Shadows in the Mist [IC]

[Doc Kraken]

Background

The Spinward Front has begun to stall.

Despite the masses of guardsmen deployed to retake the Periphery, Severan Dominate delaying tactics and the sheer bulk of Ghenghiz Grimtoof’s hordes have slowed Imperial gains by an unacceptable level. Although High Command has found fault in a number of surprising places – unexpected redirection of men and equipment to the Margin Crusade being the worst offender – a significant lack of local support has been deemed the most immediately resolved weak link. Consequentially, the Administratum has begun to raise regiments from the workers and PDF of planets still under the Imperium’s control. Some still bear the scars of enemy occupation, others have been relatively untouched, but all are called upon to support the gargantuan war effort.

One such planet is Sisk. Although the population is generally considered sullen and backwards, and has never been subject to such a founding before, Lord Marshal Ghanzorik himself has judged this measure necessary. The system’s proximity to ork-held territory renders it too vulnerable to strip of its fighting men, but a regiment formed from local militia would be able to perform garrison duty and conduct the periodic mutant sweeps that have so far tied down too many of the Imperial Guard’s resources.

And so, as the pomp and ceremony of the 1st Siskian Gatewarden’s regimental founding grinds to a close, the troop carriers of the Imperial Navy enter realspace. The guardsmen they transport generally consider this an easy assignment – although Sisk is a damp and muddy backwater, teaching a few yokels which end of a lasgun to hold onto is a welcome interlude from the bloody warfare that has consumed the rest of the Periphery, and is likely to be all too brief.

What could go wrong?


Regiment

++Thought for the Day: Heresy is a noxious weed. Expunge it root and stem.++

Requested File: “Interesting Places and Tedious People: A Travelogue” – Sekara, stored cogitator 88C-JX-Gamma

Authorization Code: DELTA VIRIDENS

Authorization accepted. Beginning Rite of Retrieval

Data corrupted. Beginning Rite of Recovery.

RITUAL IN PROGRESS.

RITUAL IN PROGRESS.

RITUAL IN PROGRESS.

Data partially recovered. All praise to the Omnissiah.

+characters corrupted+ to distinguish Avragia from any number of the Imperium’s myriad worlds, save for the fact that it is particularly dreary and overcast during its five-month cold season. It has two habitable – if unfortunately windswept - continents and over a dozen frozen archipelagoes, where most of the planet’s contact with the Imperium at large takes place. Whether this is intended to discourage tourism or not is somewhat unclear. Primary imports include specially-patterned fabrics to resist the weather, and primary exports include marine foodstuffs and a uniquely oily blend of recaff. Rumors that fish byproducts are present in the tightly-guarded formula have been repeatedly dismissed by no fewer than five separate planetary governors.

As Avragia is not at the center of any major Warp route, there is no real excuse for the discerning traveler to visit, but if you do manage to find yourself setting foot on its soil, there are one or two diversions to help the time pass more quickly. The Festival of Fins, traditionally held outside the Governor’s Palace and lasting up to three local weeks, is considered +characters corrupted+ the practice of which is not recommended for expectant mothers or those with serious heart conditions.

Finally, no history of the planet would be complete without a mention of its contributions to the heroic ranks of the Imperial Guard. Much has been made of the numerous sacrifices of the much-vaunted +characters corrupted+ often deployed to counter enemy offensives or target key formations. Of particular note are the 210th, 211th, and 212th, each of which were founded early during an outbreak of the Weeping Plague, as the mounting death toll threatened to prevent the planet from committing required tithe of Guardsmen. Although under-strength, these regiments were committed to the early fighting in the Spinward Front during Severus the Thirteenth’s treacherous attempt at secession (see Lord Vendralaxe’s Envy in the Blood – A History of Sedition for a broad overview of the conflict and its causes). All three were deployed to secure the planet Sisk (a further examination of which can be found in forthcoming editions), but due to improper delivery of Munitorum-issued charts, the 211th was accidentally deployed to the iron-fields of Poina 77. By the time the mistake was rectified, the 210th and 212th – now consolidated into the full-strength 213th – had been redeployed to Kalf, where they would vanish into the sand seas during the Blackshard Offensive. The 211th, meanwhile, would be tasked with overseeing the formation of the 1st Siskish Gatewardens and conducting periodic mutant purges, freeing larger regiments from the tedious task of garrison duty. Ironically, they would soon find themselves involved in +characters corrupted+ and Massacre by Walbert Hirgill for an exhaustive view of the relevant events).

Regimental Doctrines and Training: Imperial Homeworld, Sanguine Commander, Hunter-Killer Regiment, Close Order Drill and Scavengers

Standard Kit: Lascarbine with two charge packs, Best quality flak armor, microbeads, magnoculars, one Sentinel Scout Walker or Hellhound Flame Tank per squad (in this case, a Hellhound with a hull-mounted heavy bolter and pintle-mounted heavy stubber), one uniform, one set poor weather gear, one knife, one rucksack or sling bag, one set basic tools, one mess kit and canteen, one blanket and sleep bag, one rechargeable lamp pack, one grooming kit, one set cognomen tags, one Uplifting Primer, and two weeks combat sustenance rations. Favored weapons are the autocannon and meltagun.


Character Sheets


ME KRUNK, OGRYN SNIPUH


Krunk
Ogryn

Stats
BS: 39
WS: 34
Str: 46
Tgh: 51
Agi: 27
Int: 17
Wil: 34
Per: 31
Fel: 29

Starting Wounds: 28
Fate Points: 2

Starting Aptitudes
Ballistic Skill
Weapon Skill
Strength
Toughness
Offence
Defense

Starting Skills:
Common Lore [Imperial Creed]
Common Lore [Imperium]
Linguistics [Low Gothic]
Operate [Surface]
Survival

Starting Talents:
Berserk Charge
Die Hard
Double Team
Hatred [Mutants]
Iron Jaw
Resistance [Fear]
Weapon Training (Heavy SP)

Starting Traits:
Autostabilized
Blessed Ignorance
But It Dark In Dere
Clumsy
Size [Hulking]
Sturdy
Unnatural Strength [2]
Unnatural Toughness [2]

Equipment:
Ripper Gun
3 Frag Grenades



Krunk is from an Ogryn homeworld in a neighboring sector. He was taken by the Imperial Guard at a young age due to his aptitude with the crude firearms of the Ogryn. After a bit of training, he turned out to be a pretty good shot with stubbers and autocannons. Deployed to the sector with the other Ogryn, the unit was worn down over time until the few remaining Ogryn were left scattered and attached to individual platoons. Krunk was befriended by a fellow named Piotr, from a backwater island, and stuck with the squad even after he was supposed to be moved elsewhere. The commanding officers eventually gave up trying to persuade Krunk to leave, so now he supports the squad with mobile heavy firepower and a mean punch.



Ok just need my name.


Emile Luxor

Stats
BS: 39
WS: 36
Str: 27
Tgh: 31
Agi: 24
Int: 27
Wil: 36
Per: 30
Fel: 42 (+5 starting)

Starting Wounds: 12
Fate Points: 1

Starting Aptitudes
Defense
Fellowship
Leadership
Perception
Strength
Toughness
Weapon Skill

Starting Skills:
Command +10
Scholastic Lore (Tactica Imperialis)
Parry
Common Lore (Imperial Creed)
Common Lore (Imperium)
Linguistics (Low Gothic)
-5 on Forbidden Lore Tests
Operate (Surface)

Starting Talents:
Resistance (Fear)
Iron Discipline
Weapon Training (Chain, Las or Solid Projectile, Low-Tech)
Hatred (Mutants)
Die Hard
Double Team

Orders:
Get Them!


Specialist Equipment:
Comm Craftsmanship (las pistol)
Common Craftmanship (Chainsword)

Demeanor: Joker

100 exp left over

COMRADE
Bane the Guardsman with a death wish

BACKGROUND

Growing up on Avragia, Emile Luxor, was never one to shy away from anyone or anything. Emile constantly jokes around having fun. This caused him to make many friends, but if you were not his friend, look out. He was never afraid to finish disputes with his fists, even if his opponent greatly outsized him. Many of these fights were started by him protecting his friends, and that cost him dearly. He eventually picked too many fights with too many people and was kicked out of school leaving him with limited paths to take.
Many suggested, or more so forces, Emile to join the guard. His ferocity when in a fight but his dedication to those around him caused him to quickly rise to the position of sergeant. Emile chooses not to lead by barking orders, but more by leading the troops into battle. He prefers hand to hand combat with his beautiful chain sword Barbarella. Once the enemy gets within charging distance you can fully expect Emile to jump the trenches and bring the fight to their enemy.






shahai bloodstorm

Stats
demeanor:cook
BS: 26
WS: 30
Str: 33
Tgh: 35
Agi: 37
Int: 23
Wil: 49 (+5 class bonus)(+5 advance)
Per: 40
Fel: 35

Starting Wounds: 12
Fate Points: 1

Starting Aptitudes
Intelligence
Knowledge
Perception
Psyker
Strength
Willpower
Starting Skills:
Common Lore (Adaptus Astra Telepathica)
Forbidden Lore (Psykers)
Psyniscience +10
Scholastic Lore (cryptology)
Starting Talents:
Heightened Senses (Hearing)
Weapons Training (las)
Weapon Training (Low Tech)
Specialist Equipment:
Data Slate
Psy focus
Best craftmenship Staff
Psy rating:2
psy powers
spontaneous combustion 200 exp
smite 200 exp
exp spendage
willpower advancement 100 exp
psynscience +10 200 exp
corruption: [roll0]
comrade: samara
demeanor: reckless (ooh my)
coming from an imperial planet, he was found to have connections to the warp and trained a monitored for a long time now. he is a friendly psyker who has a reckless comrade. it seems samara is the one who loses control before her psyker does.


Character Sheet Quick and Dirty:

A prettier version of the below will go in my page 1 post later this week:

Medic Rosa Braune

Cocky Demeanor

Stats:
WS: 31
BS: 38
S: 29
T: 30
Ag: 30
Int: 47 (Simple Adv)
Per: 34 (Simple Adv)
Wp: 30
Fel:31

Skills:
Common Lore (Imperial Creed)
Common Lore (Imperium)
Linguistics (Low Gothic)
Operate (Surface)
Medicae (+10)
Scholastic Lore (Beasts)
Scholastic Lore (Chymistry)
Survival
Trade (Chymist)


Talents:
Hatred (Mutants)
Die Hard
Resistance (Fear)
Combat formation
Jaded
Weapon Training (Las)

Gear:
Basic regimental kit, plus:
Diagnostor
Injector
Medikit

XP Expenditures:
Simple Per 100
Simple Int 100
Medicae +10 200
Scholastic Lore (Beasts) 100
Survival 100

Edit: had taken Trade (Cook), but don't want to step on Tice's toes, so swapped out for Scholastic Lore (Beasts). Im thinking she was on the path to be a vet before the guard snapped her up.


Completely forgot about my comrade, and their demeanor. Oops! [roll0]. Let's call him Jaron. He's oblivious. Great for a medic's aide.
Rosa's basic Background
On Avragia, Rosa was born in a small fishing community. Hoping to get out of her dead-end town, she dreamed of becoming a surgeon in the big city (or at least what passed for such on Avragia). Unfortunately, money was tight, and the local schola of poor quality. As a result, she ended up studying at Avragia's sole academy of veterinary medicine. Surrounded by students of aquaculture and grox science, she felt superior, and acted like it, much to her classmates' chagrin.

When the regiment was founding, she stepped into a recruiting office on a whim. By the wisdom of the Departmento Munitorum, stitching up a grox wasn't too different than stitching up a guardsman, and wasted no time sending her off for advanced medical training. She was thrilled to have finally made it. Even service on the front hasn't diminished her spirits. A few particularly inspired (or lucky) saves have kept her confidence high.






Okay, sheet sans equipment and Comrade's backstory. The PC backstory's a thirty-second mock-up - I'll flesh it out better later, but those are the basics.

Edited sheet in to first post.

Name: Solar ‘Smokey’ Godwinne
Gender: Male
Age: 31
Demeanour: Talkative/Addict

Wounds: 7/7
Fate: 1/1

Stats:

WS: 20+9 = 27
BS: 26+7 = 33
S: 17+7 = 24
T: 20+10 = 30
Ag: 25+12+5* = 42
Per: 20+13 = 33
Int: 20+7 = 27
WP: 23+12 = 35
Fel: 20+17 = 37

Traits:
Blessed Ignorance: -5 to all Forbidden Lore tests.
Kill the Mutant: Hatred (Mutants)

Aptitudes:
Agility
Ballistic Skill
Fellowship
Intelligence

Fieldcraft
Tech

Skills:
Common Lore (Imperial Creed) (Int)
Common Lore (Imperium) (Int)
Linguistics (Low Gothic) (Int)
Operate (Surface) +10 (Ag)
Common Lore (Tech) (Int)
Tech-Use (Int)
Navigate (Surface) (Int)

Talents:
Hatred (Mutants)
Die Hard
Resistance (Fear)
Double Team
Technical Knock
Weapon Training (Las, Low-Tech)

Equipment:
Auspex/Scanner
Common MIU
Combi-tool
Data Slate
Lascutter

Experience: 600/600
O: Gunner (250xp)
A: Simple Ag (250xp)
S: Navigate (Surface) (100xp)

Background:
Smokey started his professional career as a chauffeur to some of the local nobility on Agravia. His reasons for joining were many and varied; exemption from the Tithes, good food, free clothes and exemption from the Tithes rating amongst the most prominent. It was a good job, really, light work, good pay and plenty of opportunities to sneak the autogyro out to the races at night.

Of course, that all ended with the sudden rescinding of his immunity to the Tithe. The noble was very apologetic as he was being led away by the Guard’s ‘recruitment officers’ – and very clear that it was in no way anyone’s fault.

Yeah. Right. In hind sight, it was probably a bad idea to have been sneaking around with the Noble’s daughter.

Comrade:
Faydra ‘Sparks’ Regium
Demeanour: Smooth

[To Be Completed]





Space may be expanded...

[Doc Kraken]

From above, Sisk resembles little more than a blue-brown ball of mud, its dark surface dotted with thick white clouds and no fewer than five massive void-stations circling the planet and its small moon. Briefing and regimental rumor confirm the general impression – it’s a swampy backwater, not horrible but unpleasant enough for the members of the Governor’s court to spend their days in orbit. But as Lieutenant Orvel informed you in Briefing Amphitheater Tertius, that would be a luxury denied to the Avragians. The regiment’s unfortunate redeployment and lack of numbers means that as of now, you’ll be assigned to garrison and training duty. This is to be Sisk’s first regimental founding, and it is hoped that the Redeemer’s skill at search-and-destroy operations can be passed on to the new Guardsmen – after the official inspection of the 1st Gatewardens, of course.

“We’ll also be participating in mutant sweeps.” The Lieutenant continued with a smirk. “They’ve got a nasty little strain here. More joints than they know what to do with, along with a taste for human flesh.” His gaze swept the back of the room, making sure he had everyone’s attention. “They break easily, though, and the Emperor has not seen fit to grace this world with much more than a few old hunting firearms. Stay alert and they shouldn’t be a threat.”

Now, the Avragians stand in parade formation, drawn up outside the city of Ghenadar after emerging from fat-bellied troop landers. It’s an odd sight – stone walls and wooden hab buildings share space with lumbering servitors and gleaming metal constructions. The city is swarming with tech-priests, the followers of the Machine God busily recreating it into a suitable staging ground. Its outer walls are reinforced with solid steel, and a massive communications tower rises near the outer limits. From here, the guardsmen quartered in temporary habs in the nearby fields will be able to keep open vox and holo-channels across half the planet.

As members of fourth platoon, first company, you have an excellent view of the city. Your fellow Redeemers stand in full dress uniforms beside you, Hellhounds and Sentinels idling in neat rows. It’s clear that this many heavily-armed vehicles have impressed the locals – from the number of Siskish citizens pointing and waving from the walls, not many have ever seen anything larger than heavy farming equipment. Colonel Resk’s command Hellhound looks particularly imposing, although the humid climate has caused him to frequently mop his brow with a sleeve. In contrast, the handful of Commissars standing next to the vehicle might as well be made of stone.

Despite the solemn occasion, there is as yet no sign of the Siskish troopers. A swiftly-muttered report has made its way through the ranks – there was some organizational trouble, and they’re likely to be a few minutes behind schedule. Though the officers occasionally issue a stern glare or snapped order for silence, illicit – if quiet – conversation has begun to run through the regiment…

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk fidgets, uncomfortable in his poorly-tailored uniform.

[MUCKSTER]

"Don't worry Krunk, You'll be out of those soon enough."

[tice8769]

" don't worry krunk, ill make sure you get a big meal tonight if you kill many"

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"C'mon, c'mon," he mutters under his breath. This is taking way too long.

Smokey fidgets with his lighter for a few moments - only the proximity of the highly flamable promethium in the Imminent Explosion's tanks stopping him from sparking it on and off. Catching his eye, his gunner, Sparks, gives him a broad wink - clearly she's spotted his discomfort, and quite probably shares it to judge by the sheen of sweat on her brow. Standing in the open in the muggy heat is no-one's idea of fun.

"Seriously, where are these guys?" he hisses to the others. "Did they get lost in their own damn city or something?"

[Nightgaun7]

"KRUNK NO LIKE THIS."

[Monivey]

"But Krunk, you look nice in your blues. Almost as nice as me."

Well, she had looked nice. Now she'd practically sweat through her jacket.

[Doc Kraken]

"Quiet in the ranks," Lieutenant Orvel snaps, keeping his eyes fixed firmly ahead. It's partly a sign of discipline, but if he doesn't turn he doesn't have to see who's talking. Evidently, the wait is getting to him as well.

A trooper from seventh squad tips his helmet back, the better to wipe sweat out of his eyes. "You think they're coming?" He hisses toward no one in particular. "I mean, what if they just up and left? I hear they're all half-savages out here, maybe they just lit out for the hills with all their nice new gear."

"Yeah? Well, I hear they're all backwoods hicks that can't tell an auspex from a vid-relay." Grumbles a stockier guardsman next to him. "Probably think we're here straight from Holy Terra. They'll be here."

"Yeah, but what if we're not?" The first trooper asks, fidgeting with his lasgun. "Whaddaya think we'll do then?"

[Aneurin]

Smokey

He rolls his eyes.

"They probably got sent to the wrong continent by that clot who had us deployed to Poina by mistake. If they're lucky," he says, in a creditable attempt to speak without actually moving his lips. It's not common knowledge that the deployment to Poina 77 was accidental - or, at least, it's not supposed to be common knowledge - but word is spreading through the regiment that their time spent in an industrailised hellscape was entirely pointless.

For some reason, those who've heard this particular rumour are not the most ardent supporters of the Munitorum at the moment.

[Nightgaun7]

"SUMFIN FUNNY GOIN ON. SMELLS BAD."

[Doc Kraken]

"I said stow it! The next person to speak is - " Whatever the Lieutenant is about to say is cut off in a rumbling crash as the gates of Ghenadar swing open, and the first ranks of the Gatewardens begin their procession toward you.

From a distance, they make quite a sight; cameleoline cloaks swept over their shoulders, taking on the deep green of their new uniforms. Their marching is a bit sloppy, but nothing a few extra drills can't take care of. First impressions, however, fade away as they begin to close. Their flak vests, while new, are scuffed and poorly cared for; the uniforms are wrinkled and hastily buttoned; and their weapons appear to be an old design - laslocks rather than the more standard lasguns. Many glimmer brightly in the pale sunlight, and a murmur of shock runs through the Redeemers as it becomes apparent that they incorporate bones into the stock.

The Gatewardens halt a couple yards away from your lines, standing at an approximation of attention as Colonel Resk dismounts, mouth pursed disapprovingly. You can't see the faces of his attendant Commissars from where you stand, but their stiff movements as they move to accompany him tell the whole story. Two of them are slated for transfer to the new regiment - evidently, they'll have a great deal of work to do.

The Colonel approaches his opposite number, a veritable giant of a man whose face is covered in a patchwork of deep scars. A few quiet words are exchanged before they shake hands, and Resk touches the collar of his uniform, activating a tiny vox-amplifier.

"The induction of any regiment into the hallowed ranks of the Imperial Guard is a solemn and momentous occasion," he begins. "Doubly so for a planet's first founding. It is with great honor that I - "

He is cut off as the closest Commissar tugs on his arm, pointing toward one of the Siskish troopers. He's turned so that you can see his face; it's Commissar Vednov, usually regarded as firm but reasonable. His normally genial expression is a mask of shock and anger. Immediately, Resk deactivates the amplifier as Vednov and two of his comrades stride toward the new guardsman. Despite the gesticulations and urging of the Siskish Colonel, the men to his right and left have stepped back, leaving a clear area around the luckless trooper and clearly indicating how he attracted the Commissar's attention. The man has a curious bend in his arms, just below the wrist, and they twist oddly as he raises his hand in a shaky salute - extra joints. Vednov snaps an order and the other Commissars seize the man by his arms, pulling him out of line. As the Gatewarden's Colonel protests and the other Commissars begin to stalk among his troops, Colonel Resk reactivates his vox-amplifier, his expression grim.

"This ceremony is indefinitely suspended. All Siskish personnel will remain where they are at the pleasure of the Commissariat. The 211th is to report to the hab-compound until further notice!"

"Frak me," the trooper from seventh whispers as Lieutenant Orvel scrambles to re-mount his command Sentinel. "What just happened?"

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk tries to look small. He is not notably successful.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Damned if I know," Smokey calls back as he and Sparks scramble for their seats in the Imminent Explosion. From their vantage point in the lee of the Hellhound, they'd struggled to see exactly what the issue with the unfortunate trooper was - but it definitely wasn't anything good. Commissars never single someone out for something good, and when they're upset they like to spread it around with a big shovel.

Vednov looked really upset.

"Hey, Sparks? You want to stand ready with the Toaster up there?" he asks, as his Mind Impulse Unit connects itself - Emperor's toenails, but it feels strange having a tank link with your brain - and he completes the Rite of Ignition.

"Hey, Smokey?" she calls back down, mimicking his tone. "You want to sit ready and get this thing started up?"

The engine coughs and grumbles its way into life, filling the air with a deep-throated roar and the stink of exhaust fumes. Sparks wiggles the turret experimentally, just to check everything still works, while Smokey revs the engine and waits for their turn to file in to the Hab.

He keeps a wary eye on the rest of the squad, and an ear on the vox - how are they reacting to what just happened?

[MUCKSTER]

After seeing the abomination dragged off Emile turns around to see his operator mounting up his hellhound, "Smokey don't leave without me! This looks like a good opportunity for a grand exit." He yells as he scrambles to the top of the tank, pulls out Barbarella and poses heroically. "Ok now you can drive!"

[Monivey]

While Rosa had initially been frowning at the sight of the Siskans, her dismay was briefly forgotten in the flurry of excitement when the mutant was spotted.

"Holy Throne! That looked like a case of articularum surplex, though it's hard to tell from here. That mutant scum deserves whatever's coming to him. I promise you it won't be good."

Somebody had to mess up real bad, to let a thing like that slip through. Or someone let it happen. Either way, it probably means more work for her.

[Doc Kraken]

"Keep it moving," Orvel's voice crackles over your micro-beads as his Sentinel begins to stomp towards the head of your platoon. "Show's over, ladies, you heard the man!"

His order is punctuated by the distinct report of a bolt pistol somewhere in the milling crowd of Gatewardens. The line begins to move rather more quickly after that.

The trip to the compound isn't far, although the damp ground makes for slow going. Compared to the city itself, it's an ugly, almost slapdash sprawl of buildings, raw wood and metal habs rearing up behind a palisade fashioned from massive logs. It is, however, large - easily roomy enough to accommodate two entire regiments, even if one was not as reduced in number as the 211th. Besides quarters, there's also a fortified building easily identifiable as a supply depot and administrative office, a wide road ending in a low-slung makeshift garage, and a small cluster of more permanent looking buildings. A creaking wooden sign above the largest bears a well-painted tankard in the grasp of a snaggletoothed, rotund grox; another bears a discreet sign in Low Gothic proclaiming it to be the Officer's Club, while the smallest is surrounded by a forest of tarps and tables, indicating it as the mess hall. The camp looks almost empty, save for your regiment and a dozen or so reptile-drawn wagons drawn up by the depot, their beds piled high with boxes. Once again, Orvel's voice breaks in through the background noise.

"All right, listen up! I don't know any more than you do, but I'll be damned if we can't show the locals how the Guard runs! I want a dozen volunteers to help the quartermaster's servitors with supplies. The rest of you get your gear stowed in the barracks and your vehicles to the motor pool, then stay out of trouble. The Colonel's voxed in, Vednov's finishing up with the Gatewardens now and we'll be running assessment training in three hours. You'll find your squad's assigned quarters posted in front of the depot and at the mess."

[Nightgaun7]

"KRUNK MOVE DE BOXES"

[MUCKSTER]

Seeing Krunk jump to action, well jump as much as he can, Emile quickly went to one of the larger boxes and attempted to lift it. Failing miserably to get it anywhere he quickly jumped to one of the smaller boxes and got it moving. "Hey Krunk why don't you grab that one. Its a little to awkwardly shaped for me," Emile nods to the box he just failed at moving.

[Monivey]

Jaron was wandering off, following Krunk. Damn fool was gonna get himself a whole lot of work for nothing. Her hands were for saving lives, not heavy lifting.

"I don't think you want to do that..."

Assessment training. That sounded miserable. She wanted to scrounge up an iced recaf before then. Though, now that she thought about it, sitting down with a cold beverage and watching the Ogryn lift things was probably the best she'd find for entertainment around here.

"Never mind, I'll be along in a minute."

She made a beeline for the mess, hoping to beat the rush.

[tice8769]

As soon as they were told to go to the mess to find out his room number. He was hoping to get ready and prepared for the drill as soon as possible, to make their unit look promising. He was going to pick up a coffee before going to deposit his stuff.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"See you in the barracks, I guess," Smokey says as the others head off, leaving him to park.

Amusingly enough, Smokey's piloting of the Imminent Explosion in to the Motor Pool is quite mechanical - though it's hardly surprising, given how many time's he's drilled doing it. The only thing distinguising this from all the others is that the Pool is located in a slightly different location than the one in basic.

"Y'know what'd make this job a little better?" Smokey says aloud, hopping down from the hatch and turning to offer Sparks a hand.

"Better seats?" Sparks says, ignoring the proferred hand. She stretches out and rubs her backside as she begins to walk away from the Hellhound. "Better driver?"

"Funny you are not," he snorts as he fishes out a diagnosticor kit and throws it Sparks' way. She catches it deftly. "Check the treads, and I'll do the tanks," Smokey adds, fiddling with his Auspex for a few moments.

"Oh, and what would make this job better is if people didn't climb on my tank," he says, scowling at the bootprints Emile left up the side of the armour. Bootprints that would need cleaning off.

Doing a few routine checks, nothing major. Just the sort of stuff you do when you spend a lot of time in any vehicle with the Highly Volatile quality - making sure it's not leaking, or anything.

Don't know if I need to make any rolls?

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

(OOC: That's routine enough that no rolls are needed).

Despite the name, the Imminent Explosion seems quite intact. Smokey and Sparks spend a few busy minutes doing routine checkups and wiping away muddy bootprints, and soon enough the Hellhound is once again in perfect condition.

...perfect, that is, until a red-robed figure lurches into a shelf as he scurries from the back of the garage, knocking a can of oil down the vehicle's side. Sparks groans in dismay as shouts of outrage follow the newcomer's flight.

"Gears and grease, Transmechanic, you will transport yourself in a more efficient fashion henceforth! Your behavior is far from conducive to tranquil operations already, I'll not have the disorder that follows in your wake interfering with these Guardsmen!"

The Transmechanic bows frantically in the direction of the door he burst from, hood falling back as he does so to expose a messy tangle of wires and circuitry where an unenlightened man would have hair. "Yes, Artisan Skylos. I apologize most profusely. May the Omnissiah's grace forfend further negligence."

Another member of the Mechanicus squeezes his way in between the vehicles, glaring down at the Transmechanic with a pair of whirring augmetic eyes. He's almost too large to fit between the vehicles, although whether this is due to an unseemly excess of nutrient intake or mere augmentation is a mystery concealed within his voluminous robes. "Yes...the Omnissiah might be the only being capable of such a grand act, I fear." With that, he turns on his heel and stalks off, hidden servos whirring. The Transmechanic turns to Smokey with an apologetic smile, his lower lip quivering in a manner not normally associated with the Machine Cult.

"I'm so sorry for the trouble. It's...we're so busy, and there aren't enough Enginseers but Artisan Skylos says there's more than enough of us working on the Tower, so I'm down here now and the mysteries of the engines, they're just so..."

He sniffles as a bit of murky liquid drips from one of the wires. Clearly, he's far beyond his comfort zone.

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

Bane, Piotr, and several others quickly volunteer to join Krunk and the Sergeant. The Lieutenant nods in a brief gesture of approval at their promptness before following the line of vehicles headed for the motor pool. After a moment, a harried-looking woman in the deep green of the Gatewardens emerges from the depot.

"You do be finished down at the city?" She barks. "I be Supply Officer Gemmil, and you are to carry these - " She gestures toward the boxes - "Over to those." She points disdainfully at a small gaggle of cargo servitors. "They do be knowing where to place them. Well? I do not wish to wait!"

Normally, the work would go swiftly - especially thanks to Krunk's strength. Unfortunately, Supply Officer Gemmil has exacting standards on how the cargo is to be moved, especially those boxes marked as containing munitions, and insists that each one be moved by at least two Guardsmen. The servitors slow the process down as well; they are old, and move poorly over the muddy ground. It's nearly half an hour before most of the carts are emptied, and by that time the Gatewardens have begun to trickle into the compound, moving in squads and small groups. Several cast dark looks your way, and one group of half a dozen stops to stare at the work crew. Gemmil snorts, but does nothing to encourage them to help.

"See that?" Growls one man, his shaggy black beard outlining a vicious scowl as he points at the ogryn. "That do be as Venner, yet it do be in their uniform and no one says a word!" He spits as the men behind him mutter and glance at each other.

[Doc Kraken]

The Mess

After a moment puzzling out what Rosa meant, Jaron gives a friendly wave and trots over to help the others. Samara tags along with Shahai as most of the platoon begins to move toward the mess hall. It seems standing around in the heat has had an effect on the Avragians. Despite their best efforts, the three guardsmen find themselves caught up in an extensive line. By the time they realize it, there's far too many people jammed behind them to push their way back through. The press thins a bit near the posted notice of quarters, and it's easy enough to see that their squad is to be housed in Hab 59, room 48-B before they're swept on.

Finally, they reach a patch of shade underneath a series of tarps. It's been turned into a makeshift serving area, with several troopers in poor standing with their officers scurrying back and forth to keep the line moving. Looming over them is a massively fat man in stained blue clothes - Doral Jarn, the regiment's cook. You've all had plenty of time to get to know him during deployment on Poina 77; the man's as well known for his lack of humor as his ever-changing selection of mysterious reconstituted proteins. Supposedly, he's also very good at brokering deals for anyone looking for a little something extra, from a flask of amasec to a spare sidearm - so long as he gets his cut. Jarn scowls at you, leaning on a cooler of recaff.

"All right, whaddaya want? Make it quick, there's a hundred more hungry people right behind you!"

"They'd have to be." Someone mutters, and there's a burst of laughter from a nearby table. Seventh squad managed to get through the line ahead of you, and now they're sipping recaff and casting glances back toward the gate, where the first few Siskish troopers have begun to arrive. Jarn turns his glare on them, but they aren't paying much attention.

[MUCKSTER]

Supply Depot

"See that?" Growls one man, his shaggy black beard outlining a vicious scowl as he points at the ogryn. "That do be as Venner, yet it do be in their uniform and no one says a word!" He spits as the men behind him mutter and glance at each other.

Emile quickly identifies the man who said that and approaches him saying, "Don't you dare speak to Krunk like that. He's nothing like that muttey the commissar got rid of earlier."

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk keeps moving boxes, but he slides his Ripper gun from his back to under his arm. He's smart enough to know an angry tone from someone not in his squad.

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

The bearded man takes a step closer to Emile, anger in his eyes. "Oh yes?" He snarls. "It do be shaped unlike a man. It do be large and brutish, with dull eyes and thick limbs. Why is this one allowed to serve, I am asking? Do the Commissars only shoot street-sweepers?" He spits twice more, just missing Emile's boots. "That do be for you and that do be for your mutant."

There's a few mumblings of assent and one cry of "Show him, Sergeant!" from the onlookers, although one man in the back has caught a glimpse of Krunk's expression and takes a judicious step backward.

[MUCKSTER]

"Now I'm a man who can respect that someone made a mistake and they want to walk away from it," Emile chuckled. "Here is your one chance. Zip your lip and shine this nice clean dirt you spit on, or you're gonna have a problem."

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Gyah! Do you know how long that will take to clean?" Smokey exclaims, staring in horror at the great oily mark down the side of the tank. "The lieutenant will gut us if we turn up with that there on a parade ground! I- Uh,"

He breaks off as Artisan Skylos berates the poor Cogboy, and the same Cogboy make's his apology and confession.

"Well, um," he shuffles a little uncomfortably, trying to work out how, exactly, to undo the previous moment's shouting. Fortunately, Sparks is there and slick as ever.

"While my friend here is trying to remove his standard-issue boot from his non-standard issue mouth, I thought I'd better say 'don't worry about it' - happens all the time. You should see this thing after a battle; makes that little bit of oil look like absolutely nothing," she says blithely, carefully not drawing attention to the Transmechanic's emotional outburst - they don't often like that.

"Yeah, it's no problem," Smokey adds, catching his mental balance once again. "And everyone has to learn stuff at some point, right?" he makes the last sound like more of a question than it should be. Do tech-priests actually learn things, or is it just kind of inserted in to their brains at some point?

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

"I...suppose so. Thank you." The Transmechanic sniffles again, but it's a little less pronounced, and he offers the two Avragians a faint smile. "Transmechanic Third-Class Ordinax. I'll...I'll help you clean it up, truly, I promise, but..."

He gestures helplessly toward the other end of the garage, past the rows of neatly-parked vehicles. A Hellhound stands at the end, its engine clearly exposed and half-disassembled. It's surrounded by a mess of spare parts, canisters, thuribles, tools, and half a dozen arcane devices the Avragians can't identify at a glance. Ordinax gives an embarrassed shrug.

"I've...a bit of a project on my hands. The Artisan said the machine-spirit grew weak during transport and entrusted me with repairs, but I've done all the standard Maintenance Ceremony and the Third Rite of Reconstruction, and it still refuses to...to start..." He coughs and recomposes himself. "I really should begin the Fourth Rite, but Artisan Skylos says that I would need to fast for two days to attain minimal biological impurity, and someone might need the tank sooner than that."

[tice8769]

"i'll just get a re-caff" He says as he gives a glare to the party in question. "I always enjoy your food, even though as I told you before, may need to spice them up sometimes" after he gets his drink he is about to leave and turns to the group. " I will see you guys during the assessment training and prove that teamwork and respect is how you get recognition in the army, not slacking and rude comments"
He heads off to their place at Hab 59, room 48-B. He uses his com-link to tell the rest of the party is, if he has his com-link on him. he quickly get his stuff placed where they need to go and finishes his re-caff.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Solar Godwinne," he says, holding out his hand to the Transmechanic. "Most just call me Smokey, though. This is Faydra Regium, but usually she's just Sparks," he adds, jerking a thumb towards Sparks, who gives a mock bow. "Transme-watchit's Whathaveyou the, um, whatever's a bit of a mouthful, so how do you feel about Gears?"

"...or at least just Ordinax," offers Sparks, who had followed the title a little more closely than her partner.

"Anyway," Smokey cuts in again, rolling his eyes. "Don't sweat the mess here," he waves a hand carelessly at it. "We'll take care of it, though if you wanted to pay us back a few lho-sticks wouldn't go amiss," he says, before being swatted by Sparks.

"Alright, alright! Seriously, though, don't worry about a thing. We've done worse to it ourselves," he goes on, not realising that perhaps you shouldn't mention that sort of thing to a tech-worshipping follower of the Machine God. "We'll even lend a hand with all of that lot if you need it," he gestures to the pile of Hellhound pieces. "We've got experience with sulking tank machine spirits, and if nothing else you might want a hand with the heavy lifting - she's good at that," he says with a wink before being swatted by Sparks again.

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

"Oh, I have a problem," The bearded Gatewarden snaps, stepping forward with his fists raised. His fellows form a half-circle behind him, shouting encouragement, while the other volunteers look at each other nervously. The servitors grind to a halt, arms hanging at their sides, and Supply Officer Gemmil is nowhere to be seen.

Fight! Fight! Fight! Everyone in the scene wishing to involve themselves should roll initiative...

Gatewarden Sergeant: [roll0]

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

"Ordinax will be fine." The Transmechanic smiles. "I...don't smoke, it's not permitted near the volatiles, but if there's anything else I can do for you after you..." He waves vaguely at the pile of equipment. "Right over here. Anything you can do would be more than welcome."

With that, he steps back and begins an incantation in a chattering tongue easily recognizable as Binary, the sacred language of the Machine Cult.

Trying to fix the Hellhound is a +20 Tech-Use test...although there may be further modifiers depending on how you go about fixing it :smallwink:

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk doesn't speak High Gothic, but he does know all about people trying to punch other people. He puts the two heavy crates down carefully, almost tenderly, and then looms behind Emile.


[roll0], no mods. If someone on the scene has that talent that gives us an init bonus, let me know.

[MUCKSTER]

"Well if thats the way were gonna have it," Emile states sternly as he cracks his knuckles and prepares to fight.

So Initiative is an agility test right?

[roll]d100+2

Also I'm assuming my comrade really isn't doing much here... I really should write him in more.

EDIT: CRAP forgot the 2nd half lol next post for roll.

[MUCKSTER]

[roll0]
Apparently I need 10 letters so this is a random sentence...

[Monivey]

Mess

"Recaf with extra ice, if you've got it. If not, anything cool will do," batting her eyes at Doral, hoping to baffle him if nothing else. "Jaron wandered off with Krunk. Can't leave them alone for too long, or something will get broken."

Muckster, initiative is 1d10+Agility Bonus (tens digit)

Sadly, I'm not around to add my combat formation to the mix.

[MUCKSTER]

Whoops new system an all that... SPAM MESSAGES!

[roll0]

[Doc Kraken]

The Mess

Jarn grunts noncommittally as he serves Shahai and Rosa, passing another cup of recaff to Samara before she has the chance to make an order. Shahai's quick exit is unimpeded by other guardsmen; no one seems to want to get in his way, although there's a quiet mutter of "Frakkin' witch." from someone in seventh squad. After a moment, his handler tags along again. The cook shakes his head.

"Glad I ain't you. Cleanin' up after your aide and the slab's got to be bad enough without having to make the Aquila every time that one turns around. NEXT!"

The press of guardsmen pushes Rosa forward, nearly spilling her recaff. Most of the tables are already filled, although there's still a couple of seats vacant at a table occupied by your platoon's undermanned third squad. The handful of guardsman seem to have an impromptu dice game going. It's easy enough to see where Shahai went; he's made a beeline right for the barracks, either trying to familiarize himself or catch a quick nap. Oddly enough, there also seems to be some sort of commotion going on near the supply depot...

[Doc Kraken]

Hab 59

Although the main areas of the hab are still barely finished and unfurnished, room 48-B proves to be fairly roomy and comfortable. The sight is somewhat tempered by the realization that the entire squad will be expected to share it; judging by the pile of blankets and torn bedding in one corner, Krunk has been taken into account. The rest of the room is occupied by a section of lockers and nine barely-comfortable beds, illuminated by the harsh glow of a ceiling-mounted glowpack and a pale ray of sunlight from the single window.

Samara catches up just as Shahai has finished stowing his gear in a locker and begins to drain his recaff (nicely chilled, with a lingering hint of marine life). "Actually, not all that bad," she comments as he pulls out his micro-bead. "Which bunk are you taking?"

[Monivey]

Rosa calls after Shahai and Samara, "Save me a bottom bunk!", knowing they probably didn't hear her over the commotion.

Commotion? Oh feth, what did the morons get themselves into this time? She downed her drink in one go, nearly gagging, and took off sprinting towards the noise.

I assume I'll be a couple rounds late, but an initiative roll for when it applies: [roll0] (4 as Int bonus from Combat Formation, with an additional +1 from the same talent. I assume my tardiness means the others couldn't use these.

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk realizes the little man wants to settle things Ogryn style. Not Krunk's fault little man not Ogryn. He roars and runs right at him.

Piotr, returning from dropping off another crate, hears Krunk's roar and runs back to the circle of angry men. "Aw, frak..."


I'm going to initiate a grapple by charging.

[roll0], THN is 74

Base WS is 34, Charge adds 20, Berserk Charge and Hulking each add +10 to the THN.

[Doc Kraken]

I assume I'll be a couple rounds late, but an initiative roll for when it applies: [roll0] (4 as Int bonus from Combat Formation, with an additional +1 from the same talent. I assume my tardiness means the others couldn't use these.

Yup, I'll let you know when you show up...


Krunk grabs the bearded guardsman in a bone-crunching Ogryn hug before he can so much as blink. He howls in protest and pushes back, muscles straining...

The Gatewarden Sergeant is attempting to Break Free. Hope you don't mind me rolling Krunk's half of the opposed check to speed things along!

Gatewarden Sergeant: [roll0] vs. 35 (reroll if necessary: [roll1] )

Krunk: [roll2] vs. 46 (reroll if necessary: [roll3] )

Despite his best efforts, the man's struggles are in vain. "Let go of me, you Throne-forsaken beast!" He roars as the surrounding Gatewarden's shouts turn from encouragement to outrage.

[MUCKSTER]

"Well..." Emile starts laughing, "You wanted to know why he's allowed here and that freak wasn't. Anyone else want to try?" He eggs on as he takes a defensive position next to Krunk.

Emile gets ready to defend himself and Krunk if someone else attacks. Don't know if this is worth anything though... No attacks for me! Whoop its called Defensive Stance!

[tice8769]

" I think I will be taking a top bunk, probably near the door" he finishes putting his stuff away.
" I want to be ready for the exam, but hopeful the rest of them are doing well, maybe we should check on them"

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Well, suit yourself," he shrugs as he wanders over to have a look and a poke at the disassembled Hellhound. "Right... Sparks? You want to open up the Imminent Explosion for me?" he gives Ordinax a wary look - some of the Enginseers have raised objections to the name, something about it being disrespectful to the Machine Spirits.

Sparks rolls her eyes, but complies and they both spend a few minutes poring over the engine, before Smokey looks up sharply.

"Hey, you did drain the tanks before you started this, right?" he calls over to Ordinax. Besides him, Sparks goes white too.

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

Ordinax breaks off his chanting long enough to give Smokey a puzzled look.

"Of course! Basic safety rituals are paramount. I made sure they were all empty before beginning!"

A little of Sparks' color returns as she gives him a puzzled look. His meaning becomes extremely clear after a few moments of examining the engine - the nervous Tech-Priest has drained the primary and secondary prometheum reservoirs as well as the payload tank, leaving the vehicle completely out of fuel.

[Doc Kraken]

Hab 59

"Suppose I'll take the one underneath it. Got to be on hand if your eyeballs start crawling out of your skull, right?" Samara laughs and takes a sip of recaff. "Blegh! They never can get the taste out no matter how many times they boil it, can they?"

Shahai's micro-bead crackles as if to punctuate her comment. There's a confusion of voices, yelling and threatening overshadowed by Krunk's distinctive bellow, and then the end of a clear statement. " - to know why he's allowed here and that freak wasn't. Anyone else want to try?" It sounds like the sergeant...

[tice8769]

He shook his head. " I guess that means we should go and see what is happening". He gets ready and waits for his companion to finish his drink and they head towards where krunk is.
" I hope that we won't have to fight too much, I would rather be ready for the test than cause anything bad here right now"
[roll0]

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk pulls the Gatewarden in and wraps an arm around his upper torso, then shifts his weight back and twists, forcing the man to the ground. In the background on the Avragian side of the circle, Piotr readies his lasgun in case any of the Gatewardens get ideas about helping their comrade with something more than words.


Maintain grapple

Throw Down Opponent:
Opposed Strength Test: [roll0] THN 46

2 degrees of success for free thanks to size difference and Unnatural Strength.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Um, yeah, I think we might've solved this one," Sparks says with a sigh. At Smokey's questioning glance, she turns to Ordinax and asks; "You drained the payload tank along with the Promethium tanks, didn't you? Yup," she says, catching the dawning light in Smokey's eyes.

"...so it's got no fuel. No wonder it won't start," Smokey gives Ordinax a grin. "On the plus side, really unlikely to explode. So, yeah, I guess the Safety Rites are pretty safe,"

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

The Gatewarden lets out a gasp as he hits the ground, air exploding from his lungs. He twitches feebly against Krunk's grasp, then lunges, evidently hoping to use the sudden burst of speed to break free.

Gatewarden's attempting to Break Free again.

Gatewarden Sergeant: [roll0] vs. 35 (reroll if necessary: [roll1])
Krunk: [roll2] vs. 46 (reroll if necessary: [roll3])


The bearded man's desperate maneuver likely would have bought him freedom against a normal opponent, but Krunk's abhuman anatomy lends him a not insignificant hand in dealing with such tactics. He simply tightens his grip. Piotr's presence seems to be keeping the other guardsmen back, for now...

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

"...oh. Oh!"

A light dawns in Ordinax's eyes - less literally than it would have with many of his fellow priests, but the little man still seems transformed. "It's all fine, then? I got the rituals right? Stupid of me, really, but that can't be helped. Hah!" He gives the tank's tread an affectionate slap, much as a guardsman would punch a comrade in the shoulder. "Thank you so much for all your help. You...errr...you won't tell the Artisan, will you? He's already of the opinion that I need a little extra maintenance. If he hears I needed to be told to re-fuel the vehicle, I'll be reciting the Psalms of Grease for the next month."

The faint sounds of commotion can be heard over the tech-priest's celebration - shouts, running feet, and someone giving orders in a calm, deliberate voice...

[MUCKSTER]

"Ah no no no. We're not quite done with the lesson yet, but if you keep resisting we might have to make this class activity a little more rigorous. Don't you agree Krunk?"

Defensive stance again but if he doesn't give up... That will change

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

"Erm...Sarge..." Bane hisses from the crowd. "Sarge!" Beside him, Piotr is gaping nervously and Jaron has taken a nervous step back.

"Assessment training has yet to begin, Sergeant Luxor. Your eagerness is commendable, although your initiative is...not."

The Gatewardens scatter as a cadaverously thin figure in the distinctive uniform of the Commissariat strides through them, Supply Officer Gemmil at his side. It's Commissar Marlesse, one of the officers meant to take charge of the new regiment and possibly the polar opposite of bombastic old Vednov. His pale eyes flick back and forth over the tableau as Rosa, Shahai, and Samara come running up to the back of the crowd.

"Trooper...Krunk. Release Sergeant Demman, if you please. I am sure the object lesson on engaging physically superior opponents in hand to hand will not be wasted."

[Aneurin]

Smokey

He waves away the Tech-Priest's thanks - "Any time. Though if you could see about those lho-sti- oof!"

He's cut off sharply by a judiciously applied elbow-to-the-ribs from Sparks.

"Yeah, don't worry about it. We won't tell," he continues giving Sparks a rueful glance as he rubs his side. "Though you might want to actually check it does all work before telling anyone you fixed it, right?" he says with a meaningful nod. "It looks about right, but, hey, machine spirits can get funny about all sorts of things,"

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk releases his grip and ponderously rises. One massive Ogryn hand reaches down, and he picks up the Gatewarden and sets him on his feet. Krunk salutes as snappily as an Ogryn can. "HE WAS GONNA HIT DA SARGE", he mutters defensively.

[MUCKSTER]

Emile snaps at attention to the Commissar and states, "Sir they were insulting Krunk here and comparing him to that mutant from earlier sir! We tried to show him the difference and then he attacked. Krunk subdued him in the least damaging way possible sir."

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

The Commissar raises a thin eyebrow. "Is that so? Sergeant Demman, explain your actions."

The Sergeant pulls away from Krunk's grasp, rethinks his actions, and steps carefully back. "It be the...the importance of the occasion, Commissar." He mutters. "I wished to show the outworlders that Siskish troopers be as good as they."

"And instead, you showed yourself capable of a breach of protocol and were thrown in the mud by an abhuman. Hardly impressive, Sergeant. I have little use for those who set a poor example for their men." Marlesse regards the Gatewardens coolly for a moment. "Assessment training will begin early, I think. You have fifteen minutes to prepare your men for marksmanship drills, Demman. And Sergeant? You'd best impress me."

With that, the Commissar turns on his heel, sparing a moment to give the nearby Avragians a dose of his evil eye as well. Piotr swallows audibly as Demman, his face pale under the beard, bawls hurried orders at the handful of troopers under his command. It seems a hopeless task; half of them are holding their laslocks in completely the wrong manner, and only one or two of them seem to have a decent grasp of how to sight down the barrel. Supply Officer Gemmil hurriedly steps away, corralling the servitors and ushering them back into the building.

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

"Erm...yes." Ordinax nods emphatically. "That sounds well-advised." He scuttles over to a massive tank in the corner, dragging a hose back and connecting it to the Hellhound's engine while muttering under his breath. As fuel gurgles into the tank, he steps back with a pleased smile.

"Safety perimeters met and exceeded...payload container secure...diagnostic instruments blessed and purified...and it's been warded against the damp, that ought to keep it well-protected tomorrow even in this bloody weath - erm..."

He starts and glances guiltily at the guardsmen before hunching back over the hose, fiddling with it to tighten the seal.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

He trades glances with Sparks, and then gives a mock bow; go right ahead.

Sparks sticks her tongue out at him while Ordinax is busy, then, in a tone of pure sweetness asks;

"Tomorrow? Is something happening tomorrow?"

Yeah, a bit less than brilliant I'll admit, but, hey, it's a post, right? I'll get back up to speed soon.

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk moves back towards the other Avragians, chortling "DAT WAS FUN!"

[Monivey]

Rosa arrived, panting from her sprint, just in time to miss all of the action.

"What'd I miss?"

[MUCKSTER]

"Oh just teaching our new friends what Krunk can do, but I see you are just in time to avoid moving any boxes..."

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

Ordinax hems and haws, twiddling his thumbs with a whirr of servos. "Oh...well...I really shouldn't say...I really shouldn't know, per se..." It's obvious the tech-priest doesn't want to get in trouble, but it shouldn't be too hard to get him to spill the beans.

It'll take a +30 Charm test for him to reveal what he knows!

[Doc Kraken]

Supply Depot

Watching the Siskish guardsmen struggle proves to be quite a popular show. By the end of their grace period, nearly two dozen other Redeemers have drifted over to join you. Demman has grown more and more panicky; though he refrains from yelling at the Avragians, his orders take on a harsher tone, and one guardsman who can't seem to aim properly is nearly reduced to tears.

As soon as their fifteen minutes are up, Marlesse returns, casting a cold eye over the crowd. "You've picked up an audience, I see. These men's marksmanship must be truly impressive. A concerted volley, then." The Commissar glances around. "That fencepost. Let's see what your men can do."

Demman glances desperately around. "Fire!" He shouts, and the air is filled with the crack of laslocks...

[roll]1d100[roll] vs. 70

...as well as chips of rock and dirt as the shots go everywhere but the post. Sergeant Demman gapes in astonished horror as his men stare blankly around. One of them doesn't seem to have even discharged his weapon. The Commissar raises an eyebrow.

"Disappointing."

With a blur of motion, he draws and fires his bolt pistol. Demman screams and drops to the ground, clutching the red pulp where his right kneecap used to be. Marlesse regards him coolly, before turning to the Avragians.

"I'm sure one of you is far more well-equipped to deal with this wound than his own men. Show them how it's done. In fact..." He crooks a finger at Emile. "Sergeant Luxor. You and your men will demonstrate proper firing technique to these wastes of corpse starch. Have your medic see to the Sergeant."

[Monivey]

Rosa stifled a wince at the shot. Feth, the commissars weren't messing around.

She rushed over to the sergeant, unslinging her medikit and tossing it to Jaron as she did so.

"Jaron, get out the splinting materials and gauze. No, those are for wrists. The leg splints."

Leaning over the sergeant, she tried to assess the situation, as she applied pressure to the bleeding.

"Maybe not the splint. This might be amputation material. I'll see what I can do, though. If anybody's going to fix it, it's me."

Medicae (target 77): [roll0]

[MUCKSTER]

"Well men! You heard him. Lets show them how to really shoot. Follow my lead."

What difficulty is a fence post? I would say at least a simple for trained guardsmen? If not just tell me if I fail lol. [roll0] vs 79

[Doc Kraken]

It'd be an attack roll, sorry if I wasn't clear. Assuming an aimed standard attack...

Supply Depot

Whether due to nerves or poor aim, the sergeant's shot goes wide. It's not as bad as the Gatewarden's volley, but it doesn't even clip the post. Commissar Marlesse's eyes narrow again...

Meanwhile, Demman leaves off grabbing his knee to claw weakly at Rosa's hand. "You take my leg, I take yours, outworlder." He manages to gasp before falling back to the ground, swearing in the local dialect. Fortunately, that doesn't seem like it will be necessary. There's not much left in the way of kneecap, but to Rosa's expert eye he's still going to be able to use the leg with a halfway-decent bionic and a little while off his feet.

"Er, er, I think these are the ones you wanted." Jaron mutters, dropping a couple of rolls of gauze on the ground as he hands over the splints.

[MUCKSTER]

Sergeant Luxor stands and scraches his head while laughing, "Ha, I guess thats why I carry this baby," pulling out and revving chain sword, "I like the personal touch."

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Aw, come on. Who're we going to tell? And anyway, the more we know the better we can prepare the machine spirits for it tomorrow, right?" Smokey steps in with an appealing smile.

"And the better prepared they are, the less time you have to spend stopping them being cranky later," Sparks adds with a wink.


[roll0] vs. 48 for untrained.

[Doc Kraken]

Motor Pool

"Well..." The tech-priest offers a tremulous smile. "If you're looking after the machine spirits..." He takes a quick glance over his shoulder. "Just don't tell Artisan Skylos. It's why he was so upset; I overheard him talking with your Colonel over the vox. I'm not sure what was happening, but they both sounded upset. Something about moving up a timetable to maintain discipline, stepping up the local sweeps..." Ordinax gives a nervous laugh. "That's when the Artisan saw me. I tried to explain all I wanted was an Alpha-3 class diagnosticator, but he wasn't really interested..."

[Monivey]

"Hmm...might be that we can get you a bionic, get you back up in your feet and fighting in the Emperor's name ASAP. Might even help you march in step next time."

She turned back to Jaron, fishing through the medikit.

"Help me get a stretcher together. He's stable and ready to go. Let's get him to the infirmary for a bionic fitting."

I assume some background troops (either Avragians or locals) can do the transport?

[Nightgaun7]

Krunk simply picks the sergeant up and follows her to the field clinic.

[Aneurin]

Smokey

"Tough break," Smokey says sympathetically, as Ordinax relates his tale of woe. "Gotta say, I was wondering if we'd end up getting hauled out to show the Siskies how it's done. Now, I guess we know. Mud, blood, and fragging muties - another fun day in the rain," he wrinkles his nose in distaste at the thought.

"Shyeah," Sparks rolls her eyes. "And all because the Siskies can't recognise when one of their troopers is a mutie. Seriously, what's with that? Vednov spotted him right off,"

Smokey shakes his head sadly.

"Don't know what this world's coming to," he says with a great deal of exaggerated drama - including arm waiving and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead in mock-defeat. "Used to be such a charming mutant-riddled hellhole - one of the greats - but now? Tch. Standards are slipping," he winks broadly at Ordinax, dropping the act. "But, seriously, the warning's appreciated - really, it is. You need a favour some time, just ask,"