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Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

Only a handful of other voices joined in after the sergeant spoke his piece. The Catachan looked for a means of escape, barking the hardy defiance that Frank had come to expect of men from his Deathworld. There was...a modicum of comfort amidst the frozen shade. He knew there were good men with him. If Steiner were to die, he'd at least not die alone. A selfish thought, he grimly considered, but one that made it just a little easier. There was the distinct pop of a joint being wrenched purposefully out of socket. It was a painful thing, but it sounded like someone was trying to wiggle their way out of their binds. Steiner chose to remain as still as possible. Let one of the younger men hurt themselves trying to get free- if it worked, he'd be out of his binds soon enough anyway. No need to go breaking anything just to hurry the process along.

While they sat in pitch black darkness, joking while they sat imprisoned, thunderous noises played in the distance. The aging sergeant strained his ears to make sense of what he was hearing. Those were...explosions? Was the ship going up in flames? No. Grenades. Someone was setting off krak grenades. "The hell is that?" He muttered from beneath his hood.

The cacophony of explosives was joined by the piercing zap of las-bolts. Footsteps grew close, then voices. Indistinguishable but very obviously human. A smile crept up the man's usual grimace. They were being rescued! 'About damn time.' He thought, light piercing the darkness even through his blindfold.

Among the chaos of battle, he could make out words. Among them, 'recruits' was the most pressing, as well as an order to set them free. Recruits? Were these the guys who had put him on the Voidship in the first place? That 'special task' the lieutenant had briefly spoken of, back home? It was the only possibility that made sense. The shadows cast by the hood were torn away with that piece of cloth, tearing away the veil to reveal the faces of his saviors. Men in carapace armor and wielding las-guns- Imperials. Steiner's hands and feet were freed. Finally he was able to move and flex, after what felt like hours of captivity. Standing on unsteady feet, the medical officer turned his eyes on the other stripped down prisoners he had shared a cell with. People of all different sorts. Women, two darker skinned jungle fighters- one a Catachan, the other unrecognized by Frank- and even some Cadians.

Across from them were the only two men who's names he knew. The noble-looking Major Bonham, and a Sergeant Latenius. He explained, in far too few words for Frank's liking, that they belonged to some...Imperial organization called the Shadow Order. He'd never heard of it, though there was much the grunt admittedly didn't know about the Imperium he so 'faithfully' served. Before the NCO was able to fully process what in the hell was going on, the Major made things all the more distressing when he called in more soldiers- dragging a dreadfully familiar warrior between them.

It was the corpse of a Stormtrooper. Belonging to none other than the Inquisition. A ghostly paleness passed over Steiner at the sight of the Inquisition's seal, plastered upon the carapace armor of the dead man. These were the ones that captured and tortured them? "What the hell?" Steiner held back a flood of curses that he so gleefully wished to unleash at the sight of that corpse. Nothing made a lick of sense. Bohman named them loyal officers of the Imperium. They were not traitors, even by the admission of the Shadow Order's representative. The only logical conclusion that Steiner could draw, then, was that this 'Order' was not as loyal to the Emperor as it claimed to be. Not if they slew Inquisitors and Stormtroopers. Yet those same Stormtroopers had detained Steiner and, apparently, the other prisoners. They had tortured them.

An option was presented to the soldiers of the Imperial Guard. Rifles were placed down upon the floor before them. Cadian pattern, by the look of them; standard issue throughout Imperial space. Bohman wasn't forcing them to take up arms against their captors. Against other men of the Imperium- adversaries or not, still loyal to the God Emperor. Steiner glanced around at the others, waiting to see how they might react. The first to pick up a las-gun was a young man with features that Steiner guessed descended from Cadia. 'Loyal as ever.' The medic thought. Next was a woman, of strong build and fiery hair, to lift up a gun and claim in a haughty tone that she'd shoot whatever they ordered her to.

Others were not so keen. The Cadian could see it on their expressions. They didn't want to fight against men of the Inquisition. Not against fellow Imperial citizens. To do so was to be branded a traitor and a heretic, to damn oneself forever. Frank understood their hesitance. If it were not for the circumstances surrounding the situation, he might even choose to deny the Major.

But circumstances did not allow for defiance. Frank bent down, grabbing up the cool metal of the las-rifle, feeling it's familiar design in his fists. It was a comforting thing, to wield that gun once more. It gave Steiner some sense of protection, even then. Even with the terrifying implications of his decision hanging just over his head. With heavy eyes and a sigh, the hardened medic turned to look at those who had yet to pluck up a rifle and join this 'Order' in their traitorous battle against officers of the Emperor.

"I'd do what he says." He began with a frown and a harsh gaze. "Either he shoots you now, or the Inquisitors shoot you later. They already think we're part of this whole mess. Didn't torture us for nothing." It was a grim thing to consider- in all actuality, there was no choice to be made here. If they didn't go with Bohman and Latenius, they would be: Stranded in the husk of a dead Voidship, doomed to die in the vacuum of space. Shot where they stood for refusing to join the Order. Or, if somehow they survived, they would be recaptured by the Inquisition and either killed immediately or tortured to death as traitors anyway. That's how the Imperium's finest conducted business. Steiner didn't like it. He hated it, in fact. But he- and his fellow prisoners- had only one option that might let them survive.

"By the throne, just pick up a damn gun."

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

I'll try and post later today. Been busy.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

I smell a big ol' pile of heresy.

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

But what is protection? :thinking_emoji:

Superboy's Shitty Characters

DIDN'T WORK OUT

Superboy's Shitty Characters

N/A

Warhammer 40K: Knives in the Dark - An Only War/Guard RP

It stopped. Everything stopped. The torture, the mocking. His captors seemingly disappeared the moment the words 'do your worst' had left the mouth of the Guardsman. Steiner kept his guard up for several minutes. He listened intently, trying to make out some...ambient sound. But he could not. All the sergeant heard was the rugged sound of his own ragged breathing, and the muttered ambiance of the ship's dull, constant hum. Once it was clear the interrogator had no intention of speaking up again or applying more of that horrific cold inducement drug, Franklin dropped his guard- partially. He allowed himself to simply breathe, and take stock of the situation. He'd been captured, presumably, by members of Chaos. They had yet to mention their god by name, so Steiner's assumption was that he was dealing with Chaos Undivided. The same force that the Despoiler- the Great Enemy of Cadia- belonged to.

At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'

Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.

But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.

When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'

Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.

"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."

Superboy's Shitty Characters

It stopped. Everything stopped. The torture, the mocking. His captors seemingly disappeared the moment the words 'do your worst' had left the mouth of the Guardsman. Steiner kept his guard up for several minutes. He listened intently, trying to make out some...ambient sound. But he could not. All the sergeant heard was the rugged sound of his own ragged breathing, and the muttered ambiance of the ship's dull, constant hum. Once it was clear the interrogator had no intention of speaking up again or applying more of that horrific cold inducement drug, Franklin dropped his guard- partially. He allowed himself to simply breathe, and take stock of the situation. He'd been captured, presumably, by members of Chaos. They had yet to mention their god by name, so Steiner's assumption was that he was dealing with Chaos Undivided. The same force that the Despoiler- the Great Enemy of Cadia- belonged to.

At least Steiner was starting to piece together information on his captors. More like educated guesswork, at this point; the longer Frank was imprisoned here, the more solidified his theories would become. It was odd that they hadn't been more upfront about their allegiances. Most cultists jumped at the chance to infect Guardsmen with the heretical teachings of their putrid daemon gods. Was Steiner dealing with a special breed? Or was there something else going on that he hadn't quite placed? 'Not that it really matters.' He thought with a grimace. 'I'm fucked, no matter who these guys are.'

Lost deep within his thoughts, Steiner hadn't noticed time withering away around him. He had plenty to think about. Plenty of regrets to consider, and horrific nightmares to relieve while he sat in the cold, listening to his own chest rising and falling in the darkness. It wasn't until a great force impacted against his abdomen that Steiner was wrenched back into reality; if one could call this hell real. A strike from a baton nearly broke his ribs. A fist cracked against his nose, drawing blood. They beat him. Steiner could do nothing but grind his teeth together and hold back an agonized scream as he was turned to a bloody pulp. Frank couldn't fight back. He couldn't move to defend himself from the raining blows. All he could do was tuck his chin against his chest with all of his remaining strength, and wait until it ended. It did, in short order, when electricity was sent cascading through his squat, muscular form. Not even a Cadian Shock Trooper could withstand such forces, and Steiner lost consciousness- assuming he would never wake up again.

But somehow, regrettably, he did. Steiner eventually awoke, his head swimming from the blunt force trauma it had endured. Steiner could taste the rust-like presence of blood in his mouth. He could feel it running down from his nose; it was harder to breathe than ever. It took a great deal of effort just to suck air into his lungs. Now his feet were on the floor. He'd been forced into a squat. Frank moved, the clinking and rustling of chains telling him all he needed to know. There was no getting out of his position. Perhaps if he was ten years younger and unharmed, Franklin could pull some acrobatic, gymnast shit and get his arms out from behind him. But there wasn't any way to get out with the chains firmly anchored to the floor.

When the panic faded, Steiner once more went back to listening. He could hear more out in the darkness. Breathing that was not his own. The interrogator had been utterly silent, so Frank knew this was a new presence- or a new tactic, depending on how cynical he was feeling at the moment. The medical sergeant tried to single out the number of individual patterns of breathing he could hear. Three...maybe four, others? Five? It was difficult to differentiate from some of them. Steiner could tell there were more than two, however, which led him to believe the situation had changed rather drastically. His captors must've figured they couldn't break him the old way, so they were trying something different. He waited until he heard voices. Someone calling out if any of them were awake. 'More prisoners?' He wondered, skeptically. Steiner chose to remain silent, continuing to simply observe. This could very well be a trick. An attempt to get him to open up to those he perceived as fellow 'prisoners.'

Or, Frank could genuinely be in cell with others like him. Other crew of the voidship that had survive the encounter and been taken captive. Another voice came. More high pitched. A woman, maybe. She sounded as distressed as the first man to cry out. 'Decent acting if they're cultists, gotta admit.' Steiner wasn't fully convinced yet. He continued to wait and listen. Another voice. A man, this one angry, demanded to know what was going on. Frank swore he recognized the accent from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place it. He'd worked with someone that sounded like that at least once before. 'Is that...A Catachan?' It had to be. What he was doing on that ship, he didn't know. But no one else in the galaxy sounded like that, as far as the medic was aware. Catachans didn't fall to Chaos, did they? Those from that ugly death world were legendary for their fortitude. 'Gotta be another prisoner. It's gotta be.' He tossed out the idea that it was a simple trick of the mind. Frank needed...some hope here. He'd go mad within days otherwise. So, taking a leap of faith, Steiner decided to speak up as well.

"My best guess? Our voidship was attacked, maybe by Chaos cultists. Tied me to some chair and tried to get me to talk. Wanted to know who I was and where we were going." Steiner gave the rest of the prisoners a rundown. If that's really what they were. "Didn't tell 'em a damn thing, though."

Lethe: A Dark Souls-inspired RP Idea

Obligatory declaration of interest goes here.

Steampunk ⚙ Big Ass Monsters

Wew lad.