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Thread: The Hungry Void

  1. - Top - End - #1
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Doc Kraken's Avatar

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    Default The Hungry Void

    The siege has gone on for two weeks. Two weeks of cold, two weeks of your lungs sucking in the acrid, bitter atmosphere, two weeks of incessant enemy propaganda blaring from distant vox-systems. The only interruption to their heretical monologue comes when the Death Korps begins one of their irregularly-scheduled mass bombardments. Your regiment is lucky; the deadspace earpieces issued to every Los Solvian do a fine job blocking out both unwelcome noises. Others are not so fortunate – some of the Poorfellows stationed closest to the artillery lines have gone deaf, and the assorted priests and clerics assigned to the battlegroup are kept busy by a constant influx of guardsmen, wary lest their own thoughts become infected by the enemy’s broadcasts.

    So far, there has been little enemy action to be seen. The rebels appear to have pulled out of the occupied districts and suburbs entirely, leaving behind a confused and shell-shocked population of refugees. Confessors and Commissars alike have determined that the vast majority have nothing to do with the revolt; indeed, there are many displaced priests among their number, some doing their best to comfort their flocks, others shunning company and glancing over their shoulders in the manner of hunted beasts. They have been allowed to return to their homes in the reconquered outskirts, but a fair number of them come from the hive proper, and a teeming, sprawling shantytown has developed around the ordered Imperial Guard encampment. Keeping the population fed, warm, and ordered has been the majority of your duty so far; as one of the handful of newly-minted morale squads, it has been deemed important to keep you in the public eye. It has also kept you out of the brief, scattered firefights along the rebel defenses, and so the only view you have had of the enemy is the distant, snow-swept wall surrounding the outer Artisanal District. It is massive even from the encampment, towering to the sky in the manner of Imperial architecture and bristling with defensive turrets and gun emplacements. The enemy has made little use of these beyond supporting fire to see off failed assaults; it is unclear whether they are conserving ammunition, unwilling to risk hitting the displaced population, or lack the proper training to use the long-range weapons effectively.

    That is not the only topic of discussion in the camp (Bastion Retribution, as the bombastic General Hemn insists on calling it, though fortifications are limited to hasty barricades of rubble and wire). Tension is high and the rumor mill is in full swing; each night sees guardsmen swapping gossip about officers, the enemy, planned tactics, and most of all, the timetable for the inevitable assault. Everyone knows it’s coming, but no one is quite sure when or how. Waiting has turned each trooper into a strategic mastermind on the level of Macharius himself, and anyone lingering in the mess tents and makeshift saloons is liable to hear “the way I’d do it” at some length. The foremost obstacle, of course, is the wall. Repeated shelling has certainly damaged it, but it will take months to breach at this point, giving the traitors ample time to plan and allowing supplies for the refugees to run dangerously low. To cap it off, another regiment has been deployed under the command of your own General Rav – the remnants of the Berrin 4th Reconnaissance, feral worlders with a grim cast to their faces. From what the Los Solvians have gathered, their planet was destroyed by some sort of xenos invasion, and it’s rumored that most of their active regiments are intent on following it. The 4th is at roughly half strength, and with no way to reinforce them, they’ve been integrated into the 31st Iron Harts. Command has even had a number of them sprinkled among the morale squads in an effort to ease integration and culture shock, but it hasn’t been quite long enough to tell how much of an effect that will have. The merger, the interminable wait, the cold and the odd, boggy smell of damp plant life that permeates the air…small wonder some trooper’s nerves are a little frayed.

    As such, it may come as a relief when your dataslates hum to life and a small message ordering the presence of Morale Squad One at the primary briefing auditorium within half an hour. The auditorium is a converted Administratum building near the center of the encampment, an easy ten-minute walk from anywhere within your assigned section of the camp.

    Spoiler: Locations of Interest
    Show

    Valker’s Speakeasy (a semi-official saloon and hub for under-the-table commerce; Specialist Valker is a short, surly sharpshooter with tattoos up to his shoulders. The regiment knows from hard experience not to call him a ratling), Drilling Ground Secundus (scheduled for use by platoons; is currently free for anyone looking to take a little exercise), Supply Checkpoint (roughly three hours from now, food and medication will be distributed here - refugees are already lining up), Quarters (repurposed hab blocks, and thus slightly more luxurious than you're used to), Mess Complex (a series of connected tents that stay warm only due to the constant activity in the kitchens), Motor Pool Primus (holds two company's worth of Chimeras and support vehicles), Chapel Tent (stretched over the remains of a cathedral destroyed in the original uprising)


    OOC is here!
    Last edited by Doc Kraken; 2014-03-12 at 06:14 PM.

  2. - Top - End - #2
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    Goblin

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    "Ey, Vonun?"

    "Mm?" Snick.

    "The Flitter-slate. It's buzzin'."

    "Mhm?" Snick, snick.

    "Thought we could puzzle it together, y'know? Ignorin' it never ends well."

    Sighing heavily, Vonun sets aside his minute pruning shears and surveys his handiwork before answering Lyd. After all, a little forced patience would do the enthusiastic Shor runt some good. His decades-old project, Ohmu, the clipping of the Holm clan tree, hadn't adjusted well to this world's chill; its little fronds were dipping unhealthily and it hadn't released any spores at all since his deployment to this forsaken front. All the coaxing and gentle encouragement he had provided in the past few days had only barely improved the stunted plant's state, even in the protected confines of his hab-block quarters.

    "Arright. Pass it 'ere an' gimme a hand with it..."

    As he and Lyd sussed out the meaning of the bizarre tech-spirit's request (something about attending the meeting of his squad; certainly unavoidable), Vonun could feel the melancholia he'd been struggling with settle in anew. He hated this place. The sharpshooter despised the cold, wet snow that contrived to get into every nook and cranny of his gear; he hated the masked Death Korps, whose presence alone was enough to make his skin crawl and his mind wander to old clan legends about the blank-eyed, hungry spirits of the dead; his new kit and over-weighted armour, covered in legends of a world he'd never seen, with heroes not of his clan, emblazoned with sigils and honours he couldn't read--nor cared to. An officer had already admonished him and cut his rations when he found the enterprising ratling trying to sell it off; apparently, it was a 'dishonour to the storied regiment', whatever that meant, and he'd escaped a flogging by the skin of his teeth.

    And to add insult to injury, the replacement for his old spotter (a clan brother who'd fallen to an unlucky counter-sniper's shot) was a Shor, a river rat and an indefatigable optimist who read his Primer religiously and kept encouraging the elder Berrinite to look on the 'bright side'. Intolerable.

    Standing and stretching with myriad groans and the crackle of joints, Vonun silenced the data-slate. Fumbling in his ruck, he produced two shotgun clips and tossed them to Lyd. "Wait's over. Find Valker an' see if 'e knows anyone who'll trade. Take a 'nade for it, if you can get it, an' if you can't...just try to get it even. Maybe more shots for my gun, if you can. Meet at the briefin', an' be quick 'bout it." As the younger ratling scrambles to get his gear, Vonun beats a leisurely pace out of the converted habs, off to the Supply. If he was lucky, he'd be able to sneak a few of the drugs or relief rations out before the briefing, and be in the field by the time a shortage was noticed.
    Last edited by Vexing; 2014-03-12 at 09:15 PM.

  3. - Top - End - #3
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    ClericGuy

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    The Misadventures of Tristan Solar, Lazy Priest of Holy Terra!

    ... last time when we checked in with our unflappable hero, he was in deep kimchi after having tricked his Company's Buck Private Samson Greene into Painting the Chimera for him (Supposedly his own punishment for some transgression best not mentioned but likely the fault of the relative quiet time on deployment), by convincing him that it was in fact, a lot of fun and NOT punishment.

    Sadly he was discovered by a fellow "Morale Squad" officer, kicking back and watching three men he tricked had sand blasted a company chimera and were nearly done painting it, Tristan sipping on some lemonade rations he had "borrowed" from a fellow deployed Regiment.

    And now we return to the Adventures of Tristan Solar, already in progress!

    Tristan felt himself drenched in sweat, his arms aching horribly, legs screaming out as his robes clung to his body. His over weighted blade was feeling as leaded as his arms at the moment, and still the rampaging Sister came on. His breathing was labored, but a smile still remained on his face as he intercepted another blow that, if the blades were powered might have cleaved him right in twain from left shoulder to right hip. His feet skid across frozen rock and soil, absorbing the full impact of the heavy, power armored blow.

    "... huff... hew... come on... that all?" Tristan let out an exhausted sounding laugh. The officer had sworn to work him into the ground for his laziness, make an example out of him, as he should be due to his status as Morale Squad. Being the sparring dummy for the Sisters of Battle... in their full kit no less, augmented strength and all! Should have done it.

    Instead he had frustrated them all, only on his fifth "fight" of the 3 hour session now. He had adopted a defensive style, never attacking, waiting to parry blows and wear out the far more aggressive Daughters of the Emperor. It was a fighting style they weren't used to, dealing with the aggression of Heretics, Daemons, and Orkoids who were all too used to eager to shed blood and couldn't hold back their lust.

    And it had frustrated them to no end, until they finally slipped up in their frustration and exhaustion, allowing him to score a "kill" on them and end the fight after marathons of purely defensive actions.

    Some might have called it smart. Tristan called it a hell of a lot easier to let the augmented Sisters beat themselves up than it was to beat them himself. Still 3 hours was a long time, and even taking it easy, his body was on the verge of collapsing.

    He saw the blade rising up, the Sister had been putting all her power into decisive blows, trying to batter through his defenses, and Tristan wasn't certain he could stop this one.

    So rather than fight his exhaustion, he played into it, letting his blade drop even as she raised up for the hammer blow, his blade slamming into the side of her right knee, not hard enough to really phase her, but the point was made as Tristan dropped to his knee, stumbling with the last bit of momentum in the strike. "... if not... if not..." he didn't finish the thought. But the black haired Nun seemed to understand. If he wasn't falling over on his feet, if it was a lighter weapon like a Power Blade, he would have just sheered her right off at the knee and had her helpless. The fight was over.

    And Tristan, immensely glad as he leaned against his blade, using it to prop himself up on his knee rather than fall face first into the mud. His hair clung to his scalp, body drenched, robes muddied.

    "... no more... no more..." he muttered, not having much more that he could have given. Only 5 fights, but long, grueling combats. He knew from the Battlefield and form his Lessons that most actual fights in combat only last for maybe a half a minute, maybe a minute at most. His quickest one in this session was a 15 minute endurance match, and he just had no more to give.

    Keeghan jogged, up, a silent observer of the matches, waving off the next Sororita who was lining up against Tristan. As the "responsible" one of the duo, Keeghan had been ordered to make sure that Tristan was worked into the ground, and that was about as Into the Ground as one could get without being buried. He pulled up Tristan by his arm, pulling him up, arm over his shoulder to keep the exhausted priest up.

    "... you know if you made it harder on yourself."

    Tristan merely glared at Comrade Thale, as if the trooper had grown a second head.

    "If you attacked, you could have ended fights faster, worn out faster, and been done hours ago."

    Tristan muttered something dark.

    "Just saying."

    "... I have no interest in fighting Sororitas," Tristan finally answered as they limped off the field, dragging his blade behind him.

    "... you're a strange man..." It wasn't the first time that Keeghan had mentioned as much, probably wouldn't be the last, "Hit the cleansing stalls, you got a message during that last fight, you need to be in proper shape for duty."

    Tristan groaned, double punishment. But damn did an ice cold shower sound good to his screaming muscles right now.
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  4. - Top - End - #4
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    SamuraiGuy

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    Default Re: The Hungry Void

    The small, makeshift barroom was dead silent. Standard fare as Raistlin was concerned. It's always quiet where I am.

    Offhand, he wondered whether or not he'd be shot today. Being a psyker attached to one of the Solvian "morale squads" was a little... odd.

    He shook his empty glass, indicating to the bartender; one Valker; a refill. The ratling snapped to, refilling the glass and disappearing with the alacrity of fear.

    The sudden bang of the door opening indicated the arrival of someone, and only one person would show up while Raistlin was there.

    "Psyker! Time for you to join the squad."

    Raistlin responded by swirling his drink, as if searching for meaning in the gentle motion of liquid crashing on itself.

    "Psyker?"

    Deep into the amber drink, there lay a place where no one could touch him, where nothing could find him. Somewhere, in the bottom of the bottle.

    The click of a bolt pistol brought him back.

    "A drink, for those us lost. A moment, for those us who haven't gone."

    Raistlin drained his drink, then took up his staff and rose.

    "Let's go."

  5. - Top - End - #5
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    The Supply Center is located in an windswept, rubble-filled parking area, originally designed for civilian groundcars. The center is dominated by a large tollhouse, formerly used to monitor traffic and now the headquarters of the 31st's supply officers. There's a series of Aegis barricades surrounding the entire area, patrolled by a dozen or so bored-looking sentries. There's at least thirty ragged-looking refugees lined up already, even though supplies won't be distributed for hours yet - they look cold and hungry, well-motivated to take the first place in the queue.

    They're not the only ones getting ready. A small group of battered servitors is making the rounds, moving boxes from the building into a large pile for ease of access. They've been stamped with labels such as "RATIONS", "COLD-WEATHER GEAR", "MEDICAL" and the like...a couple of the ration boxes have been knocked over by a careless servitor, spilling standard Los Solvian field rations across the snow-driven ground. There's a couple of smaller boxes on top marked "CLERGY" and "SURVEYING", as well. As of yet, most of the bystanders are not focused on the supplies, chatting to each other and the sentries instead. Any enterprising looter would do well to concentrate on fooling or avoiding the servitors...

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    Default Re: The Hungry Void

    The pack of rations bounced off Mag's chest, and he opened his eyes.

    "Bodyguarding." KC said shortly. "Get up."

    Mag woke, shaved, washed, and dabbed water on the little devotional icon wedged in a corner of his bunk. He stuck a lho in the corner of his mouth, but with the rain there was no point lighting it.

    "Ready" he called, slinging a bandoleer of grenades across his shoulder. KC passed him the launcher and punched him on his meaty shoulder.

    "Let's roll, big guy."
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    Nova leaned back on her cot, her sleeping bag and blanket bunched up for her to stay in a somewhat upward position. No matter how much she tried, she just couldn't sleep on those damn fluffy beds. Too comfortable. Smoke drifted idly from her pipe as she flipped a page in the magazine. It was surprisingly well written. The vernacular worked perfectly with the pictures. Astounding really. She flipped another page, adjusting her pipe once more. Whoever had written this was wasted on what they were currently doing, unless what they were currently doing was writing propaganda for the Imperium. She needed to find the writer of this. Perhaps that lazy priest would help? She wouldn't doubt he would be willing.

    She flipped another page, the last unfortunately. The artwork in it was beautiful. Breathtaking really. Truly, the one that made this was a master of their craft. She just had to get one of the hand drawn versions of these. She flipped to the back to see if it held any information on the creator. It did not unfortunately. But, it did say that this was issue three. That was a bonus, there were at least two more like these. She'd have to do some routine inspections and see if she could confiscate the others as she did this one. But which one? It couldn't be the one with Sergeant Alton, she just went through an inspection with them yesterday. Maybe the squ- The data-pad on her lap gave a brief buzz.

    Sighing, she picked it up, and read through her message. She frowned at it, hopefully this time it would actually be a mission. While she didn't mind being around and looking shiny, if that's all you do, how do you inspire men without fighting beside them? Sighing again, she began to put on her equipment.

    Finishing after five minutes or so, she picked up the magazine and looked at the cover. The Commissar on the front was quite obviously her, she was after all, the only female Commissar around. Plus she didn't know anyone else with hair like hers. She wasn't entirely sure who it was that she was kissing though. This was complicated by the fact that she couldn't tell if it was a Sororitas or a Guardswoman because of the lack of clothing. Nova's caricature had been left clothed throughout though. Probably a fetish of some sort. Frowning in thought, she tucked the magazine, "The Commissar's Justice" away and headed towards the Administratum building.
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  8. - Top - End - #8
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    Goblin

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    Examining the scene with his sharp eyes, Vonun weighs his options with care. Using his 'blessed' cloak (chameleoline seemed to mimic a sacred lizard on his lost homeworld, after all, so why not?), he might be able to secure more food for himself and the Shor rat, or perhaps use it to trade for other goods...

    But, even if he had a little trouble working out the bizarre runes carved into their sides with paint, the unopened boxes seemed promising. 'SURVEYING', he was a little uncertain about, but 'CLERGY' was the word for the Watcher's servants. According to the flitter-slate, there was even one in his assigned squad, not that he'd taken the time to meet them in his personal time during deployment. His attempted instruction of Lyd and caring for Ohmu had taken up most of his energies.

    "C'mon..."

    Ah, well. There would always be more food, and the ancestors favored the bold warrior over the cautious one. Murmuring prayers, he turned the hood of his cloak up and began to pad across the snow towards the pile. Waiting for the nearest sentries to either look away or strike up a conversation, he did his best to slip past their perimeter and over to the supplies. Once through, he keeps a careful eye on the train of servitors, trying to pick a large enough gap so his theft will go unnoticed.

    If he were fortunate, he mused, perhaps he could take both of these mysterious boxes back to his quarters for a little rummaging before debriefing.

  9. - Top - End - #9
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    None of the sentries seem to be expecting an attempt on the supplies from this side of the barricade, and the servitors are far too focused on their task to notice one little ratling slipping through their midst, especially not one concealed by a camo-cloak. Vonun picks his way over the cold ground easily, using the driving wind and snow to his advantage. Both of the smaller boxes easily fit under his arms. Whatever's in them, it can't be too heavy.

    There's just enough time left for the ratling to get his new belongings stowed safely away back in his quarters and still make it to the briefing on time...that is, if he hurries!

    ==============

    Meanwhile, the rest of Morale Squad One begins to trickle toward the briefing theater. The pair of guards outside the stark, imposing building cast nervous glances toward Raistlin and his companion, their tension only easing with the arrival of Mag and KC. They straighten up again as Commissar Nova makes her way over, looking sharp and professional by the time Tristan saunters in (trailed by Keeghan and looking remarkably refreshed, all things considered). Lyd scurries up a few moments later, casting shifty glances over his shoulder and chewing on something. The ratling is followed by a veritable crowd - First and Second squads of Second Platoon, followed by what seem to be two squads of the Death Korps. It's hard to tell what the Krieg Guardsman are thinking behind the anonymity of their respirators, but the Los Solvians seem mildly puzzled by their presence.

    "Somethin' big going down, then?" The guard on the left asks, unable to hide his curiosity.
    Last edited by Doc Kraken; 2014-03-13 at 12:42 PM.

  10. - Top - End - #10
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    ClericGuy

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    And now we're back to Gratuitous Shower Scene

    "The Emperor provides," Tristan said with a smile on his face as the ice cold water cleansed the sweat and grime from his body and invigorated his sore muscles. He let out a sigh, wishing he could remain in the shower for an hour or two as the water ran over his body... and knowing that Keeghan would be by to bother him about his Duty long before that point of ultimate relaxation.

    Still he did what he could to relax, taking his time in the shower, slowly working the fatigue and pain out of his body, gently washing off every last bit of the mud, sweat, and dust. His eyes wandered to the other stalls, Guardsmen and Sisters wandering in, in the same tired state as he was in, his spirits buoyed by the moment of shared misery, healing, and relaxation in the air.

    Or maybe the hypnotically calming effect of watching water flowing down soft curves and dirty bodies, cutting little rivulets of clean skin beneath.

    He sighed, hating to leave, but not wanting Keeghan to interrupt him. Toweled off, dressed in clean robes that his comrade had thankfully brought, finding his 'buddy' cleaning the dust and grime off the chain blade and leaving it sparkling new after the hours long training session.

    "... about time. Was wondering if you passed out in there."

    "Never would. And, thanks," he said taking the inspirational chainsword up once more. Slinging it over his shoulder, he walked off, Keeghan in tow as usual, "Time for a muffin?"

    "... I don't think so sir."

    "... apple?"

    "Nope."

    "Deep Fried Chocolate pie?"

    Keeghan sighed, "I think we'd have to go right there to make it in time."

    "You know Thale... if you keep doing everything they say, right on their schedule they'll just keep walking all over you."

    "Sir, duty to the Throne demands..."

    Tristan cut him off with a wave of the hand, "Yeah yeah, heard it before. I know better than you what the Emperor Demands. They sent me to school for that stuff you know. Seems silly to waste the Emperor's sacrifice and vigil though."

    "... sir?"

    Tristan laughed at the confused tone in his voice, "Well the God-Emperor sits on the Golden Throne, he guides and protects mankind, correct?"

    Keeghan nodded slowly.

    "Why do you suppose that is?"

    Keeghan stared blankly, "... because he's the Emperor?"

    "Well... yes... but WHY? Why does he guide us through the Tarot? Protect us from the Warp, Heretics, Daemons, Xenos? So we can toil and war constantly? Or did he want Mankind to have a life? He fights and sacrifices so that we may live. Never forget to live."
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  11. - Top - End - #11
    Bugbear in the Playground
     
    Goblin

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    "No idea", Vonun chirps up from about knee-height as he pitter-patters his way past the two guards. Carrying his lovingly-maintained sniper rifle on one shoulder and hurriedly adjusting his ruck on the other, the sharpshooter had run all the way from the regimental quarters--and it showed. His age having weighed more heavily on him than some of his compatriots, the ratling puffed and wheezed his way all along the line until he falls in beside Lyd, bending over slightly to cough and catch his breath.

    Of course, he'd had to run. Sauntering back to his quarters as innocently as possible had taken time, too much time for him to open the two boxes like he so desperately wished to. Instead, he had allowed himself to run his bare fingers along their wooden tops before industriously stuffing them underneath Lyd's mattress; better the Shor than a Holm, after all, if they were going to be searched. Having gathered his gear in short order, he'd rushed his way down to the briefing theatre without a moment to spare.

    Glancing over at his spotter, Vonun does his best to murmur quietly. "What'd you trade for?" Noting his comrade's puffed cheeks and chewing, he scowls wearily and cuffs the young fellow's ear. "If it was jerky again, I will tug out your ears off your head!", he hisses.

  12. - Top - End - #12
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    ClericGuy

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    Tristan Finally Meets His Squaddies

    "Not too big I hope," Tristan replied as he sauntered in. He wasn't in full battle gear, but he had his Priestly Robes on, and his Chain Sword of Devotion. He moved with an ease and confidence that suggested not only was he comfortable as is in the auditorium, armored in the Emperor's Mercy if nothing else, but comfortable with the situation in general, giving people an honest smile, relaxed, taking his moment to make eye contact with people, small gestures of familiarity or blessings given out like a good priest should.

    "Dunno about you... but I'm kind of liking this gig so far. Would like a little longer to help out the refugees, maybe induct a few of them as Whiteshields..." Tristan shrugged at the suggestion. People who knew him might wonder if it was just his dislike of battle and hard labor, or if it was an honest desire to see the civilians in better conditions that sparked this.

    "Either way the chill air is good for morale," he chuckled a bit at that, setting down his chain blade, point down, resting on the heavy weapon as a prop. "Think they're plannin' the big assault?"
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  13. - Top - End - #13
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    The younger ratling squeals indignantly at the blow. "What? No!" He swallows, looking only slightly guilty. "Well...not...just jerky. Look, I saved you some." Lyd proffers a few strips of dried grox meat, tough enough to keep even a ratling's notoriously strong jaws chewing for hours. "And...err, I got this too." He holds up a weighted knife, its edges sharp enough to gleam in the dim light.

    "I haven't seen you using anything like this, so I thought that might be because you haven't had one yet! The guy I traded with split a ploin in half from ten feet! Neat, right?"

    Grinning, Lyd flips the knife up and catches it to pass it over hilt-first, seemingly undeterred by the trickle of blood running down one of his fingers.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Vonun gets a throwing knife! Also, half a dozen jerky strips.


    "Could be..." The talkative guard shrugs in response to Tristan's question. "Whole lot of movement out near the front line, I can tell you that. The lieutenant oughta be here soon, betcha he'll set you lot straight. Nobody tells me nuffin'."
    Last edited by Doc Kraken; 2014-03-13 at 01:46 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #14
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    SamuraiGuy

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    It's loud here. Is that because of the priest?

    Raistlin was careful to stay away from the Death Korps and the few members of the attached Berrinite regiment. Wouldn't be wise to give some overzealous or uneducated member of either an excuse to try something. His fellow Solvians knew his worth, and were a sight more respectful.

    Speaking of fellows...

    "Good afternoon, Tristan. You seem... well exercised."

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    After trading brief greetings with the guards at the door- there was almost nobody on the base he didn't know to nod to- Mag extended a massive hand to the priest and the Commissar.

    "Gunner Magnus Erskin, father, ma'am. I've been seconded as bodyguard to the morale team- i'm in charge of your security for the next few days. This is Ki-"

    "KC."

    "KC Gabler, and if we're going to be on nickname terms, i'd prefer you to call me "Mag.""
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  16. - Top - End - #16
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    Muttering various curses and indignities to be visited upon Lyd at unreasonable times, Emperor willing, the sniper plucks the throwing knife away from his charge. "Cut yourself. Idiot." Resolving not to allow the easily misguided companion access to anything valuable again, Vonun sighs and checks the balance of the knife. Slim, accurate, weighted towards the handle...good, certainly. Worth two whole clips of shotgun ammo? Certainly not.

    Well, he'd brought jerky back too. That had to count for something. Right?

    Resolving to practice throwing the knife at Lyd's bunk in penance (it'd been years since he'd had one himself, anyhow), Vonun eyes his newly minted squadmates. The Los Solvians seemed to know more about what this meeting might be for than he did, so for the time being he would keep his head down and try to imagine what might be in his 'borrowed' boxes. A present to look forward to.

  17. - Top - End - #17
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    ClericGuy

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    Tristan Solar, Priest of the Peoples!

    "5 rounds with the buxom beauties of the Briars will do that to ya," he said, giving the Psyker a little wink. He seemed at ease with Raistlin. Maybe it was due to the Los Solvus culture, maybe it was just his personality. He didn't seem the type to really hold any rancor for anyone. Maybe grumbling if they made him put in some hard work, but that was about the limit of it.

    "KC, Mag," it wasn't much of a greeting, but Tristan said it in good cheer, nodding to each of them in turn as the team introduce themselves, "Call me Tristan, still a Man, robes aside. The God-Emperor wouldn't want us to forget that." He grinned and gave a little wink, "Welcome to the team. After this whole think I'll walk you through your new Squad Duties..." He was still grinning, wondering just how many of HIS chores he could pawn off on the newbie before he got wise to the whole thing.
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  18. - Top - End - #18
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    Nova strode into the room confidently, she'd had a bit of time to spare and had wandered a tad, giving kind words and short encouraging speeches where she went. It was her Duty after all, and if there was one thing she did, it was her Duty. She frowned as she saw the Priest, she wasn't entirely sure what to make of the man. If nothing else he was a lazy bastard, but even lazy bastards had their uses if you knew how to use them. She'd read that he was quite good at finding ways around working. She would give him tasks that required multiple people outside of combat. That would most likely be the best use of his... Talent.

    She strode up to the priest and the psyker, "Father Tristam, I require your assistance once this meeting is done with. It will require no hard labor on your part, just more of what you normally do. Talk to people."

    She looked at the Psyker. "Good day to you Specialist Raistlin. Faring well? And you private?" She asked of the psyker and his comrade. She'd been with the 30th an 31st long enough to not be too bothered by psykers anymore. They were tools to be used, just as any weapon, and as any weapon could explode in your hands, so too could a psyker. It was fortunate that this one held no value to life. He would be a useful weapon. Hopefully he did not still feel fear, but she doubted that.

    She shook the large man's hand, hers quite a bit smaller. "A pleasure to meet you. Nicknames is it? You may call me Commissar Wolf then, as so many others do behind my back." She grinned at that, her canines did seem a tad sharper than usual, "And the next few days is it? From my understanding, you were to be a permanent attachment to our team. A large man with big guns and all that. A Poster Child as it were. Even the ratling was chosen for such. And I believe it would be for the best if I walked them through their new duties. Wouldn't you rather fight with Sororitas for that time instead Father? It looked like such good training, and I rarely see you out doing such. Perhaps I'm just busy whilst you're doing such?" She looked the two new members up and down, quietly judging how best she could use them for the squad's benefit.

    "On that note, where is out small sniper?"
    Last edited by Sir Dancealot; 2014-03-13 at 05:49 PM.
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  19. - Top - End - #19
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    ClericGuy

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    ... expletive...

    It was clear on his face when Commissar Nova singled him out at first. A mix of dread and fear, oh not paralyzing cowardice fear. But the fear of something unpleasant and painful, but would have to be done, like ripping a slug round out of your ass or hacking off some arm that had been infected by the Devourer Fleets of the Tyranids.

    He only relaxed slightly when she assured him that it was but a simple job, probably a meet and greet, raising the spirits of people? Who knows. He seemed back to his good cheer when Nova had mentioned the Sororitas training session. His mind, rather than going back to the slogging and the swordplay went back to his 'reward' afterwards, stolen glances and images that would be burned in his mind forever.

    He was lost in those 'memories' when he suddenly realized (Thanks to a discrete poke from Keeghan) that the Commissar might actually expect an answer.

    "Oh? Hmm? Yes. Talk to the men, fly the flag, Emperor be Praised. I think I can manage that." His smile faded, but it was still there, "You should try it sometime, Nova. Might actually learn a trick or two going the distance with me."
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  20. - Top - End - #20
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    SamuraiGuy

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    A shrug of the shoulders accompanied Raistlin's reply to the commissar, "Haven't seen him yet. If my prediction is right, he'll either be here in a couple of minutes, or he's dead."

  21. - Top - End - #21
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    Goblin

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    It took a few moments, at the back of the assembled, for Vonun to realize that he was the topic of their discussion. Cuffing Lyd again for good measure, he takes another half step forward and coughs. If that didn't manage to get the attention of the taller folk, he was toying with the idea of dragging his new edged acquisition along the nearby rockcrete wall as loudly as possible.

    "'Ere." They didn't really need anything else, did they? Looking distinctly uncomfortable in his Venshani-pattern armour, the ratling doesn't bother to make eye contact, instead taking his valuable time to ensure his gun is in working condition. Wouldn't do to have it fouled up before his first mission in this hellish waste, after all; the rifle's warrior spirit would be insulted, and rightly so.

  22. - Top - End - #22
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    SamuraiGuy

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    The psyker turned at the ratling's announcement of his presence, and glanced at the younger Lyd behind the sniper.

    "So, you did send the young one. That jerky saved your life."

    Raistlin addressed the rest of the squad, "Sirs, ma'am, our sniper.

  23. - Top - End - #23
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    The Adventures of Tristan Solar - Introducing for the very first time, his new sidekick, Ratboy!

    "Cryptic, and probably spooky to him, I'm sure," Tristan said with a bit of a chuckle as he looked over the little abhuman, a sanctioned Mutant and all of that, reminding him just how far the human form could be twisted before it was deemed Heresy.

    "Well then fella, welcome to the team," he cocked his head over towards Nova, "Lady in charge, follow her directions, remember, look, don't touch. Well 'less you want a bolt in the braincase. I'm yer best friend in the unit, keeps the big man's gaze on you and the ravenous hordes of the damned off yer asses. May drop extra blessings from on high in return for Favors, if you catch my drift. That there," he jerked his thumb towards the Psyker, "is our little warp witch secret weapon. Good man to have when crap goes downhill... long as you don't mind all the creepy future seein' stuff. You should get to know him better, maybe over our weekly card game." Finally he nodded towards Mag, "New guy. Not sure how he fits in. But he'll be mannin' the big guns. Let him deal with the hordes, you just focus on takin' out the big stuff, and everything should work out fine."

    Introductions covered, he stood back up, not really realizing he had been leaning down so as to better look the Ratling in the eye. "Most important rule here? Ya got the eyes of the regiments here on you. Gotta put forth a good example eh? Not enough just to go fight, kill, and work for the Big Man, but you gotta live hard, play hard, and look good doing it. You up for the task?"
    Last edited by ArcturusV; 2014-03-14 at 10:57 AM.
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  24. - Top - End - #24
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    "I would certainly hope so." A new voice states quietly. "The General authorized morale squads with that precise expectation, after all."

    The spare, thin form of Lieutenant Sarv steps into the entryway, surveying the assembled troops with a critical eye. As the ranking officer of Second Platoon, he's known to be something of a stickler for professionalism and decorum, handling the often-aggressive tactics passed down from Command with a raised eyebrow and level head. One thin scar traces down his left cheek, supposedly the legacy of a first-blood duel with the lieutenant of a drop trooper regiment. He gives a small nod to each squad in turn.

    "Morale Squad One. Good to see you and your men are ready, Commissar. Sergeant Alton. Sergeant Torlen." The two NCO's snap off crisp salutes, standing to attention as the Lieutenant pauses in front of the Death Korps detachment. "I don't believe I am familiar..."

    "Watchmaster Five-One." One of the masked troopers grates, then nods at another. "Watchmaster Six-One. Ready to serve the Imperium of Man." As one, the Kriegers salute, trenchcoats rustling with their precise movements. The Lieutenant gravely returns the gesture.

    "Very good. I regret to inform you all that we are somewhat pressed for time - if you would be so kind as to accompany me to the auditorium, we can get the briefing proper underway." He turns smartly, stepping carefully over a patch of ice as he makes his way down a hall into the building.

  25. - Top - End - #25
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    ClericGuy

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    Walk This Way, Talk This Way!

    Tristan shared a glance with Keeghan and shouldered his blade once more, following after the priest with a far less formal, but nonetheless confident swagger, just giving the Kriegers a little smile and a wink as he started passed them.

    "So what's the call Sarv? Finally startin' the assault? Need us to go plant a flag up some heretic's ass? Kriegers here to make sure they know what's what and don't bombard the hell out of our chimera as we rampage through the whole frontlines?" His tone was light, not really all that serious, confident and cocksure. After all, it was Vanguard for a Reason, First to Fight, Last to Leave. "Manage to find a driver for us after the last one?"

    Ah, always important. The last driver they had, had to be "retired" from active service due to severe stress disorders. It may or may not have had something to do with things like Tristan ordering him to "Jump the chimera!" during an urban chase scene in a hive, launching it from rooftop to rooftop, or maybe screaming at the guy to drive up to an Ork Mekboy so that Tristan could surf the roof and Chainblade his face. Or the fact that Tristan stole his recaff rations and treats, and burned the "Heresy" in front of him on every deployment. Or the fact that Tristan constantly passed off all his work onto the Driver... or maybe that time they went bar hopping in the Underhive. got him drunk off his ass and partying with a woman who was less than Noble Human Form, for a very disturbing morning after...

    ... Tristan was hard on the NPC drivers. They all started out eager for "Glory" and the prestige of the position. Hell they even somtimes had fun partying with Tristan and the like. But it didn't take long for him to leave them a burned out, twitchy, paranoid mess unfit for rigorous service.
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

  26. - Top - End - #26
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    Mag snapped into a salute as the Lieutenant entered, and fell into a smart walk behind him, KC following at a trot.

    "They seem nice enough." KC grunted.

    "Everyone does, Ki-"

    "Don't call me that."
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  27. - Top - End - #27
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    Goblin

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    Falling awkwardly in step behind his other squadmates, Vonun made an executive decision to remain silent and ignore the mouthy priest. The golden-haired woman, the strangely twitchy man who claimed to know more than he should, and the towering heavy gunner...he would discover more about them in time.

    On the battlefield, likely. Warriors always displayed their true spirit with either a bullet or a blade, and seldom before then. Motioning Lyd to keep close, the elder ratling simply keeps his ears open and his eyes attentive, the better to hear their briefing.

  28. - Top - End - #28
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    "Oh, yes. I've got you a new driver." The lieutenant's face creases into...a smirk? "As for the mission..." Sarv gestures politely to elevated rows of barely-comfortable seats as you enter the briefing auditorium. A small, furtive-looking fellow is tinkering with the arcane workings of a holo-tank in the room's center, supervised by the severe gaze of Supply Officer Gar Drenival. "Please be seated."

    Once the group has settled down - the Death Korps silently fills the front rows, while the mix of Los Solvians and a scattered few Berrin warriors tend to sit a little farther back - the lieutenant taps something on the holo-tank's control panel. A shimmering image of the hive's outer wall springs into being, flickering slightly every few seconds. "Soldiers of the Imperial Guard. I apologize for the brevity of this briefing, but security is of the essence. The time is..." he glances at a small chrono. "Approximately 2500 local. At 2740, forward elements of the Anagrafian Poorfellows, supported by armored assets from New Kadiem, will commence an assault on the main gate." A section of the picture glows - it's a massive set of doors, heavily fortified and surrounded by automated guns. "This is intended as a feint. Committing to a full-scale attack in the face of these defenses will incur significant, possibly unacceptable casualties, as well as severely damage the city's infrastructure. They intend to make a lot of noise, but refrain from total engagement. At least, until the guns are silenced."

    He waves a hand, and the view changes. It's a relatively squat tower - small in the sense that it would not be visible over the wall, still quite large. "Intelligence has determined that the machine-spirits of the guns are slaved to cogitators contained in two buildings. This is one of them. We have also located a relatively unguarded point of entry into the city. It passes through a damaged section of the wall and an outlying hab-section - the wall was breached during recent bombardments. It's a total bottleneck, very risky for any substantial troop movement, but we believe the risk has gone unnoticed as of yet. A small team should be able to use it without detection. You will be tasked with silencing one of these cogitator towers. If possible, you should do so without damaging the machines or alerting other rebel assets to your presence. Morale Squad One has command for this operation." Sarv allows himself a small smile. "I have high hopes for its success."

    "Relevant maps will be transmitted to your dataslates at the conclusion of this briefing. You have been authorized a rather decent selection of equipment to complement your own - Officer Drenival is having it moved to your transports as we speak. Any relevant requests for additional personal gear should be directed toward him. I will take your questions now."
    Last edited by Doc Kraken; 2014-03-16 at 08:13 AM.

  29. - Top - End - #29
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    Mag raised a large hand politely. KC tried to tug it down again, but the small woman might as well have tried to pull down a tree.

    "Begging your pardon, sir. While we're all at least a little technically trained, I imagine that complex military cogitators might be beyond us. Are we to be accompanied by any specialists for this purpose?"
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  30. - Top - End - #30
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    ClericGuy

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    The Curiousity of Tristan Solar, Lazy Priest of Terra

    Tristan seemed, hardly surprised by the briefing. He had after all guessed that this was going to be the commencement of the Main Assault. He didn't even seem disappointed when their mission was mentioned. As much as he hated dredge work in the barracks, the motor pool, etc, he hadn't shied from combat yet. He wasn't in his full "zealous" mode that some of his longer time companions might have recognized, but he was getting on his way there with the prospect of action.

    "So what are our standing orders pending success of the mission? Are we to rendezvous with the main assault on the gate, maybe pounce on an unguarded rear, or is that not feasible?" After all, Morale Squad, what could be more uplifting to beleaguered forces than not just seeing the guns fall silent, but then the heretical defenders fallen upon from what they thought was safety, driven out of their defenses fleeing for their lives?

    "And how are local non-combatants to be treated in the course of our mission? I presume during the assault we will come across some. Field inquisition and summary execution for expedience, or do we have other orders?"
    Currently sick as a dog and unable to focus properly. Will heal soon.

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