357 replies to this topic

[Prosperan Son]

They were interesting times, these last few months were. Painful for those who awoke your " Scary Voice." Pleasurable for you though. You killed who the voices told you to kill, got a few compliments here and there, even made your way into another Warband, where they treat you like your a celebrity. You stayed with them for the longest you can remember and now here you are, on a new planet named Aileta, once again fighting in the long war, and standing in front of a makeshift tavern where all the other scum come to drink before battle. It's so easy being evil, Kombuse. So very very easy.

[Armoured Priest]

Kombüse stood there with a large toothy grin formed on his dragon snout gasmask, the red lenses of his tainted mask not glowing like before. "Yeay! I love meeting new people!" He said happily. He made sure his black fatigues and plates were in order, despite the random runes and symbols adorning the surfaces of the plate and aged bloodstains on the cloth. He then walked into the tavern, whisteling a happy tune, his still shiney black combat boots crunching on the ground.

[Prosperan Son]

The tavern was booming with all sorts of life and excitement. Whoops of pleasure were heard from all around the crowd. Traitors and Cultist from all over the system and farther were gathered here, along with several other breeds of mutant and aliens. He was regarded by several men, however went mostly unnoticed.

[Armoured Priest]

He walks up to the bar, giving a short wave and a disturbing reptilian smile to anyone and anything who looked at him. Grabbing a well used barstool that was still around, he sat down and waved hi at the bartender. "Hello! How are you today?" He asked in his usual cheery way.

[Prosperan Son]

The Bartender simply grunted in acknowledgement of Kombuse, walking over from the other side of the bar, bottle of amasec in hand." What do you want?"The Bartender ignored the newcomers question, expecting him to answer quickly.

[Armoured Priest]

He could here some of the voices poking inside of his head, as if angry even though he wasn't. But he shrugged, ratteling the shoulder plates, before he continued. "I don't know." he simply said, as he started to spin himself on his seat, a grin still on the mask.

[Prosperan Son]

The Bartender raised an inquisitive brow, unsure of what to think of Kombuse so far. " How did you manage to get here?" The bartender asked another question while sliding a bottle of amasec to Kombuse.

[Armoured Priest]

He stopped spinning his chair and catched the bottle almost too late. He looked up, either as if thinking, or listening to someones. He shrugs again. "I don't know, I guess they helped me." he said, without indicating anyone in the bar. The jaws of his mask cracked open and it clamped around the opening of the bottle. He tilts his head back and drinks the whole thing before letting the bottle go and putting it back onto the counter. A dark blue tounge snaked out from between the organic teeth and licked his jaws. "More please?" he asked innocently.

[Prosperan Son]

"The hell are you?" The bartender asked , disgust at Kombuse evident in his glare. Regardless, he slid another bottle towards the freak, uncaring whether he was truly human or not. Business was business after all. Before the bottle could reach Kombuse, another man snatched it from the counter, immediately chugging it down all in one go.

[Armoured Priest]

"Hey!" He said in protest to the man who took the bottle. Now the voices where getting loud in his head, but he could hear one very distinctly, dark, hateful, aggressive. The one that he hears before waking up in a unfamiliar place, with new bloodstains on his ragged uniform. But he kept it back for now, not liking waking up in weird places. "Why you do that?" he asked.

[Prosperan Son]

The man turned on his chair to face Kombuse, he was rather large, both in fat and muscles, with a gut that extended outwards. He bore a mismatch of clothes and army, scavenged from whoever had killed over the months. " Because I was thirsty. What are you going to do about it?" He asked rather rudely, hand inching towards a knife sheathed at his side.

[Armoured Priest]

The hand moving to thd knife was all the voice needed. The smell of burnt ozone can be smelled, the red lenses of his warped gasmask glowed. The masks expression changed from the confused look to one of anger as one of his armored gauntleted hands slip a crude brass knuckles, covered in chaos stars, over the plates.. "I'll take your eyes as souvenirs." He said in a now more deep gruttal voice, what many called his 'scary voice'. He threw a savage hook into the throat of the rude man.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 98 (98)

[Prosperan Son]

"What in Khorne's tee-" The man's response was cut short as Kombuse's fist smashed into his throat, smashing apart his wind-pipe. The thug fell to the floor, struggling for air that wouldn't come. Several of his comrades rushed to aid him, but by then it was to late. "Your going to pay for that!" One of them yelled, drawing a wicked blade from his sheathe, the others soon followed. The thug surged forward, swiping his blade towards Kombuse's stomach.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 75 (75)

[Armoured Priest]

"Good, come and die.' he said to them, a wicked grin of insanity now spreading across his draconion mask and the glow becoming more intense behind the gasmask lenses. He goes to grab the slashing arm to break it and rip it off the thug.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 94 (94)

[Prosperan Son]

The thug yells in pain as the bone snaps violently, tearing through the skin to reveal itself. He tried to fall back, but was shocked even more as Kombuse managed to rip off the entire limb with apparent ease. Blood jettisoned from the arm, dousing many. The thug fell to the floor, holding the bleeding stump, trying and failing miserably to stop the bleeding. Another of the thugs brought up a small hatchet, swinging it downwards towards Kombuse.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 67 (67)

[Armoured Priest]

The dark blue tongue lapped the blood off the gasmask eagerly. Using his newly aquired cludgeon, He swings the bloody and twitching disembodied arm visicously at the attacking thug's head as hard as he could in his state.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 91 (91)

[Prosperan Son]

The arm slams against the Thug's skull, sending him back dazed and disoriented. His swinging falls to the side, hitting nothing. Another of the goons rushed you from the side, attempting to tackle you to the floor.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 56 (56)

[Armoured Priest]

He dropped the torn off arm to aside. He goes to grab the charging thug's head with his armoured gauntleted hands, going to take his head off with a sick twist.

1d100 rolled for a total of: 89 (89)

[Prosperan Son]

The goon struggles within Kombuse's grip, flailing and trying to pull away before the twist. Afterwards, his body goes limp, headless and falling to the floor. By this time, there are three more of the lackeys, and one of them has drawn a laspistol, immediately firing upon you" DIE YOU BASTARD!"

1d100 rolled for a total of: 11 (11)

[Armoured Priest]

"After you."Oberga said as he began to laugh. Still laughing manically, he tosses the head like a fast ball at the franticlly firing dirtbag' skull. "Catch!"

1d100 rolled for a total of: 100 (100)