OOC: I've been on vacation, could somebody please do me a favor and tell me what the hell is going on?
WH40K Roleplay Thread Ending; "Who Knew?"
- Thread starter John Galt
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Irish is a daemonhost old chap. Normal psyker, big hairy demon living inside him? Part of the character description? Aside from that, Maeror tried to kill him, we've shot Galt, I've lost me leg, had it fixed up by larenxis, who then promptly kicked the proverbial bucket..
OOC: Yeah, actually Galt can we have a list of the ones still twitching please old chap? Gets a little confusing after a while.
Sorry for lack of updates on my part, I sorta bunged up on scheduling and just arrived from a massive 4-day robotics competition, update will be Sunday.
List of the Living:
Rain
Kalidian
Pie
Inglis
Zen
Ophelia
Gremlin
Irish
Expect a couple more double murders to help speed things along, my dice need a workout.
List of the Living:
Rain
Kalidian
Pie
Inglis
Zen
Ophelia
Gremlin
Irish
Expect a couple more double murders to help speed things along, my dice need a workout.
"I cannot tell you if Irish will live or die but you are perfectly safe from the daemons wrath. I finished placing the holy seals. This is a cage it cannot break through in the mean time. It is too weak to struggle. Maeror on the other hand, was a heritic. He got what was comming. Although it is ironic for him to be slain by the creature of which he worships. This happens all to often."Pie said:
OOC: Aw crap. Last lynch the title had me going for a while since my char's a drunk. Now I have double the chance to die. It's going to haunt me I tell you!
Gremlin squatted down and stroked his chin. "So" he murmured "Maeror gets pissed, staggers over to the null chamber in full view of the security cams, and me if I was awake, blasts into the chamber where a frickin daemon lies in residence, and is surprised when he gets turned to Jam? No way man, he wasn't the murderer. Too stupid. Heretic, maybe, but not the murderer."
He stood up and walked over to Rain and Pie, and lowered his voice. "Sir, perhaps a bit early, but I think we really need to pay attention to Ophelia. There's too many things that don't add up about her, she's the only person round here we haven't had some past experience with, and who the hell is this Vicky person she talks about? Kinda reminds me of The Delinquent's 'Lord T', if you get my drift."
Gremlin squatted down and stroked his chin. "So" he murmured "Maeror gets pissed, staggers over to the null chamber in full view of the security cams, and me if I was awake, blasts into the chamber where a frickin daemon lies in residence, and is surprised when he gets turned to Jam? No way man, he wasn't the murderer. Too stupid. Heretic, maybe, but not the murderer."
He stood up and walked over to Rain and Pie, and lowered his voice. "Sir, perhaps a bit early, but I think we really need to pay attention to Ophelia. There's too many things that don't add up about her, she's the only person round here we haven't had some past experience with, and who the hell is this Vicky person she talks about? Kinda reminds me of The Delinquent's 'Lord T', if you get my drift."
"Before we go accusing her like blinded fools, we should look for a motive. What would she have to gain from killing us? The Inquisition paid her handsomely for the use of her ship and as we have it in our database it can be tracked, to kill us would bring far too much attention to herself. Something that I don't think she wants."
declared Kalidian, leaning against one of the spare beds while applying pain-balms to his burnt face and neck.
declared Kalidian, leaning against one of the spare beds while applying pain-balms to his burnt face and neck.
Gremlin shook his head "I'm not straight-off accusing her. I'm just sayin' that there is way too much about her that just don't add up, and right now we any mysteries are dangerous. I just reckon we should keep an eye on her, maybe lock her up till we land; it's not like we need to explain why we locked up the only non-server or the imperium on the ship when people started dying is it?"
As the crew debated Ophelia?s guilt in the murders, Zen prowled the depths of the ship. He tried to take as many walks through the maintenance systems as possible. Partly because he needed to handle the stress away from the men, partly so he could see what they were doing and keep tabs on the traitorous lot.
As his heavy boots clanged over the thin catwalk below him, he looked in through the heavy grates into various rooms of the ship. In the medical bay, Irish still was held in the massive network of tubes that kept his frail shell breathing. His arms were nearly lost in the forest of plastic vines and copper branches that kept the psyker in their loving embrace.
Several more paces brought him to a small lift. He seemed perplexed at first. He?d never been down this particular corridor. He looked around him and tried to find the identification number on the bulkheads. Zen whipped out a small spherical lantern and tossed it into the air. It floated aloft by some unknown mechanism, Larenxis had given it to him prior to his death.
The light revealed that Zen had indeed taken a wrong turn. Currently he was at Bulkhead 30, farther into the labyrinth than he?d ever been. He decided to see where the lift went and climbed aboard. The machine slowly ascended towards another level, from which there seemed to be a strange noise emanating. As he slowly walked down the small passage, the lantern hovered beside him.
As the commissar reached the source of the noise at the end of the tunnel, he felt an icy chill hit his spine.
?I?ve been tracking you for quite some time, Commissar, but the wait has made you even more interesting to me. Your habits are most peculiar but predictable.? a voice said. Zen fumbled about as the lantern was obscured in a cloud of smoke. A small box near his head continued to drone on in a mechanical fashion. ?Where Wolvaroo failed, I had to improvise, this recording is tragically as close as you and I will be able to meet. I try not to get personal in my killing, but this was truly something I looked forward to, too bad it never played out just right.?
Zen drew his pistol and shot the box, the recording stopped but the smoke was already seeping into the hall. The noxious cloud exploded into his lungs and suddenly he collapsed on the ground. Whatever chemical had been used, it began to work its way through his lungs, at first a slight warming, then, with the fire of a torch it began to burn. The commissar wretched as the gas finally entered his bloodstream. His heart skipped a beat and then with a shudder it stopped.
Hours later, a gaunt figure crept into the hall where the body lay, it's skin red with the ruptured veins. The morbid cargo was quietly hauled through the tunnels, into the Imperial Guard barracks. The body was propped up in a chair and holding another box. This playing another loop:
?Ding-dong! The witch is dead??
As his heavy boots clanged over the thin catwalk below him, he looked in through the heavy grates into various rooms of the ship. In the medical bay, Irish still was held in the massive network of tubes that kept his frail shell breathing. His arms were nearly lost in the forest of plastic vines and copper branches that kept the psyker in their loving embrace.
Several more paces brought him to a small lift. He seemed perplexed at first. He?d never been down this particular corridor. He looked around him and tried to find the identification number on the bulkheads. Zen whipped out a small spherical lantern and tossed it into the air. It floated aloft by some unknown mechanism, Larenxis had given it to him prior to his death.
The light revealed that Zen had indeed taken a wrong turn. Currently he was at Bulkhead 30, farther into the labyrinth than he?d ever been. He decided to see where the lift went and climbed aboard. The machine slowly ascended towards another level, from which there seemed to be a strange noise emanating. As he slowly walked down the small passage, the lantern hovered beside him.
As the commissar reached the source of the noise at the end of the tunnel, he felt an icy chill hit his spine.
?I?ve been tracking you for quite some time, Commissar, but the wait has made you even more interesting to me. Your habits are most peculiar but predictable.? a voice said. Zen fumbled about as the lantern was obscured in a cloud of smoke. A small box near his head continued to drone on in a mechanical fashion. ?Where Wolvaroo failed, I had to improvise, this recording is tragically as close as you and I will be able to meet. I try not to get personal in my killing, but this was truly something I looked forward to, too bad it never played out just right.?
Zen drew his pistol and shot the box, the recording stopped but the smoke was already seeping into the hall. The noxious cloud exploded into his lungs and suddenly he collapsed on the ground. Whatever chemical had been used, it began to work its way through his lungs, at first a slight warming, then, with the fire of a torch it began to burn. The commissar wretched as the gas finally entered his bloodstream. His heart skipped a beat and then with a shudder it stopped.
Hours later, a gaunt figure crept into the hall where the body lay, it's skin red with the ruptured veins. The morbid cargo was quietly hauled through the tunnels, into the Imperial Guard barracks. The body was propped up in a chair and holding another box. This playing another loop:
?Ding-dong! The witch is dead??