Jafetsport Communal Square,
1400 Hrs,
Three weeks since last incident.

Ah, the hustle and bustle...so familiar, yet so very, very, odd.

Iorewerth Fachtna attempted to dredge up his very first memories of conflict, perhaps the meeting of the clan chiefs where he had been offered up to the Imperium? Maybe when the huge bulk-transports had descended upon Drook VI and they had been herded aboard like so many grox? No, even the face of his own clan-members, those that had been crowded along with him were now no more than featureless shapes in his mind.

The former Fenguard recalled his last action well enough, though it had taken place over two decades ago – and was the very reason he had been shipped off to this backwater system, with its backwater colonists, and its backwater life. Seventy-seven standard Terran years old he was, considered – and rightfully so – as something of both a good luck charm and a relic within the 92nd 'Fachtna' Drookian Fenguard, at least he was when they had lived and there had been a regiment of that name.

On the boggy moors of Arihan the clan-regiment had clashed with Ork forces, using their knowledge and experience as best they could to assist in the planets defence. Little did they realise that it would be a conflict they would never emerge from...none of them with the exception of one fifty-four year old Sergeant and regimental relic; Arihan was also where he had lost his right leg at the knee, the rudimentary Guard-issue bionics still playing up – even now it whirred and ground as he shifted where he sat, the metal crate beneath him causing his backside to numb somewhat.

He cast his thoughts back to three weeks previous, when the call had come from the capital planet requesting aid. Something was amiss on Jafetsport it claimed, the Governor himself seeking all the assistance that could be given from the eight planets and their varied populations. It had surprised him at first to see how few of the veterans on New 'New' Cadia responded to the call but then, he admitted grudgingly to himself, though their loyalty to the God-Emperor had never diminished they had nevertheless seen enough of war.

“Sergeant...Fektnah?”

A broad young man stood before him now, clad in the crimson-and-blue uniform of a Jafets Enforcer – in most respects as suited up and armed as an Arbites officer, only differently coloured and likely with less training or guts. The man that had queried him peered down at the old man with wary eyes – shoulder length white hair and the beginnings of a beard, a body that had once been well muscled but was now starting to take on the look of withered old leather of a gnarled tree, a torso of roughly stored flak-armour and a mouth-bitten chequered great-kilt wrapped about his shoulders and waist down to his knees, and finally the battered old 'M35 M-Galaxy' pattern lasgun that was being wiped down with an old cloth – this man looked far less like an Imperial veteran and far more like some ragged old hermit from a Feral World.

“That's correct,” growled the Drookian steadily, “whit can ah do fer you, boy?”

“The Governor has ordered veterans of Sergeant rank or higher to take command of the irregular formations we shall soon be constructing from...”

Iorewerth gave a small sigh as the Enforcer trailed off, taking a quick glance around at the jumbled assortment of manpower presently on show in the square. Colonists, labourers, miners, everyone from the village midwife to the local butchers. No wonder he had lost the words, this was not a fighting force.

“Aye, I see. Well ah'll be right here when you sort that, laddie, and ah'm no a Sergeant anymore...that was then, this is now.”

With the sunshine beating down on him, and his leg playing merry Hell, Iorewerth Fachtna went back to polishing his weapon and wondering if this would be the operation that saw him join his former comrades.

Ingo was completely and utterly stumped by the sights and sounds of the communal square. Never once he had been able to see the capital of the whole system with his very own eyes. If he were to tell his younger self that he would be one of the lucky ones to answer the call of their governor to protect and defend their home, the younger would have called the older crazy. So many new faces too. He didn't even think there were other people that had a lighter skin than the mine foreman's dark olive complexion, but he even saw a person with such fair skin that he almost looked white. He let out a quick chuckle and thanked the Emperor that he was one of the rare miners in Sandy Rock that had some skill in reading and a little in writing. He hadn't brought much other than his mining get up, his pickaxe, and the trusty stub pistol.

He had used the pistol only once in his life, the only time was when he used it to wound and scare away a large webtalon that was about to attack his friends. The Emperor had little use for a dead miner. Though he relied more on his pick to deal with harvesting hard rock and killing the occasional webtalon. He could see a number of other people gathering near the square, maybe they too were the ones who answered the call?

It had been far, far to long since Corporal Molari had been apart of the controlled chaos of an army mustering.

By the standards of those few whom had answered the call to arms from New 'New' Cadia (a name that he had personally found to be utterly ridiculous and had in the past attempted to change it), Londo Molari was somewhat young in that he was clearly middle aged and only now starting to go past his prime rather than the normal series of war torn fossils that inhabited the world that he had been dumped on to 'retire from the Imperial Guard with dignity'... a fate that he refused to suffer the indignity of.

Dressed in his old, royal purple uniform, laspistol hosteled and ceremonial sword resting in its sheath by his sides, the proud son of house Molari walked through the swarm of the disgusting, unwashed masses as he did everything that he could to avoid them touching him while doing what his noble blood had given him the right and duty to do since the day he was born; To yell at the newly mindless lower classes to try and get them to be some degree of acceptable to look at and to get them somewhat organized while their betters decided how best to spend their lives.

Lucius Marco was a card shark, plain and simple.

He made his devil's money conning gamblers out of their hard-earned Thrones at any table he could squeeze in on. He robbed them all blind and then made a quick getaway before anyone figured out Marco was a dirty, stinking cheater.

It wasn't a profitable business, Lucius had to admit. He'd make thrice as much if he put down the cards and used that mind of his for more legitimate work.

Card sharking was incredibly dangerous work too. More than one cartel in Novem Mundos wanted Marco's head delivered to them on a platter for stealing from them. Lucius had gotten into more fistfights, shootouts and chases than he could count- an impressive thing, considering how good Marco'd gotten at counting in his years.

Yet for all of it's faults, Lucius would never, ever do anything else. There was no feeling in the world like the rush he got sticking someone else's Thrones in his pocket. Nothing could compare to that exhilaration that came with robbing criminals, barons and drunkards with nothing more than some sleight of hand.

He felt that same rush now as he slapped his hand of cards down on the butcher's cart in front of him. Lucius grinned his terrible grin, showing off his shark's fangs to the other eight men seated around the cart. A chorus of curses sounded, followed by several other hands slamming down on the rickety wagon in disgust.

"Thanks for playing, lads." Marco chuckled, reaching into the cooking pot to take his hard-earned Throne Gelts. He stuffed them into the pockets of his dust-covered flight jacket, his gaze slipping over his victims as they began to disperse. Only, not all of them were leaving.

Two men sat side-by-side remained, whispering to one another. Though Lucius couldn't tell what either man was saying, he could see the malice dripping from their faces. 'Uh oh.' The Shark thought, his grin growing ever wider as he started to step away from the cart.

"Fare thee well!" He waved, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he backpedaled away. He hoped he could get a fair distance away before those two finished their conversation. Before he could get too far, he heard both of the men's chairs screech against the ground as they rose up to their feet. 'Throne be damned.' The Gambler groaned, spinning around as he quickened his pace. Maybe he could disappear into the Square's crowds and lose those two.

"Oi!" One of the men barked, prancing around the cart with surprising grace given his size. "Get back 'ere!" His partner in crime was shorter, but even fast, quickly gaining on Lucius.

Any chance of escaping this without a busted lip and emptied pockets dropped away when Marco broke into a sprint in one last bid to escape. His pursuers gave quick chase, throwing themselves after Lucius. The Shark pushed and shoved his way through the square, weaving through volunteer soldier and mercenary alike.

The chase was brought to a quick end when Lucius took a wrong turn and found himself stopped by a solid wall. "Shit!" He shouted, spinning around just in time to see the two other men breaking from the crowd.

"You fookin' cheated!" The bigger, more outspoken of the pair spat, an accusatory finger thrown toward Lucius as he began to walk forward. The Gambler retreated, his back smacking up against the wall behind him as he searched for some way to talk himself out of this mess.

"Hey, man, just- just calm down." Lucius held his hands up in front of him, trying to dissuade the giant farmer with a neck twice the size of Lucius's from beating him into a pulp. "I didn't cheat, I swear. I swear by the Emperor."

That didn't seem to convince the fellow as he got right up in front of Marco, his big, meaty hands shoving him back against the wall. Pain shot up the man's back as he let out a near-silent groan. "Come on, we're on the same side! Soldiers of the Imperium! We shouldn't be fighting each oth-"

Before he could get the words out, a fist filled his mouth.

The card shark went down, his hands hitting the grass as blood poured down from his lip onto his scruff-covered chin. "We're doing this, then. Nice." Marco grumbled, wiping his face with his sleeve as his other hand reached down into his pants. For a brief moment, he considered going for the auto-pistol tucked into his pants. But after deciding against it he chose to slide his hand over until he felt the familiar leather-wrapped hilt of his long knife.

It came screaming out of the sheathe like a bat out of hell, Lucius swinging it wildly toward the farmer's belly. He caught his shirt, tearing it and leaving behind a thin line of blood as the big guy lurched backward to avoid being gutted. "You little shit!" He roared, sending his boot forward to crash against the downed gambler's ribs.

Marco slashed the extended leg, forcing it backward so he could scramble up to his feet. By this time, the second unhappy customer was moving forward with his own fists raised. "Two against one, lads? I'm touched you care so much." Bringing his own fists up, the lanky man started bouncing between his feet to keep himself on his toes.

'Alright, Emperor, now's about the time you send one'a those guardian angels of yours to keep me from getting my ass beat.'

It wasn't hard for Londo to notice when something out of the ordinary was happening during the mustering; While such things were naturally chaotic, watching a man push and shove his way through the crowd in a clear attempt to escape from two men pursing him caused a disruption to the process of organizing 'solders' that couldn't be missed.

Giving one last barked order to some lay about before sighing and muttering out loud to himself about how organizing these peasants was like herding cats without them trying to kill each other, he stalked the disturbance through the crowd with the single minded self assurance that others would move to get out of his way and a look in his face that promised that he was feeling socialistic with his ire and was more than prepared to unleash it on anyone stupid enough to draw his attention.

As he made his final approach towards what was clearly devolving into a knife fight, a smile that would have looked right at home on one of the many daemons of the warp started to grow on his face. "Oh good, it's always nice when solders decide to step forward and volunteer for dangerous scouting missions. Saves having to write out the disciplinary reports or calling for a commissar to waste their time on a bunch of worthless dregs who aren't worth the las rounds it would take to execute them for trying to kill their fellow solders. STAND AT ATTENTION WHEN YOUR SUPERIORS ARE ADDRESSING YOU, YOU SMALL MINDED WASTES OF HUMANITY!" Londo started off with an almost friendly tone before he started to bark barked with the tone of enraged command as he glared at all three men who had dared start a fight with each other and disrupt the marshaling of an imperial armed force, even if just in a minor way.

@Bright_Ops @Superboy
Ingo was brought back into reality when he had saw that there was a commotion going on within the square. There were two men pursuing one man through the crowd. The sight itself slightly confused the miner. Why would two men be chasing after another? It was then he heard one of the two men claim that the one they were pursuing had cheated on something. It seemed that things were escalating fast and if no one would intervene, it would lead to a fight. Sure enough a fist found its way to a face and as all things went south afterwards. There was an officer that tried yelling at the three to stop. He wasn't sure if the man's voice and threats were enough to dissuade the men from the knife fight that would probably injure, or worse, kill at least one of them.

Ingo had seen a fair share of fights back in his home planet, but most of them were solved with fists and not with weapons. This was usually because the mine foreman would have broken the fight and had punished the ones responsible to extra hours and cut rations and pay for three months. Usually, Ingo would have not done anything but alert the others that a fight was going on, though this was different from those times. One, there was no foreman to speak of to punish them. Two, a knife was drawn and they were ready to kill one another if they were to go any further.

The tall muscular miner walked towards the three and decided to intervene the fight before it got any further, even if he had to clock some poor sods stupid with his fists. As long as he could prevent the casualties caused by the fight, by the throne, he didn't care if he would be punished. 'Emperor, guide me...' Ingo thought to himself as he put himself in between the two men and the knife wielding man. "Boys, you better stop doing this mucking about or I'm gonna have ta start something." He cracks his knuckles and flexes his large muscular arms to prove his point.

He'd worked the docks of Jafetsport his whole life and never had he seen so many people packed into the square as he did today. The call from the Governor had gone out not long ago, he himself was standing where he was precisely because he'd answered it, but it still shocked him how many people had come at the beckoning of the Governor and in the name of Emperor to muster and fight for their capital planet. He had an odd sense of pride welling within him, a feeling he was finally doing something that the Emperor Himself would be proud of, something he'd be able to tell his kids long in the future about.

He felt a heavy push from behind him as the line moved along, so lost had he been in his own thoughts of pride and grandure for this undertaking that he hadn't kept track of the line in front of him as it moved. He turned and offered a quick apology in low gothic and hurried to catch up with the line as he neared the tables of men signing up for the mustering.

He stepped forward to occupy a spot at the table and smiled at the Administratum clerk on the other side of the table who didn't even look up from his paperwork.

"Papers." the man rasped out as he reached a hand out without looking.

He quickly complied and pulled his documents from his pocket, smoothing them out slightly before handing them over with a meager smile, "Aleksander Leone, Jafetsport, Dock Hand, twenty eight years old." He stated confidently to the clerk who just shook his head as he filled in the paperwork in front of him.

"All set here. Take this paperwork, don't lose it, you'll need it for issuing." the clerk finished as he tore a sheet from the rest of the paperwork and handed it to Aleksander once again without looking. He took it and read it over for a moment before the clerk shooed him off and took the next man in line. Now all he had to do was figure out where to go next.

@Searat@Bright_Ops@Superboy

A miner (possibly the greatest threat), some retired fossil, and their quarry; this wasn't exactly what the two gamblers had expected when they chased Lucius into a corner, but it was more than they had counted on. Just as well that they had friends coming, or they - especially with their target clasping a knife in one hand - may have felt a little outmatched.

"What's all this then, ey?" A gruff voice said from behind the group, seven visor-obscured faces glaring at the roundup of potential recruits, their crimson-and-blue armour and weapons showing them as Enforcers for the Planetary Governor. Each of them held a barbaric-looking shock-maul, four at least equipped with riot-shields, and none of them seemed in the mood for any backchat.

"Got a licence for that weapon, boy?" Barked the speaker again, this time peering over Ingo's shoulder and taking in the partially bleeding farmer, "I think you'd best put that down."

The Enforcers advanced until they had pressed the group back into the same area as Lucius, the shields raised to block them in, and the apparent leader shouting one more time from behind the row of shields.

"Gentlemen, you are going to hand over any weapons, then you will report to a Sergeant Fektnah over by the crates yonder," a thumb was jabbed in the direction of the dusty kilted relic, "or we can get better acquainted?"

(@FrostedCaramel, you can choose to intervene or not, it's up to you really.)

@Jbcool@Bright_Ops@Superboy
"You'll get no issues from me. I was just tryn' ta stop a fight is all..." He raises his hands defensively. He was not about to be killed just because some gakheads causing a scene. He approaches the wall of shields and gently lays his stub pistol hidden in his pack and the mining pick holstered in the side of his pack. He slowly walks back to the group, arms still raised and addresses the enforcers. "See? I'm cooperating."