[CHAR] It's A Wonderful Life! - An Imperial Guard (40K) RP [Looking for Guardsmen]

[Vahir]

Commissar Rubio Oretento

Commissar Rubio Oretento

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Age: 53

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: Rubio is 181cm in height, and weighs about 75kg.

Speciality: As the commissar attached to the 6th Endoran Regiment, he is charged with maintaining company morale, enforcing discipline among the troops, and ensuring they stay loyal to the Empire and the Golden Throne.

Appearance: Commissar Oretento is an old man, old perhaps beyond his years, and it shows. His eyes seem sunken, his expression rarely differs from apathy and melancholy, and his voice is dry and rasping. His hair seems to grow a little greyer and recede a bit more with every passing day. To top it all off, he is almost always slightly drunk. All of this takes away the intimidation his cap usually inspires, and where he is supposed to put fear in others, he generally creates pity instead.

Uniform: Oretento's uniform is, obviously, the longcoat and cap of his order. His only mark of individuality is the armband around his left arm, emblazoned with his regiment's sigil, a blazing sun. This armband is worn by all members of the regiment as well.

Armament: He prefers a traditional armament, and carries a bolt pistol and chainsword into battle, for friends and foes respectively.

Personality/Demeanor: Once, Rubio was the ideal commissar, valiant, noble, and unyielding in the pursuit of the Empire's enemies. But he has in the past decades seen- and perpetuated- so many horrors that he has been grinded down to a jaded, depressed creature. There is very little he cares for anymore, including his own life. Perhaps the only thing that keeps him moving is his desire to protect the men of his regiment. Above all he is tired, of all the evil and war, tired of seeing those under his care die, tired of having to send men to their deaths in the name of an uncaring Imperium.

Greatest Ambition: To stop fighting, through retirement or death, whichever comes first.

Greatest Hatred: Those in command who are incompetent, and throw away the lives of guardsmen in their pursuit of personal glory.

Skills: For all his melancholy, Rubio is an exceptional commissar. In battle, he fights with valor and skill, enough to still be alive after twenty five years of service in the Guard. And in spite of the appearance he shows, he is quick of mind, at least when he can be bothered. More than once, his quick thinking saved more lives than his own.

History: Commissar Rubio Oretento was born on the planet of Inconnae, an unremarkable world of the administratum. From an early age, he showed aptitude beyond his peers, and he was handpicked as a recruit to the commissariat (no doubt helped along by the high station of his aristocratic parents). He was an exceptional student at the Schola Progenium in most subjects. When he graduated, it was clear to everyone that he was earmarked for greatness.

He was first assigned to the 3rd Endoran Regiment. There was little time to acclimate to the life in the Guard: he was quickly hurled into a campaign against marauding chaos worshipers. Though the struggle was itself of little consequence, a mere speck in the vast storm that was engulfing the Imperium, he distinguished himself to both his peers and his superiors by his enthusiasm and skill. Time and time again, he threw himself into battle with little regard for his own life, and punished the smallest infractions among the regiment with the harshest means on hand. He was the ideal commissar, and rising fast in renown and respect.

All of this changed after his first encounter with the tyranids of Hive Fleet Leviathan on planet Iadon, ten years ago. Official records detail the numbers with cold detachment: 120,000 guardsmen deployed on Iadon, 9,600 fit for duty after the fall of the planet, a 92% casualty rate. The 3rd Endoran suffered such horrific losses that the entire regiment was disbanded. Rubio survived the battle in body, but he left a part of himself on the soil of that god forsaken rock. He had seen death beyond imagining, as men, women, good and bad, young and old, everyone died in droves. And he could not shake the feeling that it was his own fault, that his zealous drive for glory had led others to their deaths.

That's about when he started drinking. Not excessively, or at least he knew to hide his constant drunkenness, but he quickly became a laughing stock in the guard, and an embarrassment for the commissariat. Things worsened after a campaign on planet Treatel against a local rebellion, which finished in a planetwide massacre by the Guard. His spiraling behavior marked the end of his career, and he was shuffled off into the newly created 6th Endoran Regiment. Where once he was the very example of a commissar, he was now a joke, a sad reminder to his peers of why a commissar must keep his heart stone and his mind in the service of the Emperor. Since then, he has served in many campaigns, all of which he barely left a mark on. He lives day to day, now, only desiring an end to the butchery.

[Sarpedon]

Corporal Felix

Name: Corporal Felix "Iceman" Hazard

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 5'6" 177 lbs.

Speciality: Plasma Gunner

Appearance: "Short and stocky" are the words that often come to mind when describing Corporal Hazard. He manages to be small enough to comfortably fit in any given seat of an armoured vehicle, and broad enough that he has no trouble getting in the way when he needs to. He tends to put a great deal of effort into avoiding being obviously singled out as short, and if it weren't for the fact that he were a guardsman, he might avoid being singled out entirely, thanks to his surprisingly forgettable features. A face that was once far more generic is now almost upsettingly memorable thanks to his position as plasma gunner. Not one to be considered vain, Felix strives more for forgettable than any sort of attractive, though he'd take either over the sometimes painful plasma burns that extend downward from his lower jaw to most of his neck.

Uniform: The plain black, and entirely unmarked, combat fatigues of the 3003rd grenadiers, under their olive drab heavy flak armour, an inexpensive cross between carapace armour and flak armour used by the 3003rd for their roughly stormtrooper-equivalent, the grenadiers.

Armament: Plasma Gun, Laspistol, Bayonet, Fragmentation Grenades, Snub-nosed Stub Revolver, IFAK, E-tool, Half-face respirator, Goggles, Claymore Wire.

Personality/Demeanour: Felix has long-since adopted the guard standard of not caring about anything that doesn't immediately affect him. The things that do affect him are usually met with a gout of superheated plasma, or warm, welcoming indifference. His tendency to yell, or at least speak loudly, due to his difficulty hearing often gives the impression that he cares a lot more than he does. His apathy only seems to last as long as his breaks from the frontline, however. In combat, his levels of motivation reach astonishing levels as he strives with every fibre of his being to live to see another day of blissful indifference.

Greatest Ambition: To leave the Guard and build a life where he can do very little in relative comfort and without consequence. Often described as a desire to "Ball so hard, motherfuckers try to fine him, but remain unable to locate him in order to do so".

Greatest Hatred: A tie between Orks and Traitor Guardsmen.

Skills: Master Plasma-gunnery, Expert Mental Fortitude, Advanced Narcolepsy, Advanced Bullshitting, Advanced Overwatch, Advanced Trench-clearing, Intermediate Navigation(Ground), Intermediate Dangerous Terrain Negotiation, Intermediate Hand-to-hand Self-defence, Intermediate Grenade-throwing, Intermediate Survival(Trenches), Intermediate Survival(Urban), Intermediate Shotgunnery, Basic Room Clearing, Basic Sleight-of-hand, Basic Fearlessness, Basic Trap-laying.

History: Felix grew up on an agriworld, but he wasn't born there. He was born on a colony ship on its way to said world, with a name none of its new colonists could pronounce. They stuck to calling it by its designation, if only because that was pronounceable. "Charlie-Foxtrot-0331" was home for Corporal Hazard's developmental years, though that didn't last long. He was press-ganged into the Imperial Navy the day after he turned eighteen. He tried to escape when no one was looking, but that didn't go so well. He only succeeded once he was on the ship that was supposed to carry him off for whatever specialized training he might get selected to receive. Success was also a bad word to use in this context, since the best Felix managed was getting himself trapped in the next room, which just so happened to be full of people about to be forcibly inducted into the Imperial Guard. This "Out of the Frying Pan, into the Fire" sort of twist would follow him through most of the rest of his life.

Boot camp was rough, but he got through it, and quickly realized just how rough things could get. He was just in time to be picked as a replacement plasma gunner. It was only after he got to the unit that he found out why his apparently coincidental position was so much worse. The Regiment that he'd been abducted by was Lord Strathcona's 3003rd Raider Regiment. So of course that meant anything to do with the number three was "lucky". As luck would have it, he was the third replacement plasma gunner for Three Section of Three Platoon, Charlie Company, 3rd Division. That was actually the only good thing to happen to the poor bastard. The 3003rd had been mechanized infantry at their inception, but that had been nearly a decade previous. Lord Strathcona himself was long dead, and the Regiment was still fighting the battle it had been created for. To make matters worse, this wasn't a battle the 3003rd had been created to win. Now a light infantry regiment, and with no more success, they continued to slog away. Two very stubborn and apparently well-supplied Traitor Guard Regiments, an Ork infestation, and rumours of Eldar operations had three planets under constant siege by the Imperium. Normal procedure likely would have resulted in orbital bombardments, and eventually either the three planets would be destroyed, or just left barren of life. Unfortunately for the 3003rd, someone in the Inquisition had declared that the planets needed to be taken the old fashioned way. Operation: Burn 'Em Out, had failed, and now Felix and the new wave of recruits were here to fill the gaps before they tried again.

In a unit where surviving your first assault made you a veteran, and living for long enough to see a replacement trooper join your section got you inducted into "The Old Breed", it seemed like Corporal Hazard was ready to make himself a career. Himself, his Sergeant, and the mortarman that insisted on tagging along with their section were the only ones that seemed to live for any length of time, everyone else just turned into a blur of faces that screamed in slightly different octaves when something awful tore them to pieces. It wasn't a pleasant existence, but he got to stay alive, and most days that was better than nothing.

It was only when "Weird, warpy shit" started happening, and a couple of minor Chaos daemons showed up, that anything really got done. By that time, Felix had lost the skin on his neck and lower jaw, half a dozen fingers, and the feeling in his left hand to his plasma gun, the whole platoon had been promoted to Grenadiers, and he'd been fighting Orks and Traitor Guardsmen for at least a year.

The Inquisition finally sent someone to try and speed things up when daemons started showing up. Felix, his Sergeant, and the mortarman whose name he'd never actually caught, being the sole survivors of yet another Traitor assault, were instructed to help the Inquisitor and his retinue in any way they could. That resulted in the three veterans getting dragged around behind a small army of stormtroopers, occasionally offering advice just a little too late, and generally going through some places much more unpleasant than they really wanted to.

In the end, the Inquisitor accomplished something that seemed to rout the Traitor Guard on that particular planet something fierce, and only at the cost of most of his private army, and the sanity of the mortarman. The Iceman himself was rewarded with a brand new pair of mastercrafted arms from the elbow down, specifically constructed to resist the kind of heat put out by a plasma gun venting overheated coolant. Felix didn't ask questions, and took to wearing long sleeves and gloves at all times, just to show off that he could hold onto a plasma gun while it overheated. He earned himself a fancy nickname, and then was horrified to realize he was expected to just go right back to fighting on the next Hellworld in the system that needed to be rid of the enemy's presence.

That had been the original idea, at least. Some kind of hidden political struggle resulted in the ship he'd been ushered onto being redirected to Emperor-knew-where. Someone said something about being attached to an entirely different regiment, and someone else observed that it was just the 3003rd's entire compliment of Grenadiers on the ship, but Felix focused on brushing up on his R&R, considering he had at least a month of warp travel ahead of him, and no one was shooting at him any more. He could get concerned about what was going on once they'd arrived at their destination. So of course their destination had to be at least as bad as the world he'd wasted more than a year of his life fighting on. But now he was expected to assault a fortified hive alongside the rest of the 3003rd's "Stormtroopers". The vast majority of them were practically children, and in a best case scenario, maybe half a dozen had made it out of their twenties. And of course some overly-ambitious senior officer who'd never seen a battlefield, had to go ahead and suggest that the 3003rd would have no trouble leading the way. Felix just hoped that whoever it was, they were leading the first charge through the gap...

Miscellaneous: In progress?

[Lord Coake]

Lance Corporal Caius Mortem

Name: Lance Corporal Caius Mortem

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 5 feet 11 inches tall, 189 pounds/1.8 meters tall, 85 kilograms

Speciality: Combat Engineer

Appearance: Caius is best described as 'overly average' in just about every regard. His hair is a dark charcoal black, chopped to regulation length, his eyes an oakwood brown, speaking with knowledge far beyond Caius' years. He is of an average build, not too tall, not too short, not too thick, not too thin. He does have a few small scars lacing over his body. His main distinguishing feature is the large Imperial aquila tattooed on his back, and a passage from the Blessing of the Emperor's Peace written around his right forearm.

Uniform: Combat Fatigues with integrated flak armor-weave featuring his rank and regiment number on the shoulders, Flak-armored Patrol Cap. (Both are somewhat less armored than the standard Flak Armor and Helmet)

Armament: M36 Lasgun with bayonet, 2 frag grenades.

Wargear: Guard-Issue Medical Supplies, Gas Mask with filter, 9-70 entrenching tool, canteen, backpack with engineering and repair equipment, Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer, Gold Aquila Pendant.

Personality/Demeanour: Caius does his best to be a model soldier. He's faithful to the Emperor, honorable, loyal to the Imperium, and dutiful. He sees serving in the guard as the best way to uphold the will of the God-Emperor, and does his utmost to prove that true.

Greatest Ambition: To one day be blessed enough to merely look upon the holy God-Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne.

Greatest Hatred: He despises those who have turned away from the light of the Emperor, seeing them as the worst sort of filth possible, and will not hesitate to kill them if given the chance.

Skills: Caius is highly skilled at vehicle, emplacement, and defense repair, and maintaining equipment issued to the rest of the regiment. He's also a fair marksmen, but about average in regards to Cadian standards.

History: Born on Cadia, Caius was considered a soldier from the start. Going through his childhood training, he showed a remarkable talent for fixing things, which led to him being made part of the Cadian Mechanized Infantry training at about 13. From there, the decision to make him a combat engineer was inevitable. Once he was 16, he was deployed with the 88th Cadian Mechanized Infantry to various fronts around the galaxy.

As a soldier serving in actual combat, he took to it far better than the average guardsman. That is to say, instead of being so afraid as to cower in fear, he was so afraid that he started shooting back. His career continued, but whether it did so out of skill or just dumb luck, no one will know.

As he continued to serve, he grew from the standard spineless guardsman, into a skilled, experienced veteran. He's seen countless numbers of loyal friends slaughtered in mere seconds, and it has made him a bitter enemy of those deemed unworthy by the Emperor. The majority of his combat has been spent fighting mutants, traitors, and heretical cultists, though he has had a few notable engagements with the Tau.

The height of his career, however, was when a Baneblade supporting his regiment sustained damage, and needed emergency field repairs. His regiment's Engiseer had been previously reduced to ash, so the task fell upon him and a few other combat engineers in the regiment. He was able to successfully bring the main gun back to working order in time for it to successfully provide covering fire for his regiment, who were able to achieve their objective. This earned him a Distinguished Service Ribbon, and a promotion to Lance Corporal.

Now a full Lance Corporal, Caius currently still serves with the 88th Cadian, and is loyal to both it and the Imperium to a T. He fights diligently, and will not hesitate to slaughter as many enemies of the Imperium as possible. All in all, he is a model example for an Imperial Guardsman.

Miscellaneous: He's a member of the 88th Cadian Mechanized Infantry Regiment, acting as a combat and field engineer

[Bright_Ops]

Guardsmen Belgond Barkov

Name: Belgond Barkov

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 6.5 feet tall, 77 KG.

Speciality: Guardsmen.

Appearance: A fresh face who has never seen real combat before, Belgond has been training to be a member of the guard since he was sixteen years old on a rather peaceful imperial planet. Born with white skin that has only grown tanned with excise out in the Terra like sun.

Four years of physical conditioning has left Belgond rather physically fit. Born with blonde hair and blue eyes, age has caused his hair to go blonde-brown colour. Despite several attempts, he simply cannot grow a proper beard; it grows in patchy.

Uniform: The standard uniform of Tushienia is a green and grey urban fatigues of fairly decent make and quality with the flak jacket standard.

Armament: A lasgun, the guardsmens primer, three ammo packs, Bayonet, Fragmentation Grenades, Snub-nosed Stub Revolver, E-tool, Half-face respirator, Goggles.

Personality/Demeanour: Raised to respect and fear the undying lord of mankind on the golden throne of Terra, Belgond has been one of the fortunate enough to have never actually met one of the foul xeno's that he has been told tales about. Somewhat naive for an Imperial, Belgond has never suffered the grim dark misfortune that is rampant through the universe and is actually a rather kind hearted person still.

He joined the Imperial Guard because it seemed like a better idea then waiting to be conscripted; He would get better training and equipment if he did.

Greatest Ambition: To meet a good woman, get promoted, survive.

Greatest Hatred: Xeno's.

Skills: Prior to his training for the Imperial Guard, Belgond recieved a fairly decent education to become a clerk. Four years of training for the guard has given him the skills that will let him survive as a grunt of the Imperial Guard.

History: Tushienia is one of the planets of the Imperium of Mankind that doesn't exactly draw attention to itself; It's a stable planet with a terra like sun with several continents with numberous nations across its surface. It is something of a jack of all trades of the universe; It does enough of everything to take care of itself but doesn't really do any one thing well enough to draw attention to itself. It provides it's requirements to the Inperium so it is largely left to its own devices.

Belgond was born and raised in one of the more rural areas of the planet. His family was apart of the upper middle class and through hard work and dedication they wanted for nothing. Born the youngest of three sons, Belgond loved and looked up to the rest of his family, but he felt somewhat directionless in his life.

For a time he studied to become a clerk, but when word reached Tushienia of the crusade to end an orkish warlord several systems away reached the planet and rumours of conscription started to arise, Belgond decided to enlist in the Imperiual Guard instead; Odds were that he was going to be going to war one way or another, at least if he signed up with the Guard he would get decent training and equipment... At least better then what the conscripts were going to get.

After four years of training, Belgond has finally been deployed alongside the rest of Tushienia's 8th regiment, 2nd Company better known as the 'Tushienia Lizards'.

Miscellaneous: The Tushienia Lizards have never seen real combat before, so their primary information on Orks and how to combat them comes from the Guardsmen Primer.

[agentmanatee]

Vox officer Ninke Ingran

Name: Ninke Ingran

Age: 20

Gender: Female

Height/weight: 5'4, 127 lb.

Speciality: Vox officer

Appearance: Ninke is a surprisinly petite young woman with her short height and lithe frame with a feminine figure. Her skin is light and ruddy, and she has a myriad of freckles on her face as well as a small mole at the corner of her left eye. Her eyes are hazel, and aside from the freckles and mole her face has no blemishes, free of scars or any other feature like that. Her dirty blonde hair is kept somewhat strangely to some, but not strange for her regiment. The back of her head as well as the left side are completely shaved, with the hair remaining kept long and brushed to cover the shaved pats of her head. Her voice is bubbly and some would say obnoxious with her heavy accent(think swiss), but she is not as melancholic as many others. Her left arm has been seperated at the middle of her forearm, so from about halfway past her elbow there is no longer arm or hand. Left foot gone.

Uniform: Ninke wears the cream colored uniform of the Hirisit 482nd, over which the similarly colored heavy flak armor of the new regiment is worn. She also has the ochre poncho that all of the Guardsman of the regiment have.(though it is not always worn)

Armament: Standard M36 Lasgun, Standard issue imperial Guard Combat Knife, 2 frag grenades

Gear: Vox caster, "The Imperial infantrymans uplifting Primer", Standard Imperial guard kit, holy symbol, Mess kit, Water canteen, 5 las packs, Microweave poncho

Personality/Demeanour: Ninke is a zealot by all accounts, and happy to be one. Being born and raised on a throne world to pilgrims leads to a life filled with praise for the God Emperor of mankind, and service in his name. Though she is a zealot, who has incredile love and reverance for the Emperor, she is far less furious about it, and believes that all men and women should love the emperor just as she does. To this end, she attempts to be as friendly as possible to others, wishing to sway them to strengthen their faith in the god Emperor. She is bubbly, and optimistic, often out of place in the Imperial guard due to her optimism. She truly believes that the Emperor loves mankind, and that all mankind should serve him. Because of this, she has no greater hate than that for Heretics and non-believers, she is singularly hateful of the unfaithful.

Greatest ambition: To serve the Emperor in the Imperial guard, eventually marry and have children(all for his glory)

Greatest hatred: Heretics, the unfaithful

Skills: Though only an average shot and melee fighter, Ninke is surprisingly adept with a vox(or other similar tech), and is a truly superb communications oficer able to calmly relay information under pressure(only tested artificial pressure, as she has seen no real combat like the rest of her regiment)

History: Ninke is the daughter of two pilgrims, who took the trip to Hirisit in order for their daughter to be born where the light of the emperor was at its brightest, Ninke was born on the shriine world, and her parents moved there to better serve the Emperor. She grew up surrounded by zealots, and in turn became one. Her parents instilled her with great fauth, but they also taught that more flies are caught with honey than vinegar, so she grew kind, friendly, and pious. She was taught of the patron saint of Hirisit Ariette, the Shining saint, a great Imperial general who is said to have liberated Hiristis as well as many other worlds, a woman of unparalelled Strategical skill. The shining Saint was an idol for the young Ninke, and she has a holy symbol that is an effigy of her that she is never without.

She was uncertain for quitze some time about how she would serve the Emperor best, until she leraned of the Imperial Guard recruitment on world, gearing to a holy crusade, and Ninke knew her purpose. She signed up, wishing to serve the Emperor on the field of battle, like many other young Zealots on Hirisit. She became popular among other training guardsman for her optimism and faith, even her superiors enjoyed her attitude(still bootcamp... so she didn't KNOW that until after). She displayed incredible talent for using a Vox caster, and was trained as a Vox officer.

Now, she and her green regiment have arrived at their first campaign, full of zeal and hate for the enemies of mankind. Ninke is prepared to bring the light of the Emperor to the Greenskin xenos... she has no idea how wrong she is...

[Agent B52]

Sergeant Mad Jack

Name: Sergeant Jacques ‘Mad Jack’ de Vries

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 176 cm, 76 kg

Speciality: Leman Russ Tank Commander

Appearance: Jack has sharp green eyes that cannot seem to hold still for any given time. His light brown face is unusually clear of scars for his rank. He usually has a palpable sense of energy about him. Slightly thin for a guardsmen, something he blames on ‘having an office job’. His most distinguishing feature is a burn mark on the inside of his arm, result of a reloading accident. In combat, whenever his face is visible it usually sports a massive grin.

Uniform: Black coveralls, fireproof and perfect for hiding grease stains and soot. A helmet with integrated comms protects him from both noise and any unexpected jostling. While the coveralls are heavy duty and fire resistant, they are not proper body armour and should not be seen as such.

Armament: Lascarbine for self defence and of course his one true love, the Leman Russ ‘Cearbannog’. A standard pattern Leman Russ with hull mounted lascannon and heavy bolters in sponson mounts. Combat knife.

Personality/Demeanour: For Jack, at the moment at least, life is simple: there are enemies of Mankind out there, and it is his job to go and kill the everloving shit out of them. And boy does he love his job. Even after more than half a decade of service his earnest and adventurous spirit still shines through in speech and mannerisms. This ranges from his habit of singing battle hymns in the thick of it to encouraging younger troopers with advice and tales of ridiculous heroism.

While he is aggressive he is far from stupid. There has never been a recorded instance of Jack ever losing his cool ever, even in the grips of rage or panic. He jokingly claims he has that rarest of the Emperor’s blessings, common sense.

Greatest Ambition: He has heard of the legends of Knight Commander Pask and wants to top the man’s record. So far he’s had yet to have his big break.

Greatest Hatred: Ever since a his first, viscous skirmish against Dark Eldar he has a particular hatred reserved for the bastards.

Skills: If it moves Jack can control it. Most of the time at unsafe speeds. Navigation. Strategy. Singing. Always alert, always looking around.

History: As implied by his nickname, Jack is considered to be a bit messed up in the head due to always volunteering for difficult assignments.

Initially recruited from the agriworld Nendardel, his experience with racing on tractors (based off the Leman Russ chassis) made him a great tank driver right off the bat. Born to a relatively wealthy land owner his early life is something he considers a bit of a bore. Driven thirsty for adventure by the stories told by his local priest he enlisted in the Imperial Guard voluntarily. On his homeworld this made him a certified lunatic as Nendardel was peaceful and quiet and someone had to be out of their mind to leave the planet of their own volition.

He got his first real taste of combat in a short but intense conflict with a group of Dark Eldar raiders on the agriworld of Chion VII. During a battle for one of the provincial capitals his Russ had the turret blown off killing both the commander and the gunner and leaving Jack in charge of the tank. Rather than retreat from the unseen tank destroyer or panic he slammed down on the throttle forward and used a dip in the terrain to hide his now much smaller tank. From there, coordinating carefully with the remains of his unit, he managed to sneak into the enemy back lines where, armed solely with a hull mounted lascannon and sponsoon bolters he proceeded to sow utter chaos among the Eldar lines, personally liberating two dozen transports worth of civilians. When asked to comment on his highly successful if reckless run, he reportedly shrugged and replied with 'it was great fun and I'd love to do it again?'.

Soon after, he was promoted to commander of the Leman Russ 'Cearbannog', the tank he has commanded ever since.

In the siege of Vernum Jack was part of an early thrust into the capital, however the defences proved tougher than initially anticipated and his regiment was decimated quite early on. Recognising the untenable situation Jack ordered what few men still left to lay low, and hid his tank in a twisting mess of warehouses in the poorer districts. From there he awaited the arrival of the next wave by conveying crucial targeting data to the artillery batteries and generally being a hidden menace to the green tide. With the assault on the way he is ready to pop out of hiding and link up with the army proper once more.

Miscellaneous: He and his surviving comrades from Nendardel are best known for two things. The first is their comparatively relaxed easy going attitude off duty, being tolerant of quirks of people from other worlds rather than annoyed. Secondly the crew share a small portable garden of plants from their homeworld which can be smoked as a replacement for normal Lho sticks. For obvious reasons this makes them quite popular on extended campaigns.

OoC, the regiment is loosely based on the current Dutch Royal Army: Relaxed and easy going during down time, professionally morose and dedicated when on the clock. There are two subtypes in the regiment: Those who volunteered for a life in the IG and conscripts drafted to make up numbers and meet the demands of the tithe. Volunteers are generally seen as nutcases on their peaceful agriworld home, they are adventurous, bold and prone to sick practical jokes. Conscripts tend to be more grounded and practical with a penchant for lazing about if the opportunity arises.

Commander - Sergeant Jacques 'Mad Jack' De Vries
Driver - Corporal Frits 'Blitz' Feenstra
Gunner - Guardsman Frank Goossens
Loader - Guardsman Jonas 'Hunk MacSlabmuscle' Lubbers
Radio operator/hull gunner - Guardsman Willem Maas
L Bolter - Guardsman Marc Rutte
R Bolter - Guardsman Diederick 'Rick' Samson

[Tenlock]

Ariel Redempta

Name: Ariel Redempta

Age: 23

Gender: Female

Height and Weight: 5'5, 169lbs

Speciality: Sanctioned Psyker

Appearance: Miss Redempta cuts an impressive figure, with a powerful, albeit feminine build, strong but with a soft layer of curves atop, Ariel is well kept and fair, a long shot from the often expected crooked nature of the witch and psyker. Her hair is bleached white like the sisters of the Martyred Lady, but not similarly cut short, falling to well beyond her shoulders when she does not have it up, which is rare. Despite a generally positive demeanor, her blue eyes are chillingly cold. Bearing a small beauty mark above the left corner of her mouth, on her right cheek is a tattoo of the symbol of the Adeptus Ministorum. Across her chest, arching round to the top curve of her breasts, is a large tattoo of the Imperial Aquila. Her back, arms and legs have other, smaller marks, shows of piety and scripture. Most used to cover scaring from the various surgeries required of a psyker.

Uniform: Ariel wears the flak armour of the Imperial Guard, in the regalia of the 12 Elysian Drop Regiment.

Armament: Usual field equipment, lasgun with bayonet as well as a separate combat knife, frag grenades.

Personality/Demeanour: Ariel is not what the average imperial citizen would have been taught of the Psyker. Raised in the Schola Progenium, she had the faith and creed of the Emperor drilled into her from her first days. She is upbeat and steadfast, loyal to her regiment, despite the distrust her position has brought her. While more conflicted in recent years, and troubled since her abilities manifested, the fact that she has remained unbroken throughout her ordeal points to great faith and strength, although many in the Imperium would prefer no psyker to be so strong of spirit.

Greatest Ambition: To justify her faith, her upbringing and personal beliefs with what she has become. Not too easy for a psyker brought up by the puritans of the Schola.

Greatest Hatred: Those who would use the Emperor's light in vain, to twist his message to suit their own ends and to strike against the Imperial Truth. Increasingly, she views those who subjugate psykers out of hatred rather than safety and control as a part of this, although she generally keeps such thoughts to herself.

Skills: Ariel is trained as well as any militant 'graduate' of the schola, a capable warrior and survivalist on top of her developing abilities as an epsilon level psyker. Unlike many of her kind, Ariel's abilities manifested late and so despite extensive training in their safe usage, her talents tend to be raw, rather than measured.

History: As with any child raised in the Schola, Ariel was the orphan of parents who gave their lives in service to the Emperor. In her case, her father and mother were both part of the command crew of the Dominator Class Cruiser, Hammer of the True. The Cruiser was destroyed, along with several other of its class, in a rearguard action defending the bulk of its attached fleet as it regrouped to fend off a much larger orcish fleet. The Schola Ariel, along with any of the other orphans of prominent members of the same fleet, was located on the world of Elysia.

Growing up upon the troubled world, learning the Emperor's Creed and how best she would fit into such a role, Ariel was drawn towards the Ecclesiarchy and it's clear, determined view of the galaxy. Applying well to the physical tests assigned to her, it seemed natural the young girl would find herself a place in the Ecclesiarchy's militant wing, the Sisters of Battle, or failing that, another combative wing recruiting from the Schola. This plan for her future was rent apart when, as a young teen, her previously latent psychic potential began to manifest. Among the less than twenty percent of human psykers that remained undetectable until after childhood, the young girl's potential was soon sensed by the Sanctioned Psykers present at the schola. In an event that shook her entire mental state, and almost lead to her simple execution, Ariel was instead sent to be contained and trained by the Elysian sanctioned psykers, only her previously documented piety preventing authorities from simply killing her, such is the risk of those who begin their training late.

The process of become a sanctioned psyker was not, as it never is, an easy one. Strict and regimented training far graver than even the Schola, and repeated surgeries, failsafes and precautionary operations to help control the growing power within the young girl. Ariel opted to have the scars of these brutal procedures covered with inked marks of her faith in the emperor, the tattoos a reminder of what she was striving for. At nineteen, the young woman was considered safe enough to be attached to the Elysian Imperial Guard Regiments. It was some small respite in her righteous mind, that she would fight among the renown drop troopers. For the majority of her deployments, such enthusiasm was rarely reciprocated. Despite being suitably not-broken enough to be herded into a squad of battle pyskers, chained up when not in use, Ariel could rarely escape the stigma of who she was. Even those who were not made immediately aware, could not fail to miss the fail-safe collar mechanism, or the ever watchful eye of the nearest Commissar. That said, the drop troopers form some of the tightest bonds of any guard regiment, such is both the danger and required experience of their role. When assigned to squads of fellow guardsmen, as she has now been sanctioned to do, Ariel has slowly begun to once again feel the comfort of human social interaction.

Her Elysian Regiment has been deployed to the assault on Vernum city, to plunge troops straight into the heart of the settlement, and open up fresh fronts for the Imperial generals to exploit.

Miscellaneous:

[Ozymandias]

Lieutenant Lyudmila 'Lyra' Lyrachenko

Name:

Lieutenant Lyudmila 'Lyra' Lyrachenko.

Age:

23.

Gender::

Female.

Height and Weight:

5ft, 92lbs / 152cm, 42kg.

Speciality:

Emergency Trauma Specialist (medic).

Appearance:

The most easily noticeable feature with regard to Lyra's appearance is her unimposing, almost amusing height (particularly when clad in the bronze armour of her regiment). However, when looking past her height one can see telltale signs of athleticism and strength in her stature. Her arms, quadriceps and calves are particularly well muscled as a result of several years of intense training and sports while attending an Imperial medical university, and this lean mass is easily visible when wearing fatigues. Though highly unlikely to ever be seen, hidden under her crimson regimental tunic, or otherwise conservative attire, her body is equally toned, particularly her core muscles. It would not be an incorrect assessment to describe Lyra as exceptionally lean. While relatively strong and toned, she does not have any discernible bulk to her frame, which suitably allows her to be quick and unnoticeable, both traits which are exceptionally useful in her role as a battlefield trauma surgeon.

Her hair is shoulder length and red, the colour of an ancient Terran robin, almost always pulled tightly back into a knot. The red hue of her hair seems almost incandescent to those who see her due to her particularly fair skin, unaccustomed to heat or atmospheric severity. Her face is featured with a small number of freckles under her icy blue eyes and across her forehead, and a noticeably small concave nose. Otherwise, her appearance is relatively standard, unadorned by tattoos or piercings sometimes seen on other Imperial Guardsmen, a point which lends itself to her unimposing nature.

Uniform:

Red long-sleeved tunic with bronze embroidery and finishes, and tall grey bearskin cap. Bronze breastplate and gorget decorated with a silver aquila. Bronze shoulder guards with silver wings flanking two interwoven crimson serpents, and bronze forearm guards. Dark brown hard wearing trousers and metal capped boots. Heavy, hard wearing Guard pack containing numerous medical supplies, as well as standard infantry kit.

Armament:

• Munitorum pattern officer power sword
• Las pistol
• Las carbine
• Frag grenade
• Combat knife
• Injector
• Diagnostor
• Imperial Guard meditkit

Personality/Demeanour:

Lyra could be described as almost bipolar, depending on the situation. When outside her professional medical capacity she is generally friendly and joyful, but changes instantaneously into a melancholic thespian when her skills are needed. She is almost unanimously liked among her medical staff, admired by her students, and generally liked by all, save those outdone by her.

Within the 11th Karelian she is equally respected by her subordinates, though somewhat shunned by her superiors for her privileged background. She generally keeps to herself when outside her working hours (what little time that may be), either studying by reading Imperial philosophy, or exercising by practicing her swordplay.

Greatest Ambition:

To protect and prevent the deaths of loyal Imperial citizens. To assist in maintaining Imperial sovereignty in the galaxy. To actively assist her regiment and army in the submission of all enemy forces.

Greatest Hatred:

Traitors to the Imperium. Those who actively act against the Imperium and its sovereignty. Those who maliciously cause fatal harm to non-combatants and other civilians.

Skills:

Professional medical skills learned at a prestigious university, complemented by experience working with trauma patients at an equally prestigious hospital. High analytical ability, and adaptability. High level of fitness, athleticism and skill with bladed weapons due to experience in sports teams and societies.

History:

Lyudmila Lyrachenko, known colloquially as 'Lyra', has been a typical middle class woman for the majority of her young life. Born to wealthy parents on the equally opulent planet of Karelia, both employed in legal professions and both devout adherents to the Imperial Cult. This reverence for the Emperor was inherited by Lyra, who, while perhaps not particularly fanatical, is unmistakably spiritual. This reverence of the Emperor, combined with many years of reading Imperial philosophies from centuries and millennia past lead to Lyra developing a highly conscientious and sympathetic approach to life, starkly opposed to the sycophantic masses found on Karelia, particularly among the ruling elite and the middle classes.

Following academic excellence at all levels of education, Lyra gained entry into the prestigious, and highly expensive, Imperial Karelian University, known for its ivory structures and its pomp and ceremony, wherein she studied and specialised into her lifelong interest of medicine, developed as a result of her compassion and empathy. Over the course of several years she obtained three medical degrees, including one which would legally class her as a doctor of medicine in civilian life. She graduated in the ranks of the top ten percent of students; a far cry from those considered to be gifted, who were among the top three percent, but still highly respected. While highly dedicated to her work, she was equally dedicated to personal development, and it was during her time at her privileged university that she began intense physical training, athletic sports (having been a fan of the Harriers), and fencing, winning local championships and competing at a global level, all of which would lend usefulness to her later military career. Alongside personal development and study, Lyra was placed as a medical student under the tutelage of specialist doctors in various Imperial hospitals around Karelia at different points in her academic life, granting her invaluable experience in the diagnosis of ailments and the assessment and treatment of trauma, which would eventually become her speciality.

Within the same year as her graduation, Lyra enlisted into the Imperial Guard as an officer. The lower classes were conscripted by the thousands every two years, and formed into various infantry, armoured or artillery regiments, but the middle and upper classes were exempt from said conscription, though the Guard offered palatable incentives to young men and women by offering to pay the costs of their university education in return for military service. Thus, all officers serving in the Karelian regiments are middle class volunteers and career soldiers, including Lyra, who, following a glowing selection process, assisted by somewhat flattering, if not obsequious, references from university professors and hospital staff, entered into the service as a motorised infantry troop commander and an emergency trauma specialist, allowing her to use her years of education in conjunction with her seemingly natural leadership ability, presumably the result of her compassion and her studies of military philosophy. Despite gender equality among the Guard regiments of Karelia, Lyra was inevitably stigmatised as weak or incapable due to her size and privileged background, with other officer cadets implying, or otherwise outright stating, that she would be incapable of leading soldiers into battle. This unreservedly strengthened her resolve, and doubtlessly contributed to her graduation from the Imperial War College on Karelia.

Lyra was placed into the 11th Karelian Regiment. The Karelian infantry regiments were not restricted to one aspect of warfare, but organised its platoons into different roles, including armoured, mechanised and airbourne. Lyra specialised into light infantry training, whereupon the Guard assigned her as a platoon commander in the first company. All of the men and women under her command were fresh recruits, as new to combat as she was, save for a small number of non-commissioned officers transferred from depleted companies of other regiments to assist her in the management, training and supervision of her newly formed platoon. It was with this platoon, and the entirety of the 11th Karelian Regiment, that Lyra was to be inducted into the devastation of war, for which she had been rigorously trained and prepared, but for which her expectations were to be almost instantaneously shattered.

Miscellaneous:

Upon her arrival on Vernum, Lyra has seen no actual combat whatsoever. She is quite naïve about many aspects of life, has never seen any sort of brawling or fighting outside of regulated sport, and is, despite her unwavering faith in the Emperor and desire to expunge the galaxy of traitors, essentially innocent. She's been extensively trained in leadership tactics and drills via war games, but has never heard a shot fired in anger. She's more skilled with a fencing-type weapon, like an officers sword, than with a firearm, though her experience in sport duelling is likely to be useless against anything other than another human.

[Winston Smith]

[header=Magnus]
Name: Guardsman Magnus 'Stormhammer' Cathar

Age: 36

Gender: Male

Height and Weight: 180cm, 85kg

Speciality: Guardsman Close-quarter combat, Magnus has also received training as a combat medic prior to his redeployment. His main ability is simply being able to survive, out of blind luck where millions have fallen.

Appearance: There is an old saying within the Astra Militarum is that 'There are bold Guardsmen and old Guardsmen but no bold and old guardsmen'. Magnus is an old Guardsman,as is anyone who has survived beyond 35 in the guard. Whereas most guardsmen keep their hair short, Magnus chooses to remain bald. This has the advantage of helping him fight off the lice that seem to infest every army barracks. It also teaches the younger recruits to keep a fair distance from him as no zealout wants to be associated with a man who bears the tattooed bar-code of the 852nd Penal Legion. Magnus's eyebrows have begun to turn grey and his skin has begun to lose its elasticity due to time but his muscles remain as strong as ever. Despite his slightly above average frame Magnus has lightning-quick reflexes, which have managed to save him many a dangerous encounter as he is quick with a blade or a blunt object.

Under his armour, scars seem to cover every square centimeter of skin. If he believed in Miracles Magnus might think that the Emperor himself was watching out for him so often has he avoided death. the Few Colleagues that knew him gave him the nickname 'Stormhammer' after the heavy tank for his sheer ability to survive.

Uniform: Magnus wears a battered Flak Armour, Swamp Green battle helmet, fatigues brown with the dirt of a dozen different worlds.

Armament: He still wields his Penal-issued Mark 4 lascarbine preferring it's practicality and accuracy to the range of the Standard las Rifle. He also carries two combat knives, demolition charges, smoke grenades and his most prized possession a Lyndwyrm "Volcano" Autopistol, taken from the body of a dead officer.

Personality/Demeanour: Magnus is a surly, frequently angry guardsman who few people get on with. Magnus has fought too dozens of different Xenos on dozens of worlds but in his eyes there are few differences between those who fight for the emperor and those who fight against him. He knows this is heresy but does not care, he think he has seen and survived the worst of what the Imperium can do to a man and survived. He has seen too many of his comrades die to care about what he his fighting for anymore, he lives day by day, making few friends and keeping to himself to avoid forming a bond that will inevitably be severed by battle or to avoid involving his comrades in his heretical thoughts.

Greatest Ambition: To survive long enough to be demustered and sent to retire on a Farm planet and raise a family far from war and the Xeno.

Greatest Hatred: The futility of the struggle, the unending, ceaseless slaughter that achieves so little. The sacrifice of the common man to preserve to comfort of the powerful lords of the imperium.

Skills: Magnus has a talent for surviving situations that would bring down even an ogryn, he attributes his continued survival to his complete disregard for his own life, a powerful cocktail of chems, years of soul grinding training before even joining the guard as he was born the bastard child of a guardsman and pure blind luck.

History: Magnus was born on some forgotten feral world where his father had been stationed, enjoying the relatively cushy job of a member of an Imperial Planetary Defence Force on a planet with a low native population. However, before Magnus turned 9 his father's unit was taken off planet and merged with foreign conscript regiments into a new garrison regiment intended to man defensive positions on conflict planets whilst regularly trained guardsmen could go on the offensive. This mean that by age 11 Magnus had killed his first Xeno; an eldar who had tried and failed to infiltrate the guardsman barracks after the a small Eldar force had drawn off the main Guardsmen unit leaving only a few members of the Departmento Munitorum, the medics and the regimental children to man the fixed emplacements. His excitement was short lived as he learned two weeks later that his father had died on the day he had made his first kill, slain by far from home on some swamp planet.

After being pressed into the guard to fill his fathers' place, Magnus fought on dozens of planets. He was fortunate enough to be sent to battles where the Imperium emerged victorious but on his 24th year he first tasted defeat. Despite the best efforts the Guard the Tau fire caste warriors had all but eradicated human resistance on the forge world of Terrok Antera. As ever the orders had been to hold on and keep fighting until reinforcements arrived, this was somewhat of a joke among Guardsmen. Off-world reinforcements were always coming, always almost there but somehow never made it to the battlefield when you needed them. His regiment had been bombarded for weeks on end and had not received the proper weaponry to successfully fight off the Tau in their battlesuits. So Magnus did what came naturally, and in the dead on night during his guard duty he abandoned his post and surrendered himself to the Tau. He had considered himself lucky knowing that the Tau were some of the only Xenos that would actually take prisoners and sometimes give them a fair life. His guilt at abandoning his comarades was lessened by the fact that he knew that had he stayed the position would have fallen in days. Only this time the reinforcements Did come. Of all the thrice-damned off-world reinforcements that could arrive it had to be the Holy hundred and fifteenth imperial Guard Regiment led by the bloody Deathwatch. In seemingly no time at all, all the advances the Tau had made were undone as the veteran Adeptus Astartes pounded his captors further and further back. When Magnus and his other 'colleagues' were 'rescued' they quickly found their way before Arbites Legatus who dispatched them to a penal world where they were to be remolded as men and given the chance to pay for their weakness and treason through diligent and unquestioning service in the Emperor's 852nd penal Legion. For the better part of a year, Magnus was starved, shocked,drugged, whipped and beaten into obedience until, at last the 852nd was sent off world. Immediately after emerging from The Warp the Penal Barge on which Magnus found himself, was boarded by Orks as a space battle was waged between the Imperial Navy and and Orkish fleet. Still chained, unarmed most of the legion were unable to defend themselves and were butchered by the boarders. As luck would have it, the cell block in which Magnus was being detained was not functioning correctly and would not open to let in the Orks. Eventually the boarders broke down the gates into the cell but this had bought precious time for Magnus and his fellow detainees to arm themselves with furniture, canteens and other improvised weaponry. By this time , the Imperial Navy had smashed the Ork fleet and had began retaking the prison hulk saving the lives of the remaining Penal Legionaires much to the disgust of the Fleet Commander.

For the next 9 years Magnus and the 852nd were thrown into conflicts all across the Imperium but somehow he always found ways to survive, knowing that short of execution there was little that could be done to punish him further. On his tenth year in the 852nd Magnus had been deployed to the core of a Organic world where the Imperium had been battling the fearsome Tyrannids. The 852nd had been sent into deep and ancient underground tunnels to catch any incoming fire for Adaptes Astartes. These were following close behind and had orders emerge from the tunnels and to launch a surprise attack behind the Tyrannid rear. It was hoped that the Hive-mind would be so distracted by the regular forces engaging it on the surface that the Xeno would be incapable of reacting in time to a last-ditch Asartes attack. The General Staff clearly did not understand how the hive mind worked and their plan resulted in Dozens of Blood Angels and tens of thousands of Penal Legionnaires. Then the Imperial Commander took a drastic decision, with his ground forces decimated, the Tyrannids in total occupation of an Organic world and his fleet desperately needed elsewhere, he gave the order for a Planetary Exterminatus. The Imperial Navy's Vessels bombarded the planet's surface for two days,incinerating all hostile, natural and friendly life before departing. Only those who had been in the planet's core tunnels had been able to survive the incineration of the planet surface. Those Legionaires who had gone underground on a beautifully green planet full of life emerged from the dark to witness the charred remains of millions of years of nature. All but those deepest underground were incinerated by the initial blasts. Magnus was one of these and after understanding just what had happened, he began to provide basic burn and shrapnel care to all those who stood a chance of surviving. For the most part, this meant treating Adeptus Astartes who despite taking massive damage from the planetary bombardment, had been engineered in such as way as to be able to survive in all but the most hopeless of situations. Thus it was by Magnus's act of saving the remaining Astartes and contacting a passing Imperium fleet in order recover the Geneseed of the fallen that the entire 852nd was rehabilitated. In recognition for their heroic efforts and surviving an Exterminatus the 852nd was given the singular honour of rejoining the Emperor's forces as an Imperial Guardsmen. After a brief and cost-effective ceremony these new Guardsmen were herded onto vessels once more and pointed in the direction of Vernum Primas.
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