Tirana smiles "awww, come on. It is fun to have your own thoughts filled with another being. You are never alone again" She giggles loudly and shakes her head "of course, it can be annoying at times... especially when it calls you whore every other second."
With this, he turned to the turncoat Raven Guard. He eyed the Terminator-clad marine with suspicion and skepticism. Even for someone so turned recently, he was still not certain of his newfound loyalty. Still, Lord Sharr had tasked him with a purpose, and he would see to it. "Of course... brother." Ramiel replied at last. "Your armor still carries the stench of the False Emperor about it. Rest assured, though. This can be amended. "Prepare yourself, Raven Guard. This next spell may seem dissettling, at first. You might feel pain, and a spectrum of new feelings. Embrace them, for they are the gift of protection from the Dark Gods..." With this, he bade two of his Chosen to stand at each side of the Terminator, ever watchful for signs of resistance. Then, he raised his hands in front of him, and began the Rites.
Tirana shrugs slighlty. "I wouldn't say that it is wrong. But it gets annoying after a while." She looks up at the astartes "I wonder what a deamon would say about you?"
Tirana tilts her head "well you are already so insane, so your mind is safe enough" She giggles at her own small joke Forfoz sighes. the cultists all seem useless. He looks around and notices the gathering of rather strong iduviduals and aproaches them. the sargeant follow quietly. "Greetings..." Forfoz coughs slighlty as he looks on the astartes, the cultist and the mutant. He seems to scan them as soft "blips" comes from his metal mask. "Are you planning something or is this normal banter?"
*he now locked eyes with the mutant* "it would seem i am would it not? it would seem so to a fool....." *he said in an almost monotone voice*
IC: Richard looked at Felix. "Perhaps you misunderstood me," he said. "I meant that I accept the daemon." His eyes flared a change of color for a split second. "And it is not a prisoner; rather a guest," he spoke with his own voice but he heard the daemon speaking in unison with him. OOC: Other psykers nearby would have been able to hear it. IC: He turned to Forfoz, who had just arrived. This was the one he wanted to meet. Looking at him made Richard sick to his stomach but he forced himself from vomiting. "Ah, just a banter," he speaks, responding to Forfoz's question. "However, if you were searching for plans, then hear my own for the coming battle: I wish to accompany you in the attack of the Manufactorum. I do believe I can be of great use."
(OOC: Forfoz might be a Follower of nurgle, but thanks to him being a tech-priest doesen't he look so "vile") Forfoz looked at the cultist, he nods slowly. "Of course, I would prefer voluenters..." He looked at the others, he gulares at the mutant which glares back at him too. They dislike eachother.
ooc: no problem brobot8, we'll work something in for you. FOr now you'll waiting for the next major attack. You can start whenever, but be sure you follow the rules for PVE / PVP combat. Feel free to post something in to get your character started. Right now everyones getting their forces ready for an upcoming attack. Just have your character interact with mine (Sharr) to get you assigned an attack. Speaking of which... ic: The Governor’s palace was dead quiet at night. The servators finished cleaning the meeting hall after Regimental Governor Militant Bromhead’s party. He commander was fast asleep, snoring like a brutish Ork in his bed. His fine kept mustache and beard were safely tucked in their net during his slumber. The Governor’s aid entered the room and switched on the lamp at the bedside. With a gentle tone, he woke his master. “Sir…sir.” Bromhead snorted himself awake and turned to the aid, “Hmm…what is it Reynolds?” “Sir, a priority one Vox transmission for a Lieutenant Tennant at the Checkpoint in the Central district.” Bromhead carefully pushed his sheets back and turned to the bed’s edge, “Put it through here then. If this is a damn hoax I’ll have his bars. What time is it?” As the General stood he made for his personal Vox system beside his bookshelf. Reynolds removed the Vox speaker from it’s housing before handing it to the Govenor. “Oh one hundred hours, sir.” Bromhead cleared his throat, “This is Bromhead, Lieutenant, and it better be good.” As the Governor listened on the other end of the line, Reynolds prepared a glass of brandy for his master. He turned in a snap of shock when the Governor shouted, “WHAT? The Hell you say? Impossible. How many? Oh holy throne…and you’re certain? You better be damn certain or I’ll execute you not the Commissar. Right then, make for the South Bastion. Bromhead out.” With that the Governor forced the Vox receiver into its housing he turned to his servant, “Fetch my coat and uniform and while you’re at it alert the general staff. And while your at it sound the general alarm I want all hands to battle stations. And while you’re at it get yourself a Lasgun. And while you’re at it get my horse ready. ON the double damn you!” Reynolds nodded an ran out the bed chamber, his stride echoing through the halls. Bromhead took the glass of brandy, throwing it to the ground in rage. “Emperor protect us all.” The Western Hab was burning in ritual fires, some stoked by the Heretics and others born from the Warp. Corrupted Thunder Hawk gunships offloaded convoys of Assault craft: Rhino transports, attack bikes, Vindicators, and Land Raiders. The more ferocious of daemon engines were brought to life after touching ground. Defilers reeled against their titanic black iron chains, held by overstimulated mutants and Ogryn traitors. The holy Dreadnaughts were given wide births and kept chained to their transports. Some of the more blood drunk managed to slaughter any Cultists foolish enough to get close enough. The night sky began to bleed into un colors as the chant and prayers of the Cultists and Host warriors echoed throughout the area. The stink of death and unnatural creatures lingered. Followed by the growth of unnatural flesh across the ruins of the Hab, tentacles sought grip, often brining stray humans into their mass with primordial hunger. The Legions of the XVII chuckled at the stupidity of the lesser men. More unnatural and chaotic forms began to grow around the ruins in small clumps. Eyes of some alien being blinked into reality, maws of fangs and teeth breathed the air around them. A rouge tendril slithered across the iron decking of the command center. Everywhere it touched turned to rust and corrosion. It came up to the Lord of Chaos who examined the hololithic map of the battlefield. The daemon eye of his augment regarded the tentacle with a burning red iris, sending the flesh tendril back where it came. Lord Sharr stroked his chin as he played the events of the next battle like a game. “What do you think?” ~’I believe the humans will strike back with all they have. Even if the ambush by Ramiel succeeds, he may very well be busy holding them off before joining you.’ “Yes. But they will not have access to their heavier tanks and transports. If the tech-priest follows through and the Scion of Corax follow through, they’ll be busy on four fronts. With the Manufactorum, the Nobel houses the Ambush and our own attack against the Bastion, we’ll be ready to take the Capital and enact the final ritual.” ~’You are still short on your offerings. If the summoning is to be successful, you will new more, much more.” “Yes of coarse, I am no fool. You of all should know this.” He mocked the voice. ~’There is still…something…it lurks…it hides.’ “What is it?” ~’It hides…it lurks…it waits.’ “Damn you and your riddles. No matter, whatever may come we are well prepared. With the orbital satellites under my command no one will interfere. The Gladius is in position to provide orbital support and the Traitor Guardsmen are now armed with more powerful weapons to ensure a victory. OOC: We'll start the BIG fight soon. Just want to make sure everyone is prepared and done what they need? Don't want anyone to be left out.
