[IC] Mon Dieu, Mon Seigneur, Mon Imperateur; Tout pour vous! - A Warhammer 40K Guard RP [High Casual/Low Advanced] - FULL !!!

The Prologue

In which Lord Alpharius Sends his regards - Spiels Voran; Drauf und Dran - Lady Anastastasia Belisarius has dark portents - Riding to war! - Burning of Alreudt - Dozens of Cardinals debate theology - A pact is sealed

(theme)

Lord Commander Jonas Saltzar was quite depressed today. So far the efforts of of the seventry regiments under his command to dislodge the perfidious Tau from the Imperial fringes were met with failure after failure. The fact the Imperial navy were less than eager to assist him only worsened the matter, and while he was a quite good commander there was only so much he could do when he only had a lasgun for every two men, not to mention the Chirurgeons were not at all helpful with the wounds his men took and the headaches he was having.

It was in the orbital station of the Forgeworld Kyrann that things took a particularly sour turn for him. Saltzar was going to sleep when the headache began to act up again. He pushed rune at his door that would summon his aide but naught happened; if anything all was worse now as the light and heat in his room failed. The commander growled, cursing the Mechanicus cogheads. If they didn't want to supply him with more firearms so be it, but they should have the Throne-damned decency to let him sleep a night.

Only the inverse was to happen.

The Lord-Commander's body shot into an upright position as he squinted with fear, the door to his quarters suddenly open. "Lady?" he questioned, knowing only the Astropath of the station to have such glowing red eyes. "Pardon my... brevity, but what the hells are you doing here at this time?" he demanded.

There was no reply forthcoming for now, the figure getting closer. He could now better make out the shape of the person, and realized grimly it wasn't the Astropath.

"Who are you?" he demanded, hand reaching for his laspistol. It was a clam, fluid motion and perhaps unnoticed by most, but when he tried to flick off the safety it wouldn't budge.

"My Apologies Lord." The voice droned.

"I'm going to ask you to get out." The Commander replied, not in the mood for these shenanigans.

"For finality of the equation, I cannot do that."

Jonas quickly recognized that voice as that of one of the cogboys, though for the life of him couldn't remember which. It was cold, but he was paradoxically sweating.

"Out, I said."

There was no reply again, save for the shaking of the head. He raised his pistol but the counterpart didn't seem to care, going forth. Mechadendrites emerged, with short triangular cutters silently slipping out. They were clearly for engraving, but they could nevertheless do quite horrid things to flesh.

"I'm a Lord Commander of seventy Regiments, I demand you leave!" He screamed, but once more it was to no effect.

"Please. Please!" He squealed, swiftly changing tone from that of authority to pleading.

"I'll do anything!"

"That is the issue, Lord."

With that, the Imperium found yet another theater of war.

[Andreyich]

Chapter 1 - Deo Gratia

Where we meet new friends - Lord Hetman Dar es Kalar faces a dilemma - Wherein Colonel Igor Heintder's message gives solace to its audience - Preparations are made.

theme

It was a calm trip through the warp that His Benevolence experienced, veteran navigators and astropaths guiding its passage through the great ocean. It was a transport ship, one of the great whales of the Imperium carrying millions of men, thousands of tanks and flyers, quadrillions of units of ammunition and equipment. However, as of yet this is of little interest. Our story truly begins in the officers lounge near the starboard battery. Soft music can be heard, discussion of battle plans or more simple talk. A Catachan was arguing with a Kriegsman and threatening to rip off his mask. A Vostroyan and Tallarn compared the masterwork of their blades. Men pored over great maps, while others sipped wine and relaxed knowing soon the real deal would begin in but a few days.

Lord Hetman Dar es Kalar was in one part of this officer's lounge. He was at quite a large table chewing a thick sweet stick. He was overseeing command of the whole front, and it was a nasty business. Not only were the Dark Mechanicus clever and analytical yet paradoxically unpredictable, he knew every day this front remained open there were millions of soldiers unable to receive aid in fighting the perfidious Tau. Thus, a swift takeover was expected. Yet, while swift he was also expected to keep the industry present intact. It took the Administratum Scribe before him three polite coughs to actually get his attention. He was informed that the error in transcription was resolved, and he indeed would be receiving several more regiments than previously accounted for. Lord Kalar beamed with glee at this, and sent out pages to call the men over for a chat. There was no rush for there were still several more days for discussion. With them his job had become somewhat easier, but he needed to sort out where he would deploy these regiments.

[Sophrus]

Commander Jerah spent his days in the commander's berth rarely interacting with his soldiers or his peers, being that they were mostly born and hardly fit to serve the imperial Guard at all. He had Major Oskar for such duties and did not need to waste his valuable time. Currently he was enthralled in a game of 'Risked Invasion' with a servitor he requisitioned and had programmed to play.

"Hmm, if i capture ikara III that would give me the whole sector and a bonus, 8 units... but if I take Jakum IV you, Servant, would lose the bonus from that sector..." mused Jerah. The servitor ignored the commanders thinking and sat at the table quietly whirring to itself. nobody would play any games with the commander because it could take him an hour to plan and prepare a small handful of moves and after he realized ordering officers to amuse him was not going over well he ordered a servitor be made. Jerah leaned in on the table placing his elbows on a stack of unofficial calls for reprimand of his regiment's behavior, that had been promptly ignored. Jerah was not Ignorant of his Raiders dealing drugs or weapons 'Salvaged' during war time, he just didn't care they were not nobility and could be expected to give in to their base nature in fact he often encouraged it because they were their most effective when at their most savage.

While pondering his next move a runner knocked on his door. Jerah simply called "Enter" and allowed the runner to open the door.
"Commander Jerah-" started the runner
"Lord Jerah please, i am a noble of Astartes world of Tuska and should be addressed as such."
"O- Of course Lord Jerah, you are being summoned to the Imperal guard officer lounge by Lord Commander Hetman Dar es Kalar."
"Ah, finally... away with you" concluded Jerah

As the runner left Jerah began donning his dress uniform that was clean and crisp and sporting several more medals than was tactful, it resembled the regular dress uniform of an officer in nearly every way except for a crimson stripe down the leg in homage to their Astartes cousins. He also belted on his power-saber but left the plasma pistol in its case, which made Jerah no less deadly due to his skill with a blade. He did not want to appear prepared for a real battle simply going to meet his commander and did not want to give a sour impression.

Jerah did not know Commander Hetman, even by reputation so he was likely not to be an especially worthy commander, but he had served under many a terrible commander and knew how to deal with the situation. Generally ignoring stupid commands and attaining victories so grand they could not be reprimanded, it worked before and should work now. Jerah finished preening over his uniform and marched off towards the officer lounge and being a mild disruption as he passed. Forcing soldiers and workers from their path regardless if there was room or if the group was occupied with some duty. It was a petty display of authority and one Jerah did not even notice.

---

Major Rolt sat in the common area/gang headquarters of the Raiders, Rolt was counting the income from the illegal trade happening in his regiment. Being his regiment was true. Jerah, while technically his commanding officer was little more than a strategium advisor who dealt with the other officers, so he could do the important things, like manage the illegal trade and be the combat leader. The ten company captains where arguing if the Stim lab hidden in the bowels of the ship needed moving because they received reports of several navy petty officers nosing around. Captains of the 2nd and 3rd company however where arguing what to do with a private in another regiment who had gotten himself into debt.

The major looked up at the discussion "captain Agro, you can’t hurt the private, because he would be sent to the medicae and there would probably be some level of investigation which is a headache i'm not going to deal with, so, just make his life miserable. Spike his canteen with alcohol, hide his wargear, put sergeant decals on his uniform or whatever else you can think of and his commanders will hurt him for us. once he pays up leave him alone."

One of the captains began to speak as their Commander walked through the common area and the whole table hushed immediately, while the illegal trade was an open secret they couldn't talk about it in front of their commander because he would be forced to reprimand them with some trivial punishment. The rest of the soldiers continued, though slightly quieter, with their discussions and games.

[vFear]

o f f i c e r ' s _ l o u n g e

---

The lounge was very much full of life: for there's much to be done on the eve on battle, even if that may be enjoying wine and clearing the mind before pressing its limits yet again. Yet even amongst that, two men "enjoyed" each others company in a little bubble of their own. A jaded looking man with dark skin and a retreating hairline relaxed without reservation on a plush leather couch, while a younger man with side-swept blonde hair and an unsightly scar showing a few of his teeth stood crisply at the older man's shoulder.

The younger officer took the initiative. "Colonel-"
"I saw it." interrupted the older officer, his voice muffled by the lho-stub stuck between his lips.
"Shouldn't we-?" the younger officer began again, only to stop mid-sentence the same way he did before.
"In a minute." the Colonel interjected again, before taking the time to enjoy another breath of his lho-stub. Enter Colonel Agrippa and Major Severinus. The tension between them was always some degree of palpable, but they had never once let it boil over into something more. Colonel Agrippa is a part of the regiments "old guard", life long veterans of the Imperial Guard, and bore all of the jaded malpractices and habits that came along with it. Severinus, on the other hand, is a young and ambitious up-and-comer with painfully obvious blue blood and about as much respect for the doing things by the book as a drop trooper could possibly have. They both looked down on each other for reasons of their own, need not mention Arcen-III. They both very much looked down on one another for reasons of their own, but on likewise grounds, they both consistently decided to let sleeping dogs lie.

Leaning forward, Agrippa sat his half-smoked lho-stub in a groove of the ash tray to cool. The motion was seemingly meaningless, but between the two, it was much more conclusive. Severinus neatened the positioning of his belt as Agrippa stood, where the two then started their trot towards Lord Hetman. Agrippa, true to his old habits, surveyed the room as he went; he wasn't sure if he was surprised or not to not find any familiar faces in red.

p o r t _ a u x i l i a r y _ h a n g a r

---

Cheers and jeers erupted over the music from a gathering of guardsmen as a hand of cards was laid bare over the drop-canister-turned-table. Troopers grumbled as one of the soldiers picked up his winnings: a couple of lho-sticks, a pornographic playing card, and some ration packets. The soldiers outfits made them stick out like sore thumbs: grey jumpsuits with thick shoulders and thighs. Jump troops - soldiers dumb enough to tick off their 18 hours and come back for more.

"You with us, rookie?" cut in a thick and grizzly voice. If it didn't come in when it did, Trine might have zoned out enough to forget where she was.
"H- Yes, Sergeant." Trine abruptly answered, returning to the land of the living proper. Sergeant Rusk, the source of that very grizzled voice, let out a sigh.
"C'mon, keep it together, drop trooper." Rusk scolded, his scarred complexion twisting into a scowl. "What's our notice-to-move right now? Tell me you at least paid attention to that?"
"Stat-three." Trine answered, her pupils narrowing as she focused. Rusk opened his mouth to ask something else, but she interjected: "Fifteen minutes." The two stopped mid-stride while Rusk chewed on her answer before he let out an affirmative grunt.

"Eighth squad!" called out Sergeant Rusk, bringing the assembly of gambling drop troopers upright and stiff. The lined up faces were all familiar to the Rusk, but they were all foreign to Trine. They were his subordinates, after all - and now, so was Trine.
"Oh, don't tell me this is our reinforcement!?" called a voice from the back: a small, narrow-framed man, with bulging veins running along his forehead.
"Oi, stop bitching!" snapped back another: a tan-skinned woman with cropped hair and masculine features, with Corporal insignia on her sleeves.
"Eighth-!" snapped the Sergeant, commanding the attention of the squad. "Eyes and ears for a moment; you can go back to jack in a minute. This is Trooper Trine Duijvestijn, she'll be bringing us back up to 10 strong. I know what you lot are like so make sure she feels welcome, and don't tell her anything she doesn't need to hear.. got it?" The haphazardous chorus of the word 'Sergeant' was hardly professional, much more to the like of a tired routine. Quietly, Trine gulped. For it to be this small of a deal, was she just underwhelming, or was reinforcement just too common?

The Sergeants stern expression faded into something more sincere as he met eyes with the Corporal. She nodded a little to him as she pulled over a crate before slapping some dust off the top.
"Hey, Trine," called out the Corporal as she waved her over, "c'mere. Let me introduce you to everyone."
"Aww, Corporal! I wanted first on the rookie!" called a voice, hidden in the small crowd.
"Hey, shut the fuck up, Kiril. We all know what you did the last time we got a female one-up." the Corporal retorted, drawing a chorus of jeers from the squad. Frustrated, Kiril furrowed his brow as he grumbled.