echoes, reverberating as whispers that come from every direction. "At this time, we are all her prisoners, we cannot escape. Most of you will find your memory lacking at to how you arrived, and why both Chaos and Imperial warriors were gathered." Continues the Summoner, telling the truth. "I do not know why this is happening," lies the Summoner. "But a cease fire is in effect, and strict limits have been set on ship access. Many sections are reserved only for Imperial, and many sections are reserved for only Chaos. Most of the ship, however, is off limits. This is for your own safety. Trespassers will be put to death." Continues the Summoner. "There things on this ship that you wouldn't understand, Tyranids, Necrons, Demons, things of that nature. There are also several entities that are beyond my influence loose down there too.. Armageddon, Umbra, a few blood beasts, and my sick brother... Sarris-Sanguine is not well. It would be a shame to meet him down there, we'd never be able to clean up the mess." He continues. "Make yourselves comfortable, you'll be here for awhile. Obey my rules, and perhaps you may yet live. But if you break my rules, you'll find that there is life after death, and I will torture your soul for eternity in the afterlife." The Summoner leaves the way he came in, and the color of the room returns to normal. [/b][/i] [spoiler]this is a gathering of all, now is a good time to meet each other. I will continue replying to the bar post as I get time, sorry for the slow replies I've been busy. I'm glad you're all here :)[/spoiler]

What is this autistic shit?

Dismantle min- Awwwwwww someone beat me to it

PoE.. O-o [spoiler]enemiess thiiiiirst for your liiiight.[/spoiler] [spoiler]killll them baaaack, guardian.[/spoiler] [spoiler]dismantle miines.. Or deaaath..?[/spoiler] [spoiler]destroyyy miiiness... Yesss? Or. Youu diiiee..[/spoiler] [spoiler]high valuue taargets, guaardianss.[/spoiler] [spoiler]You have done it![/spoiler] [spoiler]retreat, to airlock, guardiaaanss..[/spoiler]

What is this??!!?

Prison of Exiles PoE [spoiler]PRISON OF ELDERS[/spoiler] [spoiler]DESTINY CONFIRMED[/spoiler]

[b][i]The bar is open. Aliza open the bar within the Crimson Flagon, she patiently awaits for patrons to arrive. Mac and Shannon prepare the fresh inventory for use. Several patrons arrive, among them are legionnaires of the Imperium as well as legionnaires of chaos. They sit on opposite sides, glaring death at each other as sworn enemies do. Commander Libreous-Tibrarium sits at the bar, orders a top shelf scotch with a single ice cube. He stares at the wall as if recalling a great battle. His form is hulking and truly fearsome to behold... You realize you've heard his name before. Edmond Glass takes a seat nearby and drops a hefty sack of gold on the bar. "Aliza, I want to get fuking drunk, can you help me?" He says with a smile. She smiles in return. Laughter and music fills the Crimson Flagon as more patrons arrive.[/i][/b]

Wouldn't that be sort of an oxymoron? On one hand you're trying to get rid of exiles, and on the other hand you're keeping them as prisoners. Like, w0t?

What

[spoiler]Ooh.[/spoiler]