Welcome to the Legion (IC)

[Kaptin Keen]

Who ever you were, what ever you did, who you knew and loved - all irrelevant now. Whatever the crime, for good reasons or bad, guilty or not - no matter.

You were convicted and sentenced, and now you belong to the Penal Legion.

It's not an absolute death sentence. There will be a review, at the end of the ongoing campaign, in which the ecclesiarchy judges your actions and their results, and decide whether the God Emperor has forgiven you.

Of course you are aware of no instances of this happening. For all intents and purposes, the Penitent Crusader is your home for the rest of your lives. But there is that tiny glimmer of hope - tantalising, out of reach but not out of mind. You just might get out of this alive.

Promising death without any alternative just isn't as motivating as dangling even the most unlikely hope of redemption in front of the damned.


Once the final hammer falls, it's a fast track. Armed guards take you from your sentencing to the armored transports that lift you into orbit, where the Penitent Crusader already awaits, always hungry for new recruits.

You are herded into a giant hold, and adressed by a tall, fierce looking man with a hawk nose, receding and greying hairline and eyes that sparkle with unrelenting will and purpose. Unlike most everyone else around you, he is in dress uniform rather than combat armor, and a simple sidearm rests at his side, rather than the autoguns on display everywhere else.

"Convicts! I am Warden-Commander Holfarne, and the God Emperor in his Grace has granted me the task of guiding your miserable hides towards salvation. My view is simple, and I make no secret of it: You are the lowest of the low, criminals beyond any other means of redemption. For each of you that dies, a better man is spared. You will form the front lines of any hopeless charge, you will guard the rear of any retreat, and your lives will be spent saving the lives of Imperial Guardsmen by dying in their stead."

Despite the harshness of his words, his demeanor and voice betrays no hatred or disdain for you. If anything, his view appears utilitarian: Before sentencing, you were criminals - but now, you are become a tool. A hammer to swing at the enemies of the Imperium, a shield to protect it's loyal soldiers.

"You will welcome this honor, and perform this duty to the best of your ability, and return to the light of the God Emperor. Or your convict-corporal will explain to you the workings of your collars, and the Chaplan will explain to you the workings of damnation and hell.

I will say one more thing. I will tell you this: I am a proper military commander. I do not waste men for no reason. I will happily sacrifice each and every one of you in assistance to the Imperial Guard - but I will never do so with no hope of success."

He is silent a moment. Letting his words sink in, perhaps. Then, in a flat tone, he finishes:

"Welcome to the Legion, ladies. Convicts, dismissed!"


You are marched from what turns out to have been the Small Hold - the staging area, in fact, once planet fall actions take place. From here, you are marched off to Great Hold 2, where your regiment, (132nd PLR) Breachers reside. Along with a thousand other men and women, the 100.000+ cubic meters of ancient cargo hold is where your lives now play out.

You are assigned to a 5 man squad, with whom you will bunk. Here, you meet your convict-corporal (and thus, squad leader), who introduces himself as Rohain III zar'Trell, formerly of Hive Sibellus. He is rather a small man, with slightly rodent features - and you also quickly learn that other convicts nick named him Rat. You are assigned to this squad because the remaining four former members didn't return from the last mission.

And so ends your first day in the legion.


Tiers and layers of bunk beds line the walls of the hold, several stories high. Centrally placed stands The Watcher, a tall turret sporting cameras, claxons and twin-mounted heavy stubbers. You feel reasonably assured these last do not fire non-lethal rounds. Around the base of the Watcher is a small market, as well as the official mess hall, where foodstuffs of dubious origins are served. You meet the mess constable, a huge man named Angrem.

The market is just that: Effectively, this is a small village, and trade in various items is an accepted necessity. What is on sale here isn't illegal, however - it's extra food, or alcohol, or smokes, ancient issues of Meow-Meow Chrome, charms and amulets, knick-knacks and so on. For the interesting stuff, you need to know people - and stay out of sight. Possion of weapons of any kind is 100% illegal, and tolerated only in return for generous and constant bribes.

There is 100% segregation between inmates and guards. The ship is basically divided in two, separated by double fences (is that the right word?) of bars. There are ways through, of course, but they are semi-permanently sealed. In other words, short of actual landing actions, guards and inmates do not come into contact - except by the ungentle interventions of The Watcher.

If and when a raid is deemed necessary, it is surprisingly swift and efficient.

[Hyperbolic sine]

The first of the four new squad members is quite the rare sight, on such a ship. Tall and slim, the pale man sports wired metal plaques bolted on his skull and the lower half of his face is completely hidden behind what appears to be a respirator unit, with a grille (the sort you find in speakers) where the mouth would be and a lot of tubes. His hands palms sport metal grafts, similar to electoos, with the right one's fingers having even probes installed on their tips, and deformities of his uniform reveal the presence of other wiring and implants along his spine and especially in his waist zone: all in all, he would look in the right place inside a Mechanicus temple, and indeed were it not for the crude and clearly homemade appearance of his bionics (and the explosive collar) he could easily be mistaken for a Tech-Priest.

"I am Nihilus" he introduces himself, with a metallic tone characteristic of vox-synthesisers, before pausing to study everyone with green eyes and an inquisitive gaze. Then, he continues without addressing anyone in particular: "And only because I have medical knowledge it does not mean that you should try and get yourselves killed." Quite the blunt fellow, it seems.

[Kaptin Keen]

"I think I can figure out what landed you here, friend," replies Rohain, "you can call me Ro, or Rat, as most people tend to. I consider it my job to try and keep us all alive, and if you know some medicae, that's going to make things a lot easier. Especially if we can scrape enough dosh together to get a scouting or supply mission, rather than front line combat."

The small man has keen, intelligent eyes, and kind of an honest manner. He seems, in other words, sort of trustworthy. If you had to make an estimate, you'd guess you could trust this guy. Maybe he wouldn't take a bullet for you - but then, who in this place would, and also it's not like you'd take one for him either.

[ArcturusV]

Ishta still wore the only clothing she had, the simple battlefield uniform of the 305th Farsali Light, her former Regiment before being sent here on charges. During the introduction speech she had been quiet, her attention apparently focused inward, head lowered slightly which made it a little harder to see the brand of the Sanctioned Psyker on her neck. Never looked up at her new Regimental Commander, never spared a glance to her new squadron. She knew why she was here, she had no idea why her squad was here, didn't really want to know.

The Banshees had been her family, brothers and sisters in arms in the Sky God's causes. She knew them well, counted on every single one of them and trusted them completely. They were gone. Silias lost to a mortar strike that fell 150m short of its target. Renald clearing a room that was heavily mined despite the reports of the Siege Scanners. And so it continued. As she marched into the hold, her mind kept playing over events, wondering if it could have gone differently.

She barely heard the introduction of the half metal man, and what she presumed was supposed to be her new squad leader. Some part of her mind snapped back to regulations and standards, snapping off the Aquila with crisp, military practiced ease, "Specialist Ishta," she reported in, unable to help herself as she finally looked "Ro"/"Rat", cyber eye to eye. Her chin up it was easy to see the brand on her neck that marked her as one of the Imperium's trusted psychics, able to tap into the Warp and deemed strong enough to withstand it.

[Kaptin Keen]

.. are you confusing Ro with Nihilus?

[Hyperbolic sine]

No, Nihilus definitely woulnd't take a bullet for anyone. He was about to ask something to Rat, but then the woman besides him finally speaks and something he didn't notice before draws his attention.

Oh, wonderful, a psyker... he thinks to himself as his gaze meets the sanctioning brand. A loose cannon, if you ask me.

He does not show his distrust, though, and, deciding to delay the questions after everyone has introduced themselves, he remains silent and absolutely deadpan while studying everything and everyone in the vicinity.

[Kaptin Keen]

Ro looks Ishta over, not bothering to hide the fact that he's weighing the pro's and con's of having a psyker on board. Ro is a sly one, and since it's a trademark of his, no point in not owning up to it.

"Madame Ishta, welcome aboard," he begins, "I see you are sanctioned, and thus I hope it wasn't heretical actions that landed you here. Don't worry, I wont ask - it's up to you to tell or not. However, I should like to know about your abilities, if we're to put them to the best use once we reach our destination. Whatever that is."

[ArcturusV]

(( Nah, that comment was meant to be read as "Half Metal Man" (Nihilus) and "our apparent squad leader" as two different people. ))

Specialist Issta, as she thought of herself still, apparently was someone before being sent here. The uniform, the sanctioning brand, several campaign ribbons, two honors, a Bronze Sunburst and a Red Eagle. Her gaze lowered however when Ro asked her about her abilities, no longer looking the man in the eye but rather at the bit of decking between his feet.

"Terror tactics," Ishta finally said, "Countering and using them. Stealth and Reconnaissance." She didn't get into the particulars of her abilities. She doubted they'd really understand it. Knowing that she could make people flee in terror, or inspire them to stand the line regardless, along with her Light Infantry duties seemed to suffice in her mind.

[Hyperbolic sine]

She doesn't talk much, does she? Good. Now, I wonder if I will be allowed to install mechadendrites...assuming that I can craft them of course. Even then, I might have to have someone else install them...but who can in this damn ship? Hmm... is what going on in Nihilus mind right now. He does not say a word yet, though, letting Ro continue his questioning without interruptions.

[Kaptin Keen]

((alright - it doesnt much look like any more are showing up))

Ro looks Ishta over, then replies: 'Stealth and recon, eh? Like I said, if we could land a scouting mission, that'd be swell. I'm not sure how we'd raise the clout for it tho, seeing as you guys don't know anything, and presumably have little to sell. We'll have to scrounge up enough for some bribes, if we want any choice in missions.'

He indicates the bunk beds next to you (there are bunk beds next to you).

'Grab a place to sleep - this is home now, so welcome. Once you've secured a slab and a trunk, take a look around and find out what's what and where's where.'

And thus, you find yourself in Great Hold 2. There are bars, shops, gangs, squads, workshops, a gym, a combat ring (for practice - blood sport is 'forbidden'), a mess hall. Miles and miles of bars separating you from the righteous wardens who run the place, and The Watcher - the direct extension of the will of the God-Emperor into your lives on board The Pen.

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Hmm...cozy" Nihilus says, "I'll sleep in the lower bed". He then begins exploring Great Hold 2, looking for whoever seems in need of a technician or a medic, and trying to located the shops there are more likely to sell spare parts and components.

[Kaptin Keen]

The Hold really is huge - multi-tiered, convoluted, full to the brim of people and stuff. You find several places that are out of the line of sight of The Watcher. In these places, interesting stuff tends to take place. You find a shop specialising in shivs, you find gambling, you find drug dealers. You find hostile guys who will not talk to you, despite the fact that they are clearly doing business.

Eventually, you meet two people.

One is Falc. You find him in a tiny place below another shop, in the various crawl spaces under the deck of the Hold. When you peek into his tiny cubby, he's trying to solder some bits of what appear to be a communicator - ear piece radio - thing ... you are able to give him a few pointers on how to get the thing working, and he's grateful. However, he has only one. A single communicator doesn't do much of anything useful.

The other is Jugga.

Jugga introduces himself by coming upon you from behind, grabbing you by the neck and slamming you - hard - against a bulwark. You see stars. Your ears ring. You are hazily aware that he is with others, that they are armed. You are acutely aware of his staggering size and strength.

A voice right by your ear says: 'Hello, new blood. You've already met Jugga - and I'm Zilfane. I'd like to welcome you to my Hold. Any rules here are my rules, any business is my business. I am, you might say, the boss. If you remember the ground rules - my rules, my business - you and I can be on a friendly footing. Polite, cordial, functional. Forget, and ... well, lets not go there, lets just assume you will remember, right?'

The voice is cultured, mannered, elegant.

'Tell the Rat I said hi, and inform your new squad mates of what I've told you. Have a pleasant day.'

With that, he leaves. You catch a glimpse of his profile - aquiline, greying hair swept back from a high brow - and then only see his back as he walks away from you, a tall, slender man, obviously agile and very, very confident. At his side, Jugga is a giant man, even taller and twice as wide.

[Hyperbolic sine]

...the hell just happened?

Nihilus watches the two men walking away: he met those with power, that's what happened. Not really the most cordial of the encounters, but at least he now knows who they are...and he is quite sure to have seen weapons, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. He goes back 'home', massaging his neck.

"I encountered a certain Zilfane and his gigantic bodyguard...he wants me to let you lot know the two basic rules of this place: 'His rules, his business'. Oh, and he greets you, Ro."

He messed with the wrong convict...one day I'll have my revenge.

[ArcturusV]

Ishta had been silent as she picked her rack, and did a little to get it a bit more homey. Mostly consisting of untucking everything she could and forming it into a loose pile she could curl up in, rather than a "bed" as most people thought of it all done up. She had been laying there for a while, trying to keep to herself, not wanting to mingle with the people here.

She knew why she was here. She could only guess at the others. But she figured they had less to do with the same reason she was here.

As such when Nihilus came back she slowly turned her head over towards him. She was laying on a top bunk, preferring the high ground where she could more easily see things coming for her. Old habits die hard. Her hands were folded behind her head, her cold cybereyes staring at the man as he delivered his message.

She lay there for a moment, staring at him with those unblinking machine eyes, before suddenly sitting up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed. "We should get some food," she mentioned, shoving off the top bunk and landing on the deck plating with a little 'thump'. Still in her uniform, she looked around. If there was some guy looking to make an example out of the newbies? Well... food time would be a good time to do it. Hungry, a bit weak, in an open place where everyone could see you put in your place. She expected trouble there.

... and it was better to handle it sooner rather than later. "Come on," she told Nihilus, starting to head off towards the Food (or at least what passed for food) in this place.

[Kaptin Keen]

As Nihilus recounts his encounter with Zilfane, a shameful look settles on Ro's face.

'Ah. Sorry. I should have warned you about him - but I really didn't think he'd pester you so soon, and I didn't want to ruin the welcome. Zilfane is the ... boss of bosses, so to speak. There are a dozen gangs in the hold, but Zilfane is the one everyone is afraid of. Jugga is bad, but Zilfane is much worse. Just pay him a cut of all takes, and stay out of his way. In return, he will stay out of your hair.'

'Zilfane has what we all aspire to: He's got enough clout with the wardens that he can buy his way out of going on missions. Jugga too, but Jugga sometimes goes just because he likes a fight.'

[Hyperbolic sine]

"I'd expect no less from a deambulating mountain of meat" Nihilus replies without hiding the disgust in his voice, then sets to follow the psyker...whose mechanical stare did not go unnoticed and is actually envied.

"Yeah, food. I'm right behind you, Specialist Ishta."

[Kaptin Keen]

The 'mess hall'. It isn't a hall any more than it's a mess in any permanent way. The space that feeds the regiment has various functions day and night, and only at designated times is it an actual place for eating.

More than that, it has it's own complicated and often invisible rules. There are gangs and squads and platoons that vie for various places that they consider theirs. There are rules for who eats when, and even for who gets what. One friendly soul points out to you:

'New guys, amirite? If you want no trouble, you might wanna sit over there somewhere.' He points to the corner furthest from the 'kitchen'.

There is a general clamor of catcalls, insults and provocations shouted among the many people seated here. It's mostly good-natured - though you hear some references to 'below - later' - what ever that means.

The dish of the day is slop and bread. The sign says so, and it doesn't look like anyone has bothered changing it for quite a few days. There is other food to be had - but not for free.

What would you like to do? Where would you like to sit?

[Hyperbolic sine]

Ignoring whatever provocation might be directed at him, Nihilus approaches and sits in the zone they had been pointed to: troubles might come at you, but purposefully searching them is foolishness. This brings a question, though: how is someone whose entire lower face is covered by a respirator unit supposed to eat? The answer comes as soon as the food arrives: from under his uniform, rougly from where the stomach should be located (whoever magaes to look, anywway, will only see a jumble of wires and bioncs), Nihilus pulls out an extensible and flexible tube, with a palm-sized funnel at its end, and pours the solp into it. Then he slides in the bread, after crumbling the loaf, and once finished he shrinks back the tube, which disappears again under his clothes (from where mechanical noises are coming - probably the 'digestion').

Since this clearly does not prevent him from speaking, while 'eating' (supposing the two are sitting close enough) he will sarcastically ask Ishta: "So, you're a psyker? Can I ask you to warn be before summing daemons, can I not?"

[ArcturusV]

Ishta kept her eyes to herself, not looking around, not gawking at the crowd, her gaze downwards towards a spot in front of her feet, which also helped obscure her branding mark. She silently took the free food, not having anything to trade, and honestly not bothered by poor quality of the meal, she had eaten a lot worse back home.

When they sat down, she didn't look at Nihilus's "eating". She was silent, using the bread to sop up the slop and eat slowly to help it fill her up a little more. Halfway between her meal she finally answered Nihilus, "Not likely," she offered in a deadpan, serious tone. Another large bite of her bread, and she gave a little smile.

"How's your survival skills? Do they teach your kind how to manage?" she asked as she started finishing up her meal, slowing down even more to give her an excuse to linger here. "Angry Grox around here... you might want to look into getting something made... just in case."

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Survival in a jungle? No, they don't teach 'my kind' that. Inside here? I think I can manage. Nihilus replies flatly. "As soon as I manage to fetch some raw materials I can try and make something, but I need to first grasp how the economy works around here...and it's not like I am totally helpless" he adds with a grin (or, well, so it would seem from his upper face's expression, since he hasn't a proper mouth anymore) as electric sparks travel across his palm's grafts; he does however make sure that only Ishta is able to see them, so as not to ruin the surprise element should he need to - literally - shock someone.

[Kaptin Keen]

((Waiting for something here - so I'm being deliberately slow to update. Patience, men =))

[ArcturusV]

"Good chance to study," Ishta told the metal man, twitching her head a bit to indicate over her shoulder towards the kitchen and the center of the "mess" such as it was. It should be a good place to observe the dynamics of this place. Even the seating said something. Their point here marked them as New, lacking influence or anything to really barter with as far as the people here were concerned. Outsiders not even worth attention.

Inside? Inside should be where things get more interesting. Who was pushed around, who ate first (And had the relatively best portions), who had dominating positions that overlooked the place, who had entourages, all useful information for figuring out the power players and how they interacted.

[Kaptin Keen]

The dynamics of the place are both overt and hidden. Gang tattoos and unit insignias tell part of the story, body language. posturing and outright shouted insults tell another. But there is a third, unseen part to tell: It seems pretty clear that a number of people simply do not eat here. Carry enough weight - and be able to afford it - and you eat in the comfort of your .... something. You've seen nothing in the Hold that seems to signify a gang HQ or similar, but you can sort of infer that there has to be.

Your interest is trained on two men working towards getting in a fist fight (without much visible enthusiasm) when a crackling announces that the public announcement system has come online. Lights dim slightly, and the image of an unknown warden-officer appears. The image is pretty low quality, but good enough for you to recognize the uniform as someone of high rank.

"Attention please! Our initial acceleration is nearing completion, and we shall be translating into warp space in T minus 10 minutes. Gellar Fields are coming online, and we shall be en route to rendevous with elements of Battle Fleet Calixis in two weeks. Confessor Abraxis will now leads everyone in prayer to the God Emperor for safe passage to our destination!"

The general murmur of the mess dies down, as even the toughest of tough guys are intimidated by the prospect of warp travel. The voice of the confessor booms from the PA, and to a man the convicts follow the prayer.

[Sir Dancealot]

A woman with bright purple hair and somehow brighter blue eyes slides in after the prayer, dropping a tray of slop and glob onto the table. "Sup guys. I was told I was with yous." She said as she popped some of the slop into her mouth, "Ech. Dis bits disgustin' en't it? Gunna has to sees whos teh talk to about dat eh?" She said, plopping another bite into her mouth. If one could call it a bite. "Sorry abouts not being heres earlier. Was bein detained and stuffs. Somthin' about shankin' a man in the nads. I didn' get no blood on meh, so they couldn't do anythin' about it." She popped another glob into her gob, "So, what's deh powah scheme round-a-bouts?"

[Hyperbolic sine]

((I could have sworn I posted here a couple of hours ago...am I going insane? Will your characters have a +10 to Fel tests towards me?))

Nihilus (whose description is the second post, if nedeed), having just finished chanting prayers to the machine spirits of the Warp Engines and the Gellar Field generators, turns towards the newcomer and raises an eyebrow.

" 'Fraid I ain't able to taste no food" he then replies - trying to mockingly mimick her speech pattern - pointing to the lower portion of his face, completely covered by the respirator unit. After a short pause he resumes speaking, serious again. "The power scheme is as follows: there's a man named Zilfane and his bodyguard, a deambulating mountain of meat, then there are...people, I guess...then there is Rohain, our squad leader, and then us."

"Anyway, do you have a name, of should I call you 'purple-haired lady'?" he adds, giving the woman a blank stare.

[ArcturusV]

Ishta didn't say a prayer on the way into the warp, or at least not at the announcement of it. She had made her peace with the Sky God a long time ago, no need to invoke him at this moment, as he was always with her, has been and would be ever since she saw him in all his magnificence.

She slowly finished her food and pushed her tray aside, nothing left except a few stray drops. The prayers weren't familiar to her, ringing a little differently than the Litanies that the Banshees used during transport, and very different from the praises of her homeworld she was raised with. It didn't do much to lift her spirits, and she doubted they would appreciate the rituals of her birthplace, or the reminder of what these people could have been by invoking the Imperial Guard's rites.

"A former soldier?" she asked the newcomer, wondering if she was one of the Imperial Guard brought here, or just a random murderer, from the sound of her instant confession.

[Kaptin Keen]

((giving you a few moments to converse amongst yourselves - if no one replies, I'll up the pace tomorrow))

[Sir Dancealot]

"Yous gettin' deh speakin' pattern wron'. It'd be 'I en't capable a' tastin' deh slop.' If'n yer gunna mock a girl, mock 'er right eh? And deh name's V. Least, 'ats what yehs can calls me." She smiled at the other woman at the table as the psyker asked her question. Putting another glob of goop into her mouth, she replied around the mouthful, "What I was don't matter none now does it? Nor wha' I did. As fer theh man wit' no nads? Convicted rapist. So, I's took care o' that fer 'im." She grinned at that last little remark.

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Yous gettin' deh speakin' pattern wron'. It'd be 'I en't capable a' tastin' deh slop.' If'n yer gunna mock a girl, mock 'er right eh? And deh name's V. Least, 'ats what yehs can calls me."

"A pity." Nihilus replies sarcastically. "I am Nihilus, the one who will patch you up after you will inevitably get yourself shot. Or wounded in any other way, for that matter."

[ArcturusV]

"The future is built on the bones of the past," Ishta said with the tone that made it sound like a quote of something. To her the past did matter. She wasn't ashamed of it. "V" could clearly see she still wore her guard uniform, perhaps clinging to who she was. She looked over her shoulder, seeing if everyone was still busy in prayers against the Warp... something none of them really understood as she saw it. She nudged her tray over towards "V" and looked for that mountain of meat that Nihilus was talking about earlier.

"Feel like establishing some dominance?" she asked the thuggish, brutish woman. It was a check to see if she would do it and clock someone with the tray, or hack at their necks with the thin bit, Death by Tray. And if she did, just how people reacted to it.

[Kaptin Keen]

((Enough chit-chat? Update tomorrow - it's very late now))

As light hearted insults fly back and forth across the table, Ro comes up. He takes a seat, a serious look on his face.

"I'd honestly hoped we'd have more time than this - but there it is, we're already going into warp, and likely battle before long. If we want a chance at something besides front line duty, we'll need to scrape together some thrones, and fast."

He looks around. No one is seated at the nearby tables, and besides, most are still in prayer, their attention elsewhere, and the mumbled murmur covering your conversation.

"I have a way of getting what we need. Of course, it's dangerous - more so because we need to get a decent stash together in a hurry, so we can't pick the easy targets, we need to go big!"

He starts drawing in spilled slop on the table, moving plates and cutlery about to illustrate various things.

"So, no one likes front line duty, right? The attrition rates are just horrendous, and even discounting that, it's just not a pleasant place to be. So every once in a while, someone will try to run. With the collar, that's hard, right - where are you going to go? Well, there is one place. The trigger signal is strong, and you pretty much cannot hide from it - but it does in fact not penetrate hull sections. This is usually irrelevant, as there are transmitters in all sections of the ship - but again, there is one exception: The bilge."

He pauses a moment.

"Let me just make this plain: You don't want to live in the bilge. I'm not trying to tell you where you can go and hide. When all is said and done, I'd rather recommend death in the front lines, than life in the bilge. But still, some do. Bilge scum are the lowest, most miserable poor bastards beneath the God Emperors grace. There is a chieftain of sorts though - Gnasher Hullrat the Abominable, he styles himself. And it's his stash we want."


I want to point something out: NPC's do not go with you on missions. They are not combat deciders, decision makers, they are not even meat shields. Ro is your Charlie - despite the fact that none of you are particularly angelic. Charlie will be there for ground missions, but his role will be secondary. This game is about your characters - not about how you got an NPC to do the job for you.

That's just the way I feel the game should be. You are the heroes, after all. Or the ... whatever you are =)

[Kaptin Keen]

((I wonder if I need to bump this?! Unsure whether you can see that I updated the above? Well ..... bump!))

[Hyperbolic sine]

((Indeed, I was waiting for a "New Reply" e-mail :smallbiggrin:))

Nihilus turn to Ro, a raised eyebrow: "So, if I understand well, you are saying that if we want to avoid a very likely death in the front lines we should go down in the bilge where the lowest of the low dwell, and pillage their chieftain's treasure?". He pauses to think a bit. "It's a good thing that we are a group of armed-to-the-teeth commandos...except that we are not. Well, whatever, I suppose we might as well try, chances are that that they are unarmed as well...and Specialist Ishta here said her abilities were 'stealth and reconnaissance', if I'm not wrong."

And I'm never wrong.

((Noooo, they changed the font!))

[Kaptin Keen]

((what was the font?!))

Ro takes a moment to look each of you in the eye. What you see as his gaze meets yours isn't some random guy - there is solid steel in Ro, keen intelligence, and a slight bit of ice cold calculation.

"Gentlefolk ..." he begins, "do you presume to think it random chance that a psyker, a guardsman and an almost-but-not-quite-techpriest heretek were assigned to my unit? Please ...!"

He sweeps aside the various items of cutlery and parapernalia he'd been using as illustrations. Clean slate.

"I bribed, threatened, begged and cajoled to have the cream of the crop. The best, most competent of the thousands of new recruits. I invested almost all I had in having a group with the potential to rise to the top. I fervently hope we can be friends, that we can build a loyalty and a fraternity based on having common goals and agendas - but guys are my life insurance. And I'm yours."

[ArcturusV]

Well, she had seen better briefings, and worse briefings. She knew from her missions that places like this Bilge tended to build hardened scum. You didn't survive places like that without a particular sort of strength. Not to mention mutations that could turn them from anything to pain wracked invalids... to witches and hulking behemoths who can flip tanks.

She looked over to Ro, "So you hid down there last time," she asked. He must have, to know the layout, and to know who is currently top dog of the junk heap, and that he has anything at all worth a damn as far as the inmates here were concerned, and clearly didn't have his 'team' to get him out of hardship at the time.

"So what's the resistance down there? Mutants? Scavenged melee weapons? Smuggled las weapons?" it was a mission, a mission with a cowardly, insurrectionist goal that usually would get someone flogged, but it was a mission and there was still that part of her that played up to the military air of such a thing.

[Kaptin Keen]

"Madame Ishta, I have never been in the bilge. Rather, I ... well I failed." He's clearly uncomfortable, but he presses on. "I bribed my way into a survivable mission for my team - as I always try to do. But instead, we were sent to the front. 4 out of 5 attrition. I was betrayed. Basically, someone paid a better bribe to have us sent into front line combat."

He goes back to the briefing.

"Expect almost everything in the bilge to be easy pray. The bilge does not makes you strong - it makes you waste away and die. Desperate, hungry, mutated poor sobs are in the bilge, armed with anything stout and heavy enough to be called a club. There are .... rat-things, too. And then, once in a while, someone thrives down there. Gnasher is one. He wont go down easily."

He then fixes Istha with a slightly amused gaze.

"No, I do not go into the bilge to get my intel, Ishta. I buy it. I'm a merchant, a trader. I do what I do best."

[Hyperbolic sine]

((The font I used to represent the sinthetised nature of Nihilus' voice...oh, well, this one should be a good replacement.))

"Rat-things...wonderful." Nihilus comments flatly. At least he refrained from making fun of Rohain's nickname. "And what if this time you - we - are betrayed again? But, whatever, I guess a chance is better than nothing...so, are we going in blind and start punching whatever moves, or do we have some intel? Such as, you know, a planimetry."

[Kaptin Keen]

"I was hoping the survivalist could come up with a plan for the rat things - they are hardly too clever to outsmart. Betrayal wont be a concern for this mission, but it clearly is once we get planetside. I have a potential counter for that. But we'll talk more on that later. I do not have a planimetry, but I do know once you get down there, you move south, and you should find what you're looking for. Furthermore, I will rent weapons for you - that's all I can still afford. Pistols, swords, axes. I can try for better stuff, but don't expect to all go in there toting plasma rifles and boltguns."

[Kaptin Keen]

((If there's anything in particular you want, let Ro know what to look for. If you want more information, look around. Use peer skills if you have them - there's got to be someone around here who's insane, right? Furthermore, there are a few more events to play out before I send you below))

[ArcturusV]

Ishta seemed to consider for a moment, "Less concern about a weapon... but can you arrange for a good shield? Something stout I can strap to my arm," she asked, knowing her own martial, or rather lack of, talents. "Lets just say on a mission like this I'm more interested in keeping their hands, teeth, and weapons off me, than I am in splitting skulls."

There was something else tickling at the back of her mind that made her frown slightly, her cyber eyes focusing tighter on Ro, "You said someone paid a larger bribe to send YOU to the frontline. You have enemies here? If so they may know what you are planning, and may be waiting for us at some point, right? What can we expect in terms of your enemies?"

[Kaptin Keen]

Ishta seemed to consider for a moment, "Less concern about a weapon... but can you arrange for a good shield? Something stout I can strap to my arm," she asked, knowing her own martial, or rather lack of, talents. "Lets just say on a mission like this I'm more interested in keeping their hands, teeth, and weapons off me, than I am in splitting skulls."

There was something else tickling at the back of her mind that made her frown slightly, her cyber eyes focusing tighter on Ro, "You said someone paid a larger bribe to send YOU to the frontline. You have enemies here? If so they may know what you are planning, and may be waiting for us at some point, right? What can we expect in terms of your enemies?"

"A shield? We can arrange for that. There is less demand for that sort of thing, so it's cheap." He smiles, and continues, "You should have some sort of weapon too - a sword, maybe?"

He turns his attention to your question about enemies.

"Everyone has enemies. Everything is competition. If I play the game well, someone else will suffer for it. But to be completely honest, I don't know who did this - it was completely unexpected. However, I doubt very much anyone will make a move while we're on the Pen. Especially since I don't know who did it."

[Sir Dancealot]

"Does I look like a feckin' guardsman? I would'nae have joined dose slobs if'n they'd 'ad a gun to me 'ead. Yous got scammed on me frend. If'n yeh can get me a shotgun, that'd be right fine. Odderwise I'm fine wit a simple piece and a club o' some sort. Or a sticker." She shrugged, "Ahm not overly particular." She shrugged again, plopping the last bit of slop into her mouth before wobbling the tray a bit, checking its weight. "An' sumtin' thick to wear. Leather'd be nice, but I doubt anythin' so fine 'ould be cheap. Bottle o' rotgut 'ould be useful as bargainin' chip in case we actually talk teh someone. Plus, yeh can always whack 'em wit it." She paused, thinking for a moment, "I take it they're a bit cultish down dere? 'Ows their 'eirarchy set up?"

[Kaptin Keen]

Ro seems to be ticking things off on a mental check list.

"Shotgun. Some kind of armor. Rotgut - good thinking." He looks at ((does the hilariously useful arbites even have a name?! Or shall I refer to her as Hua?)) the arbites and explains: "Quite the opposite of shields, shotguns are popular, easy to use and maintain. While we can produce them on-deck, so to speak, the better types are disproportionately expensive. I'll try for a pump model, but you may well have to settle for a side-by-side."

He turns to your other question.

"This is a large ship. Very much so, actually - we're the size of an emperator class cruiser, but maintained on a bare bones budget by bumbling idiots. It's a miracle the Pen has lasted as long as it has. Anyways, the bilge is comparatively large. There are tribes ghiliam down there, but they are cleared out now and again by teams of wardens with flamers. Though some always find holes deep enough to hide in. I'm sure you're right, and they're cultish - but I've never spoken to them. Personally, in fact, I've never been in the bilge. You could try and have a word with 'Father Firebrand', he might know a bit more. He considers himself an envoy of the Ecclesiarchy here on the Pen - but he's got more than a few screws loose. Apparently, he was Redemptionist, but went completely overboard and set flame to a couple of upper hive palaces. Yea. So he was to be executed, but some Cult Emperator big-wig got him sent here. He's among the few who joyously volunteer for frontline duty every planetfall!"

[Sir Dancealot]

V shrugs, "A Gun's a gun. I can work with whatever." She smiles, waving her platter to fan her face, purple hair billowing with the movements, "So, when are we headed down?"

[ArcturusV]

Ishta shook her head at the offer for a sword, "Keep whatever trinket you use for currency here. I am not skilled at killing with a blade. Leave that to the Metal Man, or Vee here." She frowned a little, "I'm looking to stay alive, and avoid fighting too much. The same as you, right?" That frown turned up a little, "That is my priority, get in, get the stuff, get out. Minimal muss and fuss. Not much worth trying to buy your way off the front lines if you die in some miserable hole beforehand."

"... so if you have some sort of hedge bet, some reward for killing off some of these deserters or the like, you should let me know. Or you'll end up without a single bounty as I slip in and out bloodlessly."

That handled she stood up from the table, "I take it that it will take you a few hours to arrange for the supplies. If you want to perhaps earn some extra favors from the rest of these people... I am trained to interpret the Emperor's Wisdom. If you could get me something, some coins, some teeth, or better yet, the Emperor's Tarot, I could perhaps use that talent among the more superstitious and those looking for clues and answers. Who is going to the frontlines? Who is favored by the Emperor, things like that." It was an old service he did for her fellow soldiers, those who wanted the peace of knowing their fate and that the EMPRAH watched for them.

[Kaptin Keen]

Ro looks at you, momentarily distracted. After a moment, still absent minded, he fishes an Emperors Tarot out of a pocket, and places it on the table in front of you.

Then he speaks.

"A sword is also a defensive item, Lady Ishta."

...

"It hadn't occurred to me to ask for a bounty for the deserters. I don't ... we don't ... hunt humans. Even when they've fallen so far as to be indistinguishable from animals."

...

"It really is better to die in the bilge than on the front. At Herengious IV, the atmosphere was an organic acid. We were issued haz-mat suits, but the smallest tear would let in the acid, and it would consume you whole. Pyrenus II was a garden world, but something had made the plantlife ... animate, hostile. We lost, actually lost that planet. Anyone who didn't retreat in time, didn't make it back to the shuttles off-world, were left there. To be seeded. Durns Refuge was ... they called it flickering. It was being overrun, by cultists, by things from the warp itself. Warp space was beginning to overlap with real space. It was just a holding action - keep the planet from slipping entirely into the warp until the inquisition could get there with some sort of super weapon. It wiped the planet clean of all life, I'm told. But kept it in real space."

...

"In the bilge, the worst you can find is death. And you may even find mercy, or simply luck out. When we make planetfall .... only nightmares await."

With that little speech, he turns and leaves for the task of picking up some weapons for you. If Ishta wants an audience in the proper mood for some religious mumblings, she couldn't ask for better than she has right now. Everyone in the mess is praying and hoping for guidance or protection.

[Hyperbolic sine]

When Ro mentions the Warp overlapping of Durn's Refuge, Nihilus subtly and briefly eyes Ishta. Then, once Ro's speech is finished, he speaks:

"Indeed, staying alive seems a good plan, and surely avoiding fights can't do us harm...however I doubt that we will be able to avoid every fight, so let's hope that he can fetch some decent equipment". Stating the obvious is one of Nihilus hobbies, it seems.

[ArcturusV]

"We all play to our strengths, and attack the strengths of others," Ishta offered Nihilus with a faint smile as she picked up the Tarot deck offered. Subtly, subtly was for the Weak! And the Emperor was not a weak man, his will holding the galaxy together, and his will alone, after all.

She held up one finger to Nihilus, "You may want to take notes," she offered, wondering if the Metal Man was going to lurk about. It couldn't hurt, unless he had something far more impressive to be doing. But she knew Metal Men in the guard, and their abilities. Having someone around who could just shoot lasers out of their eyes or make a weapon fly away with but a thought would be handy incase something went pear shaped.

And maybe he'd learn a thing or two, Ishta knew she always did.

She started shuffling the deck slowly and carefully as she stepped up onto the seat, then onto the table where they had eaten. People in prayer against the warp, fervently calling for the Emperor's Attention and his Blessings. She stood tall and proud, looking over the masses with the Tarot in her hands, her uniform worn and clean, her cyber eyes seeming to scan over the crowd.

"The Emperor speaks to his subjects, always watching, always caring," she called out loudly with conviction. She had seen the Sky God on his Throne. She would always remember that image. Not one of horror, but of love and stoic resolve, filled with silent strength. She held up the cards clearly and openly so the crowd could see. And probably the Warden System as well, but a minor concern at this point. Who would deny the men their faith after all? She never even considered the cards might be contraband.

"I have seen him, I have spoken to his spirit many times, and felt his protection wrapped around me as a cloak against all harm. Who am I to hold his love for Man all to myself? He who gives so much for us, wants each and every one to receive his guidance and protection. It is why he watches, it is why he answers our prayers."

"Though we cross through the shadow of the roiling hells of Void and Warp, I know he is with me, and nothing shall befall me. I would grant you a touch of that peace and protection. If you so desire, come and see what the God-Emperor wishes of you, and how you might receive his blessings."

With that, she hopped down behind the table, and started shuffling the deck once more. She had no idea who, if any, would bite. But some would. In a crowd this large, in the midst of something as terrifying as Warp Travel, some always sought the shelter of the Sky God. And she would grant it to them. She would hear their concerns, give them their Fate, and the measure of peace that comes with knowing no man, no matter where he is, is outside of the Emperor's care and attention.

It was why the Tarot existed, as she learned in the Schola Psykana. Each card tuned to the Emperor's spirit to be manipulated by him for any given reading, providing Truth and Guidance.

[Kaptin Keen]

A line quickly forms. It's funny, really. They clearly mistrust psykers, some even openly showing disdain or outright hostility. That doesn't stop them, however. They come, dozens of them, asking questions.

"Will I survive planetfall?"

"Has the God-Emperor forgiven me?"

"Should I favor a lasgun, or a shotgun for this mission?"

"Will I ever see my family again?"

"Will my unit mutiny against me?"

And so on.

After a short while, a wiry fellow with more than the average number of tatoos steps in front of the line, and sits at your table. He places an item of value in front of you - it's lho-sticks, rations, alcohol, and occasionally actual coins - and asks his question: "There are three factions - the Free Militia, The Righteous, and PDF forces assisted by various forces of noble houses. On which side will we be fighting?"

You don't understand the question, but begin laying out the tarot regardless. While you work, he speaks quietly.

"Mister Zilfane has a job that needs doing. As newcomers, you're uniquely suited for the task. If you want, meet Mister Jugga in the blind spot by the rat kebab vendor in an hour."

As he speaks, an answer reveals itself in the cards. You look at the man, and inform him that we shall be assisting the Free Militia. Satisfied, he rises to go. As he does so, he adds: "Mister Zilfane would of course be able to find others, if you refuse this task."

He is strangely unthreatening.

[Hyperbolic sine]

Nihilus does stuck around, blankly staring at the cards as Ishta makes the various forecasts for the various convicts: the Tarot does not mean much to him, as having been born on a Forge World he follows the Credo Omnissiah, and not the Imperial Creed. From his expression it is clear, however, that he would have charged people for that service, since that would be without doubt a way to quuickly make some "cash". Luckily, at least one man seems to have decided to pay of his free will.

Good fellow.

Then, he mentions Jugga...and the untreatheningness is somewhat fishy. He turns to his two companions:

"I have the feeling it will be some sort of assassination or smuggling affair...but, as much as I don't like that deambulating mountain of meat I have also the feeling that we might have better chances at this than down in the bilge."

[Kaptin Keen]

((don't worry - they all pay))

You all now have a bit of time on your hands - if there is anything you want to follow up on, look for, do, visit, steal or whatever.

[ArcturusV]

Ishta nodded as the readings were finished up. She had a nice, honestly earned, pile of trade materials. She doubted the authorities, such as they were, would mind the Emperor's Tarot, it was a calming influence on people after all.

She carefully raked in her "earnings", giving Vee and Nihilus what looked like a 20% cut ((Equaling 5 Thrones for each of you, not hard for just a half hour of work or something of standing around)) each just for their presence there and possible status as Thug Deterrent, pocketing the rest for herself, stowed in the inner pockets of her long coat, and stowed the Tarot deck in one of the outer pockets.

"More importantly, this person Zilfane has an information source within the Command Structure. How else would his flunky know who was involved in the fighting we were to face?" she pointed out, "Information sources like that could be handy. Let us know what equipment we may need to thrive on planetfall and conditions we might face."

"Of course, we could do both, to maximize our chances of success in the grander objectives."

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Of course."

Satisfaction sparks in Nihilus' eyes, as he grabs his part of items: it's free 'money', after all! He too puts them in the inner pockets, since that is probably the best thing to do when almost anyone you bump into could pickpocket you.

"Thanks, Specialist. So, we wait for Ro and then go to the meeting with the mountain of meat? Or do we go without telling him?"

[Kaptin Keen]

((figure out whether you want to inform Ro or not))

[Sir Dancealot]

"Roight. Ah say we's go wit'ou' 'im." She smiled, "It's always goo' teh have a' leas' one secret yeah?"

[Kaptin Keen]

((secrets are nice - but a case could also be made for trust and honesty?!))

((oh who am I kidding, there is only war, right? =))

[ArcturusV]

Ishta shrugged, following the suggestions of her two Squadmates, such as they were. "It's not his mission, he is not formally in my chain of command. There is no reason to report to him every time something happens," she followed suit and toed the line with everyone else. If they wanted to seek out "Thugga" or whatever his name actually was, she was good to go with it.

"... though..." she frowned, pausing just before she started to set off. Looking to Vee and Nihilus, "Perhaps you rather have weapons before we meet. It may be a..." she paused, trailing off, struggling to find the right word for something she knew quite well in her tribal language but never quite figured out in Low Gothic. "Ridding Rivals?" Close, but not quite, she was thinking of a combination of Hazing and Assassinating. They were new. Someone might be thinking to get them to join the local thuggery pecking order... or else.

[Kaptin Keen]

So ... chain of command got me thinking. You cannot know, and your characters are unlikely to know, precisely how combat works in the penal legion - in my interpretation.

You are all wearing collars, and while they can be detonated by direct trigger, that's simply out of the question when 3000 legionnaires are in the field. Instead, they work by zoning.

So basically, say the command is Advance. Your little group of five are tagged to a zone. Inside this zone, you are free to do as you will - with Ro as your direct commanding officer (with some exceptions, which I'll get to). Since the command in this case is Advance - your zone will be moving forward. You will be moving forward with it, or .... you will get a single warning, follow by sudden death by explosive decapitation.

The exception: Warden-lieutenants sometimes accompany insertions. They will be in walkers, and will be ordering the battle directly. Lieutenant is the highest rank to ever be deployed to any forward position. But in general, higher quality troops are not risked in the missions for which legionnaires are selected - you work by remote control, live or die.


While I might not have made it obvious, Ro - by tone of voice and so on - hinted that renting weapons for you guys might take some time ... a few hours, at least. If you're going to meet with Jugga, you will do so unarmed. Placing you in no less of a disadvantage then you were when you first made his acquaintance.

So ... off you go, right?

[Hyperbolic sine]

"Indeed, I'd rather have a weapon, but I don't think we are in a position were we can acquire them...not in an hour, that is sure." Nihilius states. "That said, if we can find some raw material and simple tools I can probably craft something...a couple of knives, or a staff perhaps. Still, not in an hour." He will follow the others when they move.

[Kaptin Keen]

By democratic majority vote, you're going to meet Jugga before Ro returns.

After a bit of looking around, you find the blind spot by the kebob vendor - machinery, shops and other landscape paraphernalia around a depression in the floor creates a small spot where the cameras of the Watcher are blind. Here, you find Jugga waiting for you.

His size is awe inspiring - he is truly a titan among men. What appears to be a simple lead pipe on his belt seems to be his only weapon. With his strength and mass behind it though, you inwardly cringe as you imagine what it would do to bones, or a skull. Or a crotch.

While he was crude and brutish with Zilfane around, on his own he appears almost civil.

"Gentlemen, how good of you to come," he begins, "we have a small token task that needs handling, and we figured we'd give you the opportunity to show us your worth. If it so pleases you. Mind, this is a respectful request. If you don't feel like doing this for us, we shall find others, and no ill will because of it."

Need I say his voice is a resonant bass? Nah.

[Kaptin Keen]

((no one feels like saying hello?))

[Sir Dancealot]

"I'll haves yous know dat two ef us are females eh?" V says smiling all the while, "So's, whats it thats yous wants us to do eh? And how much is it going to gets us?" She continued, rather blunt and to the point if anything, purple hair framing her face.

((I was busy this last week. Sorry!))

[Kaptin Keen]

A hint of a smile touches his features. For the first time it dawns on you that Jugga might be a fairly attractive male of the species, were he not so dark and brooding, and unreasonably large and threatening.

"Specifics of gender. I misspoke, of course, but if we're all equal beneath the gaze of the God-Emperor, are we not all gentlemen?"

"The task we would set you is a simple one. But I shall start with another detail. See, Mr. Zilfane and I do not invest ourselves in barter economy otherwise rampant on this ship. We will pay nothing for this service - which you may chose to render us, or not."

"Now ... are you still interested?"

[Sir Dancealot]

"Roight. Again, depends on deh job now don't et?" She said, still smiling happily, "And ye'll pay nuttin', but don't mean we ain't gettin' nuttin'. So's, untils yous gets to the terms of the deal, ain't nuttin' going teh 'appen is it?"

[Kaptin Keen]

"I understand your need for what might be considered a fair exchange. Sadly, fair cannot really be a factor here. And in actual fact, I'm not asking you to do this for nothing. Mr. Zilfane and I do business in favors. You do one for us - and maybe we'll do one for you in return. However, I cannot very well tell you what we'd like in advance, because then I wouldn't know what you might get into heads to do with that information."

"Do this in a clever fashion, and I imagine no one need ever know you did it. Except for Mr. Zilfane and I. But you need to decide whether you're in or out?"

((btw feel free to roll any skill checks you like, or ask any questions you want))

[Kaptin Keen]

... did everyone quit on me? There is no right or wrong - just do or don't. As I said, this game is much about who you know, and how they view you. And how you play those cards.