Warhammer 40k: Activated Tactical 492 IC

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Grothnor, May 13, 2016.

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  1. Segmentum: Obscurus
    Sector: Calixis
    Sub-Sector: The Pereiphery
    Location: Universe Class Mass Conveyor Salvation of Pergamon, Subdeck 13
    Status: In Warp Transit, En route to Nox System
    ETA: 6-8 Weeks


    “ATTENTION!” The sound of hundreds of feet stepping to attention was ragged and disjointed, betraying the considerable lack of discipline they had. “That was the weakest, most piss-poor call to attention I have ever heard. Everyone, ten deck-thrusts, now!”

    A faint chorus of groans and grunts could be heard across the deck as the men and women performed their punitive exercise. The battle-scarred driller pulled the unlit cigar from his mouth, “Now that that's done with, let's try again. ATTENTION!” The action was more uniform this time, but not enough to please their driller, who shook his head dismissively. “And you sorry sacks of filth want to be guardsmen....”

    “Not me,” a voice replied, prompting a ripple of laughter through the RIP Detail members.

    The driller roared, “Who said that?”

    A low growl from behind the driller answered him. “Seventh row, thirteenth column.” The room hushed instantly as a commissar stepped forward into view of the five-hundred members of RIP detail. His augmentic eye whirred and clicked as is scanned the rest of the RIPs.

    The driller moved through the ranks and sized up the RIP who dared speak out of line. “Think you're funny, do ya?” With a sudden movement, he swung his shock maul into the man's groin, then his chin as the guardsman fell to his knees. Mercifully the weapon was unpowered, but the guardsman writhed in pain nonetheless. None of the others dared move to help him, not with the commissar in the room.

    “Listen up! I am Driller Vansie, and for the next six weeks my duty, as ordained by the God Emperor himself, is to turn you wastes of skin into proper men and women of the Imperial Guard. My first lesson is to disabuse you scum-stains of the idea that this is a vacation or a respite. Anyone who fails to pass RIP will receive the same treatment as this joker here...” He punctuated the statement by activating his shock maul and shoving it into the groaning guardsman's exposed belly. The guardsman screamed for a good ten seconds until Vansie stopped shocking him. “...from yours truly. And then I'll hand them over to our good friend Commissar Jesk over there, for summary execution. And since I am the one who decides whether you living shits pass or not, you will do as I say. TWENTY DECK-THRUSTS!” The assembled RIPs dropped to the deck almost immediately and performed the calisthenics.

    Eight hours of grueling physical exercise later, the troops were dismissed to their bunks, save for a dozen or so RIPs who had stood out and caught attention of Driller Vansie for one reason or another. They were tasked with rolling up and putting away the heavy exercise mats away before they were allowed to be dismissed. The Driller and Commissar had left, leaving the handful of RIPs to themselves.

    Felk had never been more tired in his life. He had had some busy days working on the polygum plantation, but this topped them all by a klick-and-a-half. When the Driller asked him what he was in for, Retraining, Indoctrination or Punishment, he answered honestly and was 'rewarded' with this task. He was annoyed and confused with why he had to do this when he answered honestly, but grateful to not have been punished with a beating like that first RIP with the joke. Most of the people who had caught Vansie's eye ended up getting hit with his power maul, always unpowered though. Grunting through his exhaustion, Felk tried starting a conversation with the other RIPs. “So,” he started lamely, struggling to come up with something to say through his haze of exhaustion. His mind settled on the question the Driller asked him, “What are you guys here for?”
     
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1
  2. Alexander, while normally outspoken and rather wilful among his own regiment he did his best to stay unnoticed and among those who were sent off early. However due to the heavy re-breather mask fused to his face that was pretty much impossible. He attracted the attention of their commanding officer enough to be given mat duty. He didn't honestly care, if you asked him this beat hauling high explosive tanks of promethium across a battle feild just to spray down some Emperor forsaken creature that had a good 25% chance of coming out the other side totally uncaring and still send you in to His grace with little care or any ceremony. He hadn't said as much and had only answered that which had been asked of him.
    When the other RIP-er asked what they were in for he let out a chuckle "Doing my damdest to keep my squad alive in the face of more Xenos than anyone would care to see in their life time, let along aiming a gun at them." He then went right back to what he was doing, which was hauling mats across the floor to the place they were meant to be stored. He then went on to give a breif outline of the incident involving a failed imperial invasion of a Tau held planet (that was suffering a ork waaaagh at the same time) and the instance involving a Astartes, a Tau rail cannon, The plasma gun and a rapidly advancing ork 'mega nob' and the issue of returning such a weapon but encountering a commissar en-rout. "Simply put, I got nailed to the wall by bureaucracy because some twat couldn't be asked to ask first and hand out punishment later. as per usual."
     
  3. Though not part of the Imperial Guard in any formal manner, the tech priests and engineseers of the Adeptus Mechanicus were often found traveling with and in some more rare occasions, fighting alongside the Emperor's finest. So, it'd not be a surprise to see a handful of them among the RIP group. The likelihood of any of them being there for punishment or indoctrination was rather low, which was true of Quelaan Vail as she was merely a volunteer that had come for training so that she could be better prepared in warzones and when working with the Imperial Guard.

    She had proceeded through most of the drills rather well, though like any untrained person, Quelaan was not always extremely crisp with coming to attention or swift in the completion of drills as she spent more time analyzing every minute detail for every exercise as though trying to determine the ideal method of achieving maximum conditioning and efficiency. There were times when she nearly drew the attention of Trainer Vansie and his beatstick, but had slithered by without any beatings, or the RIP trainer had realized beating techpriest volunteers was not likely to earn the good graces of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Which probably worked in her favor later on, as near the end of the eight hour period Quelaan had sprawled out face-down on the floor and began muttering prayers to the machine spirits.

    Trainer Vansie had approached her then and inquired as to 'what in the Emperor's good graces' she thought she was doing lying down while the others were still working. Quelaan hadn't looked up, but a quick note to the trainer that the Machine Spirits were nervous and she was trying to console them had diverted his attention swiftly enough. One could hope there was no one stupid enough to dislodge a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus from their somewhat mysterious and occasionally tedious duties during the middle of warp travel. That'd be a good way to get everyone killed and/or consumed by chaos daemons.

    So, for the last twenty minutes of training Quelaan stayed there, and even after the others had been dismissed, she continued her prayers while others put the mats and such away. Once she had completed her little ritual of sorts, she stood up, dusted off her white robe trimmed with black cog-teeth patterns with petite gold and silver detailing, and then let out a sigh.

    "Much better. We can rest safely now. Maybe..." The techpriest did not seem entirely sure of that.
     
  4. This is not the PDF. Bridget thought to herself, she had managed to avoid the ire of the instructor for the most part. She was still soaped, back in the PDF you might have morning PT, but that only lasted a few hours. She had lapsed quite a bit since boot camp, sitting in a cockpit of a power lifter was not the most physically demanding job in the Imperium. The young woman's face was red with exhaustion when the question was posed. "I ain't too sure, this Segmentum fella shows up to my Sar'nt and says that he's taking me away for sassing my Sar'nt. That was news to my Sar'nt but he wasn't going to argue, so now I'm on this damn spaceship getting my ear yelled off and my ass grilled by a fella ornerier than a horny grox."
     
  5. 21-Otto
    ---
    It wasn't like Krieg, nothing was ever like Krieg. The training wasn't as harsh as Krieg, the consequences weren't as deadly as Krieg and the drill masters weren't as demanding as the ones on Krieg. 21's body was still ready but they had stopped earlier. "I thought this was for punishment." He thought to himself morosely though for anyone familiar with the deathkorp knew that was how all of it's guardsmen were, he felt naked though, he was without his gas mask so signature to the deathkorp and especially the grenadiers with the skull like face plate. He heard another of those in the detail ask why they were all here. "Why would he ask that, their are only three possible options for the reason we are all here." The Krieger thought about the other man's words, some of the others answered. "Emperor preserve me." 21 did not find any reason to join in with the conversation but he did listen to the answers that were given silently as his blue eye's looked to each other person as they spoke.​
     
  6. I killed six of our own, wounded twenty, and turned a Chimera into slag.

    The jungle fighter said none of this, of course. There was no need to spread rumors of her deeds around the ship. All that would do is earn her enemies and likely the ire of everyone, quick to deem her a traitor or saboteur. Not something to be desired while a kilometer inside ancient steel and ceramite especially while surrounded by soldiers she didn't know.

    "Broke a commander's arm on accident." Connections were a necessity to be created during her six week tenure with men and women who'd last no longer than five minutes back home. It was a close moment where she pitied the one with a rebreather on. Spores, pollen, and other contaminants would render is completely inoperable on Catachan. Her words weren't quite a lie either, a Lieutenant did break his arm in the explosion. Just that break also meant it was thrown sixty yards into the tree line.

    "So.. Where's everyone from?" Curiosity itched at Rio's mind while checking faces over and over again. A strong suit of her's wasn't guessing what people were thinking by looking at them. Often landing her in trouble in one form or another.
     
  7. Felk stopped what he was doing and listened incredulously to the man with the rebreather fastened to his face. “You're telling me you actually touched the weapon of an Angel of Death? Wow...!” He shook his head in disbelief. “That's one hell of a story.” Before turning back to his task, he noticed the techpriestess wasn't helping. Slightly miffed that everyone else was doing more work than her, he moved to tell her off, but struck by the subtle strangeness of her figure and the idea that she very well may outrank him, he hesitated, instead of commanding, only muttered, “Maybe you should help out some....” under his breath before sheepishly continuing to roll up the mats and stow them.

    Bridget's accent amused Felk. The accent wasn't like any he'd heard before, so he chuckled inwardly at it's strangeness. Otto seemed a little unnerving; there was something in his silence and look that creeped Felk out. As for Rio, she flat up intimidated him. He had never seen such a large woman before, and every fiber of her being simply oozed toughness. When she asked where people were from, Felk answered. “I'm from Ganf Magna, a small mining world. All we really got are trees, orks and holes in the ground. The biggest settlement on the planet is essentially a huge military base where we house Guardsmen who help deal with the orks, whenever their infestation gets out of hand.” As an afterthought he added, “Oh yeah, I'm, uhh, Felkel, by the way. Felk for short.”
     
    #7 Grothnor, May 17, 2016
    Last edited: May 18, 2016
  8. Quelaan looked out from beneath the cowl of her hood, eyes like the ice of Valhalla peered out at Felk, as if boring into him. Her eyebrows raised slightly, and a tiny smile found its way onto her thin lips. "You are not very familiar with warp travel, are you?" She inquired of Felk, but before he would have a chance to answer, she holds up a hand. "The warp is all around us, like the oceans around a fish, and if not for the might and tenacity of the great machine spirits that call the Salvation of Pergamon their home, we would be consumed in an instant by its malevolence." She took a tiny step closer and canted her head tot he side. "All that stands between you and the machinations of the greatest evil to beset mankind is the gellar field, and if the machine spirits are nervous, you should be nervous." Quelaan made a grand gesture, encompassing the entire room. "Pray to the Emperor that they will see us through this, because if they don't, putting away exercise mats will be the least of your worries."

    She then coughs into her hand, as if clearing her throat. "Anyway, I am Quelaan Vail. I was born on Perlia and began my service to the Omnissiah on Metallica, a rather interesting world. Are you familiar with it? Primarily made of metals. Excellent place for a forgeworld."

    The techpriest made her way towards one of the mats that had not yet been put away and then hunkered down to roll it up. With a grunt, she hefted the thing. As small and frail as she appeared, she carried it without too much difficulty. Though she does not have any obvious augmentations, Quelaan is clearly not normal, and once she had put the mat away, she turned and gestured at Alexander and the towards her face. "You know, I could remove that for you. I could even build you a new face to go with it. Or, perhaps you prefer the other route and would like more augmentations? Bring you closer to the Omnissiah in all His glory." The techpriest seemed a little too excited at the prospect of removing the mask from Alexander's face, and even more so about experimenting and augmenting him. A subtle, dark chuckle emanated from Quelaan as she contemplated the options she would have.
     
    #8 Fairemont, May 19, 2016
    Last edited: May 19, 2016
  9. "Name's Bridget, come from a Grazfeld, small town on Cyrus Vulpa. Ma and Pa got a nice five hundred acre ranch and right abouts a hundred head of Grox. All the fellers gotta put in four years of PDF service when they turn eighteen, us ladies just have a draft at the end of the year when we turn eighteen. Of course the local PDF usually runs work detachments when the locals need hands for breeding, wrangling, or slaughtering. Hell, everyone helps out when its slaughtering time. I mean you get folks with shock lances riding open topped Catties to get the herd together, takes about eight tough fellers to wrangle one of them grox and if you ain't careful them things will kill ya. Damn fine eatin' though . . ." The agri-worlder continued rambling in her slow, tired, mellow tone. By now she wasn't talking to anyone in particular, it was mostly to help deal with homesickness. Everything she had ever known was gone, and in a way, she was trying to anchor herself emotionally.
     
  10. “It's a pleasure to meet you all.” Felk grunted as he shoved the last of the mats into place. “Now if you'll excuse me I'm gonna collapse into my bunk and sleep the next ten hours until we have to do this shit again. See you guys tomorrow.”

    Four weeks later.

    Segmentum: Obscurus
    Sector: Calixis
    Sub-Sector: The Pereiphery
    Location: Overlord Class Battlecruiser The Light Defendant, Main Bridge
    Status: In Warp Transit, En route to Nox System
    ETA: Imminent... exact time pending....


    The page entered the bridge looking for his moment to inform the Captain of the Navigator's latest prognostications. However, the Captain was conferring with the fleet Admiral and the General of the Imperial Guard they were transporting. He stood to the side and waited, overhearing their conversation.
    “So,” the General said, “you're telling me that because of the warp currents we're arriving ahead of schedule?”
    The Admiral responded, “Yes, though the Navigator has said these same warp currents are speeding along anyone who is traveling to Nox, including our enemies. They will most likely have arrived before us.”
    “We are waiting on the Navigator's prognostications,” the Captain said. “We will know when we will be translating from the warp then.”
    The page saw his moment and interjected, “My lords, the Navigator has sent this message.” He presented the message to the Admiral, who took the dataslate and read it. “Twelve hours.”
    The General nodded, then turned to his aides and officers. “Mobilize everyone for a full-scale planetary assault. Twelve hours. Get to it.” They strode out after him, some running off to their stations. The situation had grown quite dire....

    Location: Universe Class Mass Conveyor Salvation of Pergamon, Subdeck 13

    Felk was lounging in the RIP bunks, idly reading his Guardsman's Uplifting Primer and waiting for RIP to start when the alarm summoning them to RIP went off half an hour early. When he lined up on Subdeck 13, he noticed Driller Vansie and Commissar Jesk had switched places for the normal morning routine of role calling and Oaths to the Emperor. Normally the Driller took front stage while the Commissar lurked in the back, but this time the Commissar stood up front bearing a dataslate under his arm, and he looked a bit more alert today. The assembled RIPs hushed as Commissar Jesk called them to attention.

    “This fleet is translating into realspace within the next eight hours.” He then began reading from his dataslate. “Hereby the order is given that to meet the imperative drive for able troops in the coming theatre, High Command has committed to the activation of all serving units, including Punishment details, whereby they are to retain formation, be given designation and be fielded as battlefield regulars. No individual currently on reserve status, be it for Retraining, Indoctrination or Punishment is to return to or join any other tactical element. For the present purposes, this detail will be afforded the name Activated Tactical 492, that is AT 492. Section details will follow. Imperator Protegit.”

    The next few minutes seemed to go by in haze for Felk. I'm going into battle. In the next new hours I'll be going into battle. I haven't even finished my training yet and I'm going to be fighting the enemies of man! What the kek?! He ended up realizing he was assigned to a squad made up of the five people he met on his first day as well as four others: Bekka, a Cadian woman with an attitude, Bonner, a soft-spoken combat engineer, Jalamar, the quiet but keen Janissary and Jonry, an old and jovial drop trooper.
     
  11. Alexander was doing what he normally did when the call came, Sleeping or caring for his weapon. He was far more used to something far larger and more heavy in his hands but the lasgun was fine to calm his nerves. apart, cleaned, checked, every inch scrubbed and cared for, reassembled, checked, mock fired to check for any errors and repeat. He'd done it so often now that he could do it without even looking. It was a cathartic action that he took to doing when he had nothing better to do.

    He stood ready in the Rollcall, a soft smile on his face. The four weeks of exersises and firing drills had been a rest but he ached to be back where he felt at home, in the roar of battle with a heavy weapon in his hands. He took a moment to look over his squad and almost laughed, it was the guys that'd been given matt duty on the first day. He took some time to seek out Felk who'd said he hadn't been in real combat before. "Hay. Comrad. Come sit down, lets talk." He said as he walked Felk over to where he'd been sleeping. He'd somehow kept hold of his red coat and the plates to go with it, He wondered if he'd get away with wearing it when they were called up for duty. He'd keep it with him and put it on when they got in to the theater of war. He wasn't going in to battle without the dam thing. They could take him from his unit, but they'd never stop him wearing his colours or he'd be dammed. "Sit down, and let me teach you a thing or two" He said setting the lasgun between them. "Now I know that primer says that when you get one of these, if you lose it they'll shoot you. That's the least of your worries kid." He said starting to disassemble it. "If you lose your gun. you're dead. That simple. lets say we're facing orks, then they'll chop you to bits before you can so much as swing. so you better pray you have your lasgun. If we're fighting Tyranids they'll rip you apart before you can so much as stab em. so you better pray to the emperor on high you have your lasgun. And lets not speak of what the darker forces would do to you should you not be able to shoot them if they get to you." he said as he continued to disassemble the lasgun between them. "Whatever your primer says about the foes we're going to face, its wrong. You're going to learn that fast. everything out there wants you dead. and nothing is going to stop trying to make you dead untill you put enough lasbolts in to it to turn its head to paste." He said with the lasgun now disassembled between them. "So you're going to put this one back together and take it apart untill you can do it blind. Or untill we run out of time. Because when you know your gun as well as you know yourself, thats the only time you're going to have the advantage." He paused and then smiled, not that you could see it. Repeating a saying he'd heard the Space Marines saying to one another. "Look to your Battle-Gear, Care for it, and it shall care for you." He said and set about teaching the other guardsman how to disassemble the weapon and re-assemble it. all the while he'd answer any questions the unbloodied guardsman had about combat.
     
  12. 21-Otto
    -

    He had been up with the rising of the local star everyday for the past few weeks he had been in this R.I.P, he had cleaned his lasgun 52 times in the past week alone as his hands were looking for something to do. Otto was unable how long it had been since he had not been in battle this long and it was grating on him, he had known something was off when the order for the morning roll was different with the drill master taking a back seat to Commissar Jesk this morning. He had heard the words, they were being activated for combat. "Praise be to the Emperor!" Otto thought in joy or at least the nearest thing a Deathkorps man can feel to joy. He had seen who he was assigned with and noted that his new squad was made up of the same individuals who had been assigned to mat duty on their first day in the detail, their were several others but he had had little to no interactions with the new faces of the squad. He saw the one named Alexander go to Felk and help calm his nerves, Felk seemed nervous though Otto didn't know why after all he was about to embark against the enemies of man the greatest honor for those of the imperium were able to have. He dismissed it, he needed to remember that he was no longer on Krieg or in a Krieg regiment anymore something he had to adjust to with some difficulty through these weeks. He went to his bunk and began to strip his lasgun again.​
     
  13. There are two sets of people on a naval ship who know what is going to happen before anyone else. The first, is clearly the navis nobilitae presence, as they are able to see the flow of the warp and determine when and where the ship will arrive. The other group is the tech priests. Enginseers know what is going on with the ship, and by communicating with the machine spirits within it, they can glean information that few others can fathom. The latter was how Quelaan Vail learned that things were going to get shaken up earlier than expected. Rumor travels fast among the Machine Cult, and no one can stop it because no one can understand their language but them.

    Thus, when Quelaan showed up for muster, she was not the same as usual. Clearly, she wore her white robes of the Metallica adepts, but unlike usual, she had a relatively large backpack strapped to her body. However, unlike normal backpacks, this one was hooked directly into her cybernetic spine, which a few of the other RIP members may have learned she had through various means. A slot in her robe allowed the contact between mechanicus equipment and her body. However, the purpose of the equipment she had acquired remained a mystery for now.

    Aside from that, Quelaan was leaning on the haft of her staff of office, a large force halberd with the adeptus mechanicus emblem in place of a typical mancatcher. She seemed rather put-out by the events, and after Commissar Jesk gave his speech she let out a sigh. "Great..."
     
    #13 Fairemont, May 23, 2016
    Last edited: May 23, 2016
  14. Seven hours passed in uneasy trepidation. There were no drills today. “Praise the Emperor, I couldn't imagine going through drills and then combat.” Felk muttered to his squad. They had been ordered to the armory to be kitted out. Everyone received the same gear: One M36 lasgun, 4 charge packs, one Flak vest and helmet, two weeks rations and basic kit. From his time with the Scaevolans, even Felk knew that their gear was bare minimum. After they were kitted, AT 492 was ordered to assemble in the main drilling deck for their tactical briefing.

    Driller Vansie was center stage again, and read out the briefing. “Two months ago, a splinter fleet of Waaagh Grimtoof descended upon the planet of Nox. They united with the local feral Ork population on the planet and began overwhelming the defenders. Apparently, the Wardens of Imperial Rule on Nox had grown lax and by the time they had decided to call for aid, a large force of Noxian heretics instigated a widespread rebellion and called for aid from the Severan Dominate. A Dominate fleet was detected departing into the warp last month, and Intelligence says it's most likely headed towards Nox, and is presumed to be there already. High Command doesn't want the war with the Dominate and Waagh Grimtoof to open on a new front, so we have been sent to pacify Nox with extreme prejudice. The last astropathic communication received from Imperial Authorities came three weeks ago. Imperial rule upon Nox is presumed non existent. Therefore, High Command has deemed that everyone on Nox is an enemy of the Imperium, and shall be treated as such.

    “Our first objective is the Spaceport in the planet's capital city Somnium. We will be going in with the first wave, that means more heretics and xenos to shoot. You will smash the entire area and shoot anything that isn't us, do you get me?”

    “Yes, sir!” The drill hall of RIPs echoed.

    “Now report to your stations and prepare for landfall.” AT 492 marched out to the shuttlebays and boarded a craft that had room enough for the five hundred troops. Felk noted the large amounts of other Guard groups waiting around, undoubtedly in the second wave. All that was left for the members of AT 492 was to wait for translation and planetfall. Felk was nervous as hell, and was staring blankly while he waited in his seat, though considering the number of other RIPs muttering prayers, he figured a few prayers couldn't hurt.
     
  15. At the moment of arming Alexander was looking longingly at some of the more specialist weapons that were left lying about. He even tried to persuade the quartermaster to let him take something with 'a bit more oomph behind it' were his exact words because he REALLY missed the feel of his flamer in his hands, or even a plasma weapon.

    Mumbling under his breath during the breifing about the fact it wasnat't even his fault that he was here and he'd much prefer to be back in the frozen lands of his homeworld doing cold weather drills and hunting down the local feral orks than dealing with heretics and dark magic. He was relying on his permanently fused re-breather to cover his grumbling as just the re-breather playing up a little and messing with his breathing, That and the fact that the commissar was nowhere to be seen.

    Now sat in the transport he had pulled out his equipment and was carefully examining it, it'd been years since he'd needed to fire a lasgun and he wanted to be sure he knew exactly what he was handiling again.
     
  16. After reciting the requisite litanies and getting all her gear. Bridget sat down next to Felk, her heart in her throat. This would be the first time in living memory that a Wayne had been in true combat. Her great, great, great uncle was a guardsman who was left behind after his regiment moved through the Cyrus system. He had lost his right arm and leg to these things called "Tirriniids" the regiment didn't have enough bionics, so they just dropped him off. Bridget began to center herself with a short prayer. "Emperor, I reckon I'm not much just by myself, I fail to do a lot of things I ought to do. But Emperor, when trails are steep and passes high, Help me ride it straight the whole way through. And when in the falling dusk I get that final call, I do not care how many flowers they send, Above all else, the happiest trail would be, For You to say to me, "Let's ride, My Friend." Amen."
     
  17. 21-Otto
    -
    He waited in the ship, his weapons and equipment were in his hands and on his back. He wanted his Krieg issued gear, he still felt naked with out his mask but he would do without if his emperor demanded it. He heard some uttering prayers for protection but he knew better, the greenskin and heretic filth on Nox would ensure that most of those in this first wave would die. He looked at the one named Felk, Otto knew this man was going into his first major combat situation and he seemed nervous so Otto decided to speak some words to the man, some of the few he had spoken to anyone in this squad since he first showed up. "You Felk, is this the first time you are going to ground in a situation like this? If it is understand that your training with save your life." Otto finished shortly, his words flowing out of his mouth in a quiet baritone voice while he also began to recite his own prayer in his head but unlike the others his was not one for protection but for the deaths of those who stood against them.
     
  18. Quelaan reported to the armory like every else. She accepted the lasgun and looked it over before letting out a sigh. The tech adept put the gun through a couple quick tests to make sure that everything was in working order before one of the quartermasters handed her some armor. She raised a brow at them and then laughed before taking the rest of the kit and left. No matter how much finagling she did, Quelaan would never get the armor on with her backpack, which she clearly considered more important. However, it was unlikely that she didn't have some sort of equipment of her own. So, toting the lasgun over her shoulder, the techpriest sauntered out of the armory munching a ration bar.

    True enough, a magos like her had some form of body armor to replace the flak vest. Some sort of mix between carapace armor and skitarii equipment that was fitted over a black bodyglove and then had her robe pulled over it. Under one arm, she had a helmet, and the other carried her lasgun as she boarded the transport and stopped near the others. The power-glaive she had before had been compacted and stuck into a slot on the side of the backpack. With her equipment, she'd have been unable to sit in one of the designated seats, however, it didn't seem to bother her. A set of mechadendrites ejected from the top of her backpack and latched onto the ceiling, as two from below grappled the floor to secure her as well as any of the crash webbing likely would have.

    "This most unexpected venture shall likely prove to be quite thrilling, even if the equipment is subpar." Quelaan let out a good laugh as she raised her helmet and secured it to her head, enclosing her in a sort of vacuum seal before she tugged the hood of her robes up over the helmet. She then turned to Felk and the others. "With Orkz, your lasguns will only be really lethal in close range with any reliability. Aim for the head, but if you do not believe you will be sufficiently accurate enough to do so, their legs are a good target as well. Slowing them down can be as valuable as killing them, as the Orkz will tend to stampede each other to death to get to you. Oh, and Trooper Felk... do not worry. If you are injured in glorious battle for the Emperor, I shall endeavor to put you back together, and if you're lucky, I'll be able to use most of your own material." She laughed at that as she jury-rigged her backpack to the powerpack of her lasgun, likely to convert it into a more powerful version by supplying it with the more robust power supply of her backpack. "The Emperor protects, afterall."
     
  19. Location: Overlord Class Battlecruiser The Light Defendant, Main Bridge
    Status: In Warp Transit, En route to Nox System
    ETA: Translating into Realspace....


    The details of the Navigator's prognostications said that the fleet would likely translate near or even in the planet's gravity well, side effects of the mysterious warp currents drawing towards the planet. The Captain of The Light Defendant had ordered that firing solutions be calculated for ground targets post-haste after translation, as the landing of the General's forces would have to commence as soon as they arrived. The familiar, though unwelcome wave of nausea swept the fleet as the ships tunneled out of the Warp and back into reality. Auspices and scanners began sweeping the planet for potential bastions and strong points, calculating the optimal positions for firing and pinpointing the precise firing solutions needed to support a planetary offensive.

    “Sir?” One of the ratings called from his auspex station, alarmed. The Bridge Void Master attended to his station, but the Captain, expecting everything to be running smoothly, walked over himself to see what the matter was. As soon as the auspex reading came into view, he knew why he had been called over. “Merciful Emperor... BATTLE STATIONS!”

    Location: Universe Class Mass Conveyor Salvation of Pergamon, Subdeck 13
    Status: In Planetary Orbit over Nox, Launching Landing Shuttles



    The wave of translation-nausea took almost everyone on the shuttle by surprise, including Felk, who puked on the deck. His only respite was knowing he wasn't the only one who did. The ambient noise in the shuttle began to rise as the whine of the engines overtook all other sound. The trip was noisy and rough; the ship constantly rattled, only growing worse as the voyage continued. Felk glanced at Driller Vansie and Commissar Jesk. The Driller was smirking, his trademark cigar hanging from his mouth, while the Commissar seemed unmoved as normal, gazing off into the distance blankly, though gripping his groxwhip firmly.

    A squawk of unintelligible static blurted across the shuttle's loudspeakers and moments later was followed by a great jolt that suddenly left Felk terrified. His fears only grew when he felt G-forces pulling on his body and the engines' whine changed pitch. Oh Merciful God-Emperor, we've been hit, we're gonna crash and die in an instant and everything I've done will be pointless. Oh please... oh please.... When the G-forces slowly relented, it dawned on him that the ship was coming in for a landing. With a final jolt, the shuttle came to a stop and the seat restraints loosed. Jesk and Vansie were immediately on their feet barking at everyone to disembark. As the roar of the engines spun down, a new noise faded into audibility: shouting. Battlecries and mottoes, Imperial Axioms or just plain screaming were heard as the 500 RIPs started shouting in defiance and impending victory. Felk joined in with shouts of “For the Emperor!” and “Death to the enemies of Man!”, overcome with emotion.

    They had landed in a spaceport landing pad: a kilometer-wide paved octagon, surrounded by a thick rockcrete wall twenty meters high, meant to contain the blast of shuttle crashes. Other shuttles were landing, disgorging their payloads of Fighting Men and Women of the Imperium and taking off to bring more to the fight. The sounds emanating from the spaceport around them were that of fighting and above in the sky, flashes of lightning could be seen, briefly illuminating the silhouettes of the Imperial fleet in high orbit. It was only after one of the bolts of 'lightning' struck nearby, almost four klicks away, going by the thunder, did Felk realize that they were actually the strikes of Lance Batteries. Everyone on the landing pad seemed to be going for the single gate in the rockcrete containment wall, so Felk began jogging towards it, urging his companions to follow.
     
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  20. Alexander, having a little more expirance than Felk grabbed the younger Guardsman by his collar and pulled him out the rush of people as he took cover behind one of the landers legs. "No doing stupid shit like charging to the same place everyone else is, because one well placed rocket, or a hastily tossed grenade will kill you. Keep your head down, move steadily and keep your gun up." He said, making sure that the squad he'd been assigned to was being grabbed and hauled from the stream of people as well as he told Felk what to do although he did have to grab the techpreist by her mechadendrites, and did apologize for it. "Everyone not to shaken up?" He asked as he checked his lasgun one last time "good, lets go." and then started to jog stedily towards the gate, though not in the massive stream of guardsmen. He was standing slightly to the side. Since the'd not been assigned a squad Sargent or anyone had been given the role of squad leader He'd decided it't be much faster for them, and more likely not to get themselves killed if someone took charge rather than them all running round like headless chickens. "Well. Lets hope that they don't have any snipers or mortars. or artillery."
     
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