Void Templar
21-03-2009, 22:27
Many of you who've RP'ed with me will have heard mention of a genocidal f*cknut of an emperor named Torqueamada and his Crusade of Cleansing against the xenos of the galaxy. Well, I've finally put some thought into it, and want to make an RP out of it. Basically, it would be me vs anyone who's interested (While this sounds unfair, I'll be RP'ing as the previous Templarian empire, which is about double, maybe triple the size of this one and even more militaristic) as Torqueamada goes on his little rampage across the universe. If you are interested, keep in mind this is set 200 years in the past from whatever year you're nation is in now, so you'll probably have a different leader at least. Heres an extract from the IC:
The torrent of fire ripped through the Farseer’s hull, tearing into her power block and sending the cruiser up in flames, a greeny-white corpse light from the dying ship casting an eerie glow over the battle, interrupted by streaks of red and blue laser fire.
“Farseer down, sir. Remaining fleet stands at an operational efficiency of 20%, and a combat efficiency of 15%. Recommend we withdraw our forces.” The young officer was hunched over a terminal in the command and control room of the VTN Harbinger, staring into the screen wide eyed, sweat beading on his brow, watching the green blips that represented the Loyalist fleet disappear one by one.
“Negative! You will hold!” The man sat in the Command Chair slammed his hand against the armrest. Face scarred and weathered with age and with grey hair arranged in a polite manner, the officer recognised him. Hell, most everyone in the fleet would. Thomas Dragomir, aging master of House Templar, short tempered and an army boy by nature. This was enough to earn him derision from the fleet (The Templarian Navy and the Legion have long had a history of one-upmanship),but he was universally hated for another reason. The bastard child of Templar’s previous master, one Aleksandr Radoslav, and a foreigner, he was despised by the other houses and the Emperor because of his impure bloodline. The fleet, however, hated him because he was an idiot. Using his position as Master of house Templar, he elevated himself from a private in the army to a General. After he lost an entire army against a Kytaf clan rebellion, he was discharged into the navy (the greatest dishonour for a soldier is to be sent to the navy, and vice versa) where he once again elevated himself to an Admiral. He commanded an entire fleet, and he knew how to do it as much as a blind man knows how to read. He blindly felt his way through a few minor battles, but now his fleet was being decimated and blind pride was getting the better of him.
“Sir, please, we can’t take any more of this! We’ve lost the entire damn 2nd group! We need to pull out!” As if to helpfully emphasise his point, the enemy took this chance to fire, volleys from the enemy destroyer’s railguns tearing through the hull, wiping out 3 decks. Thomas glared at the officer, eyes burning with malice and voice dripping with poison.
“What is wrong with you? Where is your honour, man!”
“I lost that with the rest of the fucking ships!”
“Bite your tongue.” The aging admiral jumped onto his feet, his age seemingly not affecting his vigour. “Or I shall cut it off.” He stood above the officer, towering above him thanks to the small well the terminal was in.
“Sir. We’ve lost eight- Make that ninety percent of our fleet. We need to pull back, or we will be killed.” This seemed to cut it with the admiral. His eyes flashed momentarily. He turned around, unsure of himself, and then shouted “Order the retreat! All ships, jump to the rendezvous point at Omera!” Through the view port, Thomas saw the other ships jumping out, sliding into crimson warpholes which opened in front of them. Following a goodbye salvo from the enemy, the Harbinger did too.
"Look at them run!" Torqueamada (http://i188.photobucket.com/albums/z107/Kain1235/Torquemada2.jpg) grinned widely, clapping as the Harbinger slipped away into it's jump gate from the command room of the Crusader, his flagship, a Crusader-class Super Dreadnaught. "They're cowards as well as fools! Follow them, lock onto their ion trails! There is no escape for the enemies of Kal!"
The torrent of fire ripped through the Farseer’s hull, tearing into her power block and sending the cruiser up in flames, a greeny-white corpse light from the dying ship casting an eerie glow over the battle, interrupted by streaks of red and blue laser fire.
“Farseer down, sir. Remaining fleet stands at an operational efficiency of 20%, and a combat efficiency of 15%. Recommend we withdraw our forces.” The young officer was hunched over a terminal in the command and control room of the VTN Harbinger, staring into the screen wide eyed, sweat beading on his brow, watching the green blips that represented the Loyalist fleet disappear one by one.
“Negative! You will hold!” The man sat in the Command Chair slammed his hand against the armrest. Face scarred and weathered with age and with grey hair arranged in a polite manner, the officer recognised him. Hell, most everyone in the fleet would. Thomas Dragomir, aging master of House Templar, short tempered and an army boy by nature. This was enough to earn him derision from the fleet (The Templarian Navy and the Legion have long had a history of one-upmanship),but he was universally hated for another reason. The bastard child of Templar’s previous master, one Aleksandr Radoslav, and a foreigner, he was despised by the other houses and the Emperor because of his impure bloodline. The fleet, however, hated him because he was an idiot. Using his position as Master of house Templar, he elevated himself from a private in the army to a General. After he lost an entire army against a Kytaf clan rebellion, he was discharged into the navy (the greatest dishonour for a soldier is to be sent to the navy, and vice versa) where he once again elevated himself to an Admiral. He commanded an entire fleet, and he knew how to do it as much as a blind man knows how to read. He blindly felt his way through a few minor battles, but now his fleet was being decimated and blind pride was getting the better of him.
“Sir, please, we can’t take any more of this! We’ve lost the entire damn 2nd group! We need to pull out!” As if to helpfully emphasise his point, the enemy took this chance to fire, volleys from the enemy destroyer’s railguns tearing through the hull, wiping out 3 decks. Thomas glared at the officer, eyes burning with malice and voice dripping with poison.
“What is wrong with you? Where is your honour, man!”
“I lost that with the rest of the fucking ships!”
“Bite your tongue.” The aging admiral jumped onto his feet, his age seemingly not affecting his vigour. “Or I shall cut it off.” He stood above the officer, towering above him thanks to the small well the terminal was in.
“Sir. We’ve lost eight- Make that ninety percent of our fleet. We need to pull back, or we will be killed.” This seemed to cut it with the admiral. His eyes flashed momentarily. He turned around, unsure of himself, and then shouted “Order the retreat! All ships, jump to the rendezvous point at Omera!” Through the view port, Thomas saw the other ships jumping out, sliding into crimson warpholes which opened in front of them. Following a goodbye salvo from the enemy, the Harbinger did too.
"Look at them run!" Torqueamada (http://i188.photobucket.com/albums/z107/Kain1235/Torquemada2.jpg) grinned widely, clapping as the Harbinger slipped away into it's jump gate from the command room of the Crusader, his flagship, a Crusader-class Super Dreadnaught. "They're cowards as well as fools! Follow them, lock onto their ion trails! There is no escape for the enemies of Kal!"