[Greyfrost]

In the name of the Emperor, and the Holy Golden Throne of Terra, the inquisition searches the darkest corners of the Empire. The Emperor Protects, and the Ordos Preserves. Ordo Malleus, against the Threat Beyond, Ordo Hereticus, against the Threat Within, and Ordo Xenos, against the Threat Without. Zephyr is a relatively young, but powerful Inquisitor of Ordo Malleus. Currently, looking for a literate, para-capable roleplay partner. [Click to read more.] (Open to various settings or scenes, but hoping for something within the Warhammer 40 000 Horus Heresy universe.) Please, browse through my profile, and pm if interested.


She is an Alien race, slow-aging, and fairly similar in strength and speed to the Elites, but looks like a canine anthro, ranging between a fox and a wolf. Much much stronger than a standard human, even with combat augments.


Name: Rivvyn Aliere
Race: Schaiir Canidis (Appearing as either wolf or fox hybrids, they are an Alien race only recently discovered by UNSC interplanetary patrols.)
Role/job: Tactical Reconnaissance, Special Operations ONI personnel
Relation to leader: Accepting
Main skills: Soldier Combatant, specializing in Stealth operations, and close-quarters combat situations.
Other skills: Minor skill with vehicles, and tech. Mostly due to her being a fast learner, she picks things up quickly. Most of her technical expertise follows closely with her own gear, and weapons.
Equipment: Her suit, modified for her own body rather than an augmented human.
Suit: Modified for her use by her ONI superiors, Severity wears a highly classified set of MJOLNIR powered armor, known as Shade, or Ghost variant. Unlike the standard Mark V, or Mark VI suits, the Shade is a deep Gray Black color, with an emphasis placed upon not only light shielding, but the negation of light reflection. This gives her a more stable use of Active Camouflage, though slightly less shield output. The configuration of the heavy plating found in standard Mark V and VI suits is also modified, appearing closer to ODST, or the Mark VI Scout variants. Her helmet is a cross between that of an ODST, and the Mark VI's CQB specialized helmet, but with a higher power magnification, mostly used for scouting missions. Extensive reworking of the MJOLNIR Black Variant, the Shade does not share it's predecessor's flaws in the area of it's IFF tag indication system and motion tracker, and the Biofoam injection system has been refitted as well, to answer the earlier model's known issues with setting broken bones in the extremities.





lucient_the_black: He had taken no pleasure it in, it was always a hard thing to acknowledge that even an inquisitor could succumb to the darkness, to listen to the whispers and give in. And when it happened it was up to men like Axl Wardyen to bring the Wrath of the Emperor to them. He had done the work of the golden throne for over 80 years and yet still didn’t look a day over 27 thanks to the constant rejuvanat sessions with Imperial doctors when he had the time as keeping himself. But even the medical procedures couldn’t hide the fact that he looked every single one of his 115 years. Valens was dead. His personal confidant and tracker for over 40 years, a brick house of a man who had grown up on a deathworld and served on a merc ship where Wardyen had found him<c>
lucient_the_black: when the ship had come under attack by a malicious death cult and the inquisitors team had wandered onto a floating charnel house with only Valens left alife, after purging the ship, Wardyen quickly took him on. And now he was dead, killed by a man who did not understand the breadth or dangers of the powers they had attempted to grasp in the name of right and good, but it always fell apart. Inquisitor Vokshna…He had been of the Hereticus Ordos, he had thought he had found a way to use the vast information of the heretics against them. He had been wrong, and now, here on this god forsaken world in this swamp he was dead. The rain came down in thick sheets, rolling from the hide of the heavy storm coat that was drapped across his shoulders, his breath was ragged and he was gouged<c>
lucient_the_black: and burnt, cut and broken. His leather books were thick with muck and grime and he stood on the small sandbar in the midst of the pitch black night gazing down at the dead inquisitor his silver rosette dangling from a thick leather cord clenched tight in his fist. Rainwater spilling off the engraved surface as he spit into the muddy waters. “the emperors will be done” 15 years…15 long years but he still had some things to take care of. His long blonde hair spilled over his shoulders and he turned wincing as he turned his green eyes to the wounded one at his feet under the gun of one of his militia guard that travelled with him.

lucient_the_black: ( does that work? )
forgotten_empathy: ((Perfectly. ^^ ))
lucient_the_black: ( he is a very potent psychic )
lucient_the_black: ( as well )
forgotten_empathy: Her jaw was broken. She knew that. There was a sharp pain in her lungs, where a pair of las-rounds had punched through her ribs. Her skeletal frame was more resilient than any humans, and despite her slender build she was stronger than most. Even with combat augments, she was a match for most. She had been Inquisitor Voshkna's personal guard. Her blade hummed, twitching against the ceramite armor from one of the heavy storm troopers, where she had lodged it through his chest and spinal column only a few short minutes before. Her heavy thrice-blessed silver white custom bolt pistol lay smattered with blood and mud and sand, with her left hand still wrapped around the hilt. The stump of her wrist was held in tight against her stomach, clenched in her other hand. <c>
forgotten_empathy: Her vivid eyes, rings of silver set against black, were cooling from the vivid red of her blood-lust. The girl was almost a feral thing, wearing fitted chainmail armor with chitinous plates of armor overset it, all fitted to little more than a modified bodyglove. Like a fox, or wolf, she shared qualities of both. Her fur was silk soft, a deep epony black with red markings. She coughed, spitting out a sludge of broken teeth and blood, as she looked up to him, fully expecting him to simply have her killed. Her master was dead. Her world was dead. She had no kin, or family. She was only a weapon. He... This man, This Inquisitor of the Emperor's Divine Will... he had slain her master, and broken her. <c>
forgotten_empathy: It was by his hand, that her jaw was broken, along with her arm, and several other bones throughout her war-hardened body. "My Death awaits your command, Master. Inquisitor. " She said, her voice an eerily soft, haunting sound in the silence after the fierce final fight. She had long since accepted her own demise. <d>
lucient_the_black: ( invis )
lucient_the_black has signed out. (31/01/2011 2:55 AM)

lucient_the_black: ( can I cut her out of her armor He had hardly heard her for now. His face set in a look of grim determination that had fallen now to the utter lack of anything good that had come of this….the rain roared in his ears and he turned his gaze to her finally, that cold gaze. She was wounded quite thoroughly, though he had expected nothing less of a cohort of an Inquisitor as they surrounded them with nothing but the best. He had heard of her ilk, a long lost branch of humanity that had seen some changes in that they bore only similar traits, but Inquisitor Wardyen was not the hardline traditionalist that most. A crackling powersword, smithed by the forges of mars still held tight in his left hand the field yet deactivated as though contemplating whether or not he should just cut her down<c>
lucient_the_black: with a single stroke and be done with her. “your Master is dead….” he said and thought back to what he knew of this race…”hmmm” it would be the last thing she would ever hear him say before a swift lasrifle stock to the back of her skull would have left her quite unconscious, he wanted off this planet, and he turned listening to the roar of an approaching thunderhawk. He would deal with her once they were aboard his transport, Wardyen being one of the few Inquisitors who actually had access to his own vessel. An Imperial Praetorian captained by a friend of nearly 60 yearrs, and it was there upon the Emperors Spear in its pristine white medical bay that she would have woken up, of course she would have had a thick swathe of bandages around her chest where her wounds have been bound, her<c>
lucient_the_black: jaw was reset but her missing teeth were not replaced yet although it would have been easy enough, her hand was also not back although it was cauterized and in the first stages of being prepped for a replacement. Her wake wouldn’t have been pleasant, as though a sharp knife had been twisted in her skull and there was Inquisitor Wardyen gazing at her. He was dressed more plainly now, a heavy pair of leather boots, cleaned now and black pants, the storm coat was gone but a button up tunic of dark blue replaced it. He seemed very ordinary, his long blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. Though his power was not in display, it was in action, and his incredible mind, a talented psyker he had put his skills to keen use. He had denied her painkillers for the past few hours he wanted her sharp<c
lucient_the_black: for this interview "good your awake..." he said now quietly as he moved to rest one leg over the other, seated in a chair beside the bed, he was close enough tograb, however that probably would have been a bad idea and having faced him once already on the field of combat she would have known it. "I am inquisitor Wardyen..and you are a prisoner of the Inquisiion..."
forgotten_empathy: The heavy stab light set above her fractured, as she woke. In a start, she sat up, despite her injuries. A row of Medical cabinets shattered, glass crumpling in to the shelves. There was a pulse of violent psy force, as her eyes snapped open. In that moment, she froze. The heavy-handed pulse of telekinetic force died with it, like a candle flame snuffed out. Her muzzle tightened, her delicate brows furrowing as pain lanced through her. Shortly following the pain, came nausea... It was almost enough to make her throw up, despite her years of hard training. Her hair was in disarray, the same inky black of eternal night, frosted into a bloody red at the edges. She was stunningly beautiful, as much as she was dangerous. <c>
forgotten_empathy: A silver pendant, with a sliver of wraithbone hanging at her neck, smoked. "I am Given to Death... you... you would exume a corpse, before bringing me here. Why did you spare me, Inquisitor? " She paused, her tongue brushing the missing teeth at the side of her delicate muzzle. Her left canine was one of the teeth he had knocked out with a particularly hard blow. Her right hand lifted, clenching once into a fist, as she resheathed her vicious claws and lifted her trembling fingers to brush her lip, then the stump of her left hand. "My master is dead. I should have been buried with him, or burned with him. He long since explained my place in the Imperium of man." She whispered now, her voice bordering on awe, but lingering to disgust. <c>
forgotten_empathy: Self loathing, for the terrible things she had been ordered to do, under her pact with her late master. "Yet for all that... I live. Tell me, Inquisitor... do you know what that entails? What that means, for one such as myself? I have no clan. You killed my master. That makes me your property. Your weapon. Or your body. My life is only by your word, Inquisitor. "  <d>
lucient_the_black: Wardyen had not even flinched at the others display of power. He listened to her talk now and then turned looking to the rows of ruined medical equipment as though disinterested in the fact that she had offered him his life "I would suggest you not do that again" he said with a murmmer as he frowned at the damage done and then turned his attention back to her standing beside the bed. "whatever you were told by that man you called Master was a lie spun with the threads of chaos, I would not think any harder on it then you have already, your purpose was twisted and your place a lie." he watched her now in silence for a moment with those green eyes "Your life, as my life belongs to the Emperor above all else...." He said and then turned moving to wander around the otherside of the bed "you<c>
lucient_the_black: "were unconcious for five days...I had time to do some research in that time..." he said as he looked down at her "Schaiir Canidis...rare breed indeed arent you? I know of your life debts...and trust me when I say it is that alone that has saved you..you were blind and led on by false purpose...but now I am here to give you a choice. Serve the Golden throne, pledge yourself to the cause of the Imperium of your will, blood yourself to me if you must...but serve the Emperor or receive his wrath" he would have been quite content to pull the ornate black and gold bolt pistol from its place at his back and blow her head off if she refused. After all she would have been nothing to him then, but another heretic. She had use though, talents he could not deny, and she had been twisted<c>
lucient_the_black: not of her own design but those of a selfish man. He would see if that could be changed. Of course she would have to be further tested, scoured, and knit back together, she was hardly together right now, rough stiching and bandages all that were holding her in one piece. a leather gloved hand reached out and touched at her still wounded muzzle now as though admiring the blow he had landed in their earlier fight. It had been quite aclean hit but she had been a hard challenge many of his own aches today caused by here.<e>
lucient_the_black: her^
lucient_the_black: ( sorry clarifying point, he would be ordo hereticus )
Last message received on 31/01 at 3:47 AM
forgotten_empathy: Her remaining hand rose up, brushing her pendant, as she watched him. Her ears shifted, following the sound of his footfalls and movements, and the sound of his voice. For her entire life, she had trained to do work for the throne. It was her clan's purpose. It had been her purpose for sixty years. Rejuvenant procedures were hardly necessary, since her kind aged incredibly slowly. She looked barely twenty, her body supple and lithe, but athletically muscled body. Her ears tipped back, and she tucked her head down slightly. "I serve the Throne, till I no longer draw breath. If by my death, I can serve the throne, or the ordos, or you, You have only to voice it. Though... You killed him. You spared me. Golden throne or not, you are my Master. " <c>
forgotten_empathy:  She meant it, every single word. It was the way of her kind. The way of her life. It was how she had been twisted, used before... but that didn't change what she was. Her kind had been killed, used, broken. The few that remained were prized, or had turned feral and wild. Even so, living, trained Shaiir Canidis were incredibly rare. More so, since she had been captured with her sword as well. Semi-sentient clan weapons of immense power. She was also a psyker, if not quite so trained as some. Still, in raw power she excelled. It was little wonder that her previous master had kept her around. And now, she had changed hands. A weapon, taken from one and used by another. She flinched slightly, for the first time, as he reached out to touch her jaw. <c>
forgotten_empathy: Her teeth had been perfect... able to crack even Astartes power armor. He had broken those, when he had broken her. After losing her left hand, and her sword, she had retaliated with her teeth and claws. Her remaining hand was bandaged, splinted to help repair the broken bones. But she didn't fear him. Even now, there was no fear. Just a hard resilience. She was a weapon. As long as she had her honour, she was alive. Without her honor, she was better off dead. <e>



"In the name of the Emperor, and for the glory of the Golden Throne..." the softly intoned words were breathed like a lover's caress, over the raised barrel of the heavy, white silver bolt pistol. She had her eyes closed, as the words rang through. Soft, but righteous and as hard as any ceremite armor. There was a buzz in her personal vox bead, in her ear, and she sent back a pulse of psychic energy that made it click in turn, acknowledging the order. One foot, clad in a knee-high, fitted heavy armored but lightweight boot rose, then slammed into the hardwood door near it's bolt. With all the force of a weapon servitor, she smashed the door open. Wood splintered, as the heavy door came off it's hinges. She carried the ornate, blessed bolt pistol in one hand... and a clan-bound Powersword in the other. As the door rained down to the ground in it's ruin, she was already inside. As the door fell, her weight bore it down faster as she ran up the line of the falling obstacle. In her hand, the bolt pistol roared it's fury, spitting high velocity death in the emperor's name. Two cultists went down, spattering the walls and floors with liquefied gore from their wounds. Her sword hummed to power, and even as the relic's energized plasma cutting edge flared to life in that faint, glimmering lightning blue-white, it was hissing through a man who had been standing inside the door. Without pausing, she cut him in twain, under one arm, and up through the opposite shoulder. He didn't even scream. The screams that followed were from the other seven cultists. Fire flared out at her, from one brave, deluded soul that bore a hand flamer. Bullets followed, and even a pair of las-rounds. They hit an invisible curve of air that followed the strange and terrible female. Burning promethium sent up black soot and smoke, belching fire across that shimmering bubble of force. It rippled past her as her boots hit the ground, and she fired her bolt pistol once again.

Time seemed to stand still, as her rounds tore holes in the flame, and then through the men who thought it might shield them. "Enemies of the Emperor shall be Delivered into dust. Spirits sundered, bodies burned by the fury of the Master of Mankind, may he forever rule in his righteous wisdom!" She roared, over the flaring, concussive shots from her pistol. Her sword flickered up, arcing in a trace of blue against the fire. She threw it, and it spun, cutting an arm free from one enemy, and severing the shoulders and upper torso of another. Her hand snapped out, clawed fingers rigid as she froze her one hand, while her bolt pistol barked in the other. The sword stopped in mid air. Even as the flames began to flicker and die, the cultist who had issued them pausing in disbelief, her sword slammed back, scything low. Ankles, braced by heavy carapace armor, sheeted out blood as they were severed... she dropped three more. The sword, a puppet to the motions of her free hand, flickered and danced in the dimly lit room, as she spent the remaining shells from her pistol. Slowly, inexorably, she crossed to the back corner of the room. The entire fight had taken a matter of twenty three seconds, from start to end. She had given no quarter, and only the Emperor's Mercy. The last of the bodies shuddered and collapsed, falling into wet pieces to the floor to join the other dead. Her sword trailed through the air, the tip carving a smoking line in the blood as it dragged against the ground, returning to her grip. Her fingers curled around it, and gave it a single deft flick. Blood and bits of bone and wet, smoking gore cleared from the blade splattering the wall. She let the power falter, and the glowing edge vanished from the razor honed blade. She returned it to it's sheath, before reverently removing the clip from her pistol. She tucked the empty clip into one of the small pockets at one hip, and replaced it with a fresh clip. "May you roar again, your promise of death to the foes of the Imperium." She whispered, her voice harsh in the sudden silence, after the flurry of death and fury. Her vox bead chimed, and her eyes narrowed. "Yes sir. Right away, Master." She said succinctly, before turning and walking back out the way she had come... through that shattered door.