Another day in the Guard ((I.G rp Open/Accepting))

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

"Men, we are the first, last and often only line of defence the Imperium has against what is out there. You and that fine piece of Imperial weaponry you hold in your hands is all that is keeping humanity alive. Most of you will probably not live to see your second year in the Guard and most of you will probably never see your homeworlds again, but I can guarantee you that when you do fall, with a prayer to the most high and mighty God-Emperor on your lips, you will have earned the right to call yourself a man!"
— Staff Sergeant Vermak, 12th Cadian Shock Regiment

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Rules
1. NO Godmodding, You are a guardsman. Be realistic damn it. Heroic is fine but I highly doubt you'll be able to beat a Chaos marine in a fist-fight. He'd make artwork out of your limbs. Literally.
2. Cussing and inter-regimental brawling as well as romance are all not only allowed but encouraged to help brew and stimulate drama between characters but please don't over-do it. A guardsman can cuss but don't try to compete with construction workers. Love-triangles break up unit cohesion and etc.
3. You will follow orders. You will hold the line. Just let us know if you're going to be away for a awhile. Don't leave us hanging to dry; hence why an OOC thread will be put in place.
4. ALL guardsmen must use ammunition which on the battlefield can be quite limited. Be creative when you need to and use definition. I like details.
5. Try and make your posts stand out, have some decorum behind them. Basically some color and link to a pic for your character will suffice. More is appreciated.
6. Post once a week. No exceptions except through me.
7. Make your character stand out as well, no gary-stues or mary-sues. Hard I know given guardsmen in general but work with me.
8. This is war. There will be injuries and deaths. Deal. However for the squeamish we don't need you trying to write a script for S.A.W with your post.
9.Send all profiles through pm to me. I'll review them and put them up in a separate thread I'll create. add a ninja smiley so I know these have been read.
10. I require at least semi-lit posting. 2 paragraphs of at least five sentences each. Not much. Just enough to keep people going off of.
11. I hold the right to add,change, or remove rules as i see necessary.

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Profiles/Skeletons
Profiles thread

Quote:

~Name:
~Planet of birth:
~Age:
~Rank:
~Years of service: ((In the Imperial guard, if any))
~Company sad (Will be assigned))
~:Squad/Squad-leader: ((Company commanders will assign Squad-leaders as necessary. Beginning with NPC's characters will earn promotion throughout rp. As NPC's get killed off no doubt.))
~Weapon of choice sad (Soldier role i.e. RiIfleman, Grenadier, Heavy support, Marksman, etc.))
~Equipment: ((Uniform, special gear/munitions.etc uniform pic can be duplicated pending home-world regimental kit.))
~Personality: ((1 paragraph))
~Biography:
- Premilitary/Recruitment: ((1 paragraph; Prior to military life/ how you got drafted, etc))
- PDF/Militia?: Term(s) of Service sad (1 paragraph;optional. if no prior military service explain reason for enlisting/ed briefly. ))
~Appearance: ((Out of uniform, anime only please.Real life creeps me out.))
~Nothin like dry rations: ((Likes))
~Fethin shoot it. ((Dislikes))

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Current deployment status: Counter-Invasion in progress,Location: Messina system, Imperial companies: Currently at full(enough) strength beginning Scarus system crusade.
((Casualty figures,Support gathered, and allied forces statistics will be posted here.))
Allied forces:
Fellow guardsmen: Approx 750 million, including notably the 3rd,107th, 304th, and remnants of 331st Cadian shock troops. 16th,101st Elysian drop troops. As well as the 143rd,149th and 150th Krieg Death Korps. 5th, 22nd Vostroyan firstborn.etc.
Armour support: Notably the 23rd armored Cadian, 142nd armored Cadian, 8th Cadian heavy tank company. 20 companies of light armor. ((Tauros, Chimeras, Sentinels, Leman russ's, Hellhounds))
Legio invictus: 2 Imperator, 4 Warhound, 6 Reaver, 3 Warlord titans.
Imperial Navy: 7 Battleships, 10 Grand cruisers, 15 Cruisers, 12 ironclads, 20 destroyers and 15 frigates.
Allies: No casualties
118th Scarus RIP regiment: No casualties.

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

((Basic, will add more as story progresses.))Plot:
It has been fifteen standard imperial years since the failure of Abaddon the despoilers 13th black crusade and the unleashing of the traitorous Volscani at the battle of Tyrok fields. All of Cadian high command being assassinated prior to the invasion the new Militant general has taken a bold new strategy trying to reclaim what imperial worlds that might be salvageable from the grasps of the arch-enemy. They must be pushed back into the eye of terror where they hence came but the enemy is crafty and their weapons many in this war. Though the imperial forces still push on to reclaim their lost worlds.

You are a trooper recently assigned to the 118th Scarus RIP regiment whether you are here for Re-training, Indoctrination, or Punishment matters little. You have all been selected to mobilize for immediate front line combat against the enemy. You will not be returning to serve with your original regiments nor any other regiment until the liberation of Messina has been achieved. Good luck Guardsmen.

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Reserved

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Open and accepting

 

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Nayendril Threshervan
My face
Rank:Conscript guardsman,Location: Imperial cruiser "Eternal Reckoning", Company: The members of 118th RIP.

Nayndril sighed sitting on an overturned and emptied ammo crate he was surrounded by a small group of two other Cadians whose names he was hardly keeping in his memory well at this point. Honestly there were so many guardsmen from so many different worlds that he'd run into he was finding it difficult to distinguish himself away from the mob of men in uniforms as strangely different as a few of them seemed. Especially within his new regiment given the mutt mix of troopers there were uniforms weapons and troopers from half a dozen systems all together in one room anticipating what was to come. Nayendril himself couldn't really see the logics behind trying to reclaim a lost world especially one fallen to the ruinous powers for almost a decade. It would have been a better use of resources to simply bombard the planet from orbit and cull the enemy in one quick single tactical strike. But as well morale throughout the sector was pretty low given the recent fighting which many of the more experienced veterans remembered too fondly. Nayendril was polishing the barrel of his Kantrael M36 shining and adjusting his sights on the newly issued weapon admiring the stock and how the weapon was made. The two Cadians with him one nicknamed 'Sputtershot' mainly because he had quite literally the worst shooting drill scores making him an embarassment for a Cadian quite frankly. The other was called 'Steel-toe' by their fellow troopers what for Nayendril wouldn't know. He himself had been in the guard for too short a duration to have his own name replaced by some meaningless phrase which would only in turn reduce his own independent individual identity. Nayendril knew that quite frankly standing out in the guard meant you were only more likely to get stepped on but in truth he really didn't care his first deployment was probably going to get him killed and it wouldn't even be beside his true brother in arms at all either.The enemy could keep Messina as far as he was concerned.

Naynedril started looking down his sights as 'Steeltoe' lit up a lho-stick taking a long deep inhale before he got cracked over the head with a large shin-length solid piece of wood came down over the troopers shoulder instantly making him drop the burning lho-stick to the ground in a small shower of embers. The regimental commissar was standing beside their drill-sergeant who was the one holding the large threatening piece of wood that all the RIP troopers had learned to fear over the course of the last few weeks Nayendril's own eyes shooting from his scope to the stick in an instant remembering the sting too fondly. The drills running around the decks had been difficult given how fond their sergeant was of laps but as arduous as the constant running had been the stick was definitely far worse and the bruises lasted much longer than your lungs were out of breath."There is no smoking in the commissar's presence." the sergeant grunted before moving to address the assembling squads"ATTENTION!" The men quickly stood and began to crowd around the two officers many throwing weapons over their shoulder other dragging theirs on the floor with their feet."We will be arriving at Messina within one imperial cycle. Assemble into your squadrons and prepare for deployment. If any of you try to dodge out on the shuttles...well.. The commissar's acquaintances will have something to do with their...leisure time. DISMISSED!" then without so much as another word the two slowly began walking away chatting as if they were at afternoon tea. Nayendril watched as 'Steeltoe' pickes up his still burning lho-stick the man being their for punishment it really did Make Nayendril wonder exactly what the trooper had done. The most he'd gotten out of him was to do with shaving cream and miniature explosives in his commanding officer's personal locker. The man took a long drag form the burning stick before offering it to the two significantly younger Cadian's with him, they were the only three in his whole squad which made the Cadians almost inseparable. "Feth it, they're sending us to hell. Might as well be happy getting there" Nayendril said taking the proffered lho-stick raising it his lips.

 

[r0guish]

The large hangar that they used as a commons area was brimming with people and new buzz about how close they were to this fresh hell; somber faced to a man except for a group bundled together in the niche of a few improperly stacked crates, watching something with great interest. Man at the center of that attention was one Sergeat Grave, leaning back precariously in his chair with feet up on the small table they had requisitioned to use as a card table. Left hand cradled the large dark leaf cigar as he stoked the ember of it before finally speaking the much anticipated words. ".. And he says, I swear on my mother - That's what she said."

An uproar of laughter from out from the group that was much more ruckus than the surrounding guardsmen. It lasted until the good Sergeant slammed the seat back down as he stood up, popping the leather suspenders with his thumbs before speaking in that cocky manner of a veteran. "Well, ladies it's time to get packed for school. Don't forget to pack your lunches." His small march was stopped as he stepped up to a squatting Private who seemed unaware of the world around him and still rolling dice with his paycheck in hand. Large boot came belting down to knock the youth over; peering down with that falcon-like intensity. "Get moving, maggot."

Form straightened even further as he watched the men move about with that military efficiency, a wolfish smile creeping onto his lips behind the smoldering cigar. A few steps back to his table and tucking his winnings away into his ruck before slinging it over his shoulder. Uniform was tucked in with the rest of his gear, awaiting to see what the planet had to offer them.  

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Nayendril Threshervan
My face
Rank:Conscript guardsman,Location: Imperial cruiser "Eternal Reckoning", Company: The members of 118th RIP.

Nayendril exhaled a large puff of smoke into Sputtershot's face making him cough violently. The three of them made their way over tot the sergeant they had been apparently assigned to. Some humorous hard-a** Vostroyan. Honestly Nayendril found he quite enjoyed the mans sense of humor and though in nature a smart-a** Nayendril was also smart enough to steer far from the man's bad side. On the bright side the man was old. A compliment in the imperial guard, he'd likely seen much hell and that meant he knew what he was doing. If Nayendril listened one day too he might be old. Nayendril very liked the idea of that, dying in some shallow muddy pit while something ate his innards really didn't sit well with him. The squad formed up silently behind the sergeant standing at loose attention the rest of their fifteen man squad taking up ranks behind them. The sergeant was the lone Vostroyan, in the squad at least. There were three Cadian's in total with six Krieg mask boys and five Elysian's. To say they were an odd lot was an understatement and frankly they all could have hated one another's guts. But orders were orders and duty came first. In hell they were all each other had after all. Even if his trio were the youngest well they often seemed the most enthused, if not out-rightly sarcastic and fatalistic. This was going to be his first dance with death too. They all knew it.

It took a little while as troopers lazily gathered their gear and assembled into their squads getting ready to make for the hangars. Just short of an hour after the commissar's speech the horns blared and they made their way for the drop-ships down in the hangars. They were currently on a troop transport most of the ships energy hum coming from the powerful void shields surrounding them. Currently however their fleet was gathering over the burning atmosphere of Messina their bombardment having exacted the emperors wrath down on the largest settlements and most seemingly fortified areas of the planet. It had been surveyed as well as it could through the toxic clouds now looming over it's surface, the whole planet looked in a way sick like it had been infected with plague. Thankfully there were no windows in the hangars nor on their drop-ships, though he could hear the blasts he would not see what hell looked like until it was too late to turn back. He held his weapon strap tight shuffling in line behind his fellow troopers into the shuttle finding himself a seat beside Sputter-shot and Steeltoe the three Cadian's grinning at one another. Well he wasn't alone.

 

[r0guish]

Sergeant Grave herded the men forward into the drop pod like an old sheep dog before entering lastly and closing the shutters to secure themselves for launch. Gear was shrugged from his shoulder and fell unceremoniously to the floor with a heavy 'thud'. Cigar still clenched in his teeth he turned to face the men, once again focusing their minds. "Alright you monkeys. Check each other's gear. This may be what saves your miserable life when we touch down." Leading the way, those gnarled hanss gripped the nearest guardsman by the flak jacket, giving him a sound shaking to make sure things were secured before giving a solemn nod.

Using the time before departure, the good sergeant fitted himself with that eat up old flak armor, fitting it over his steely frame. Next came the obviously Vostroyan Lasrifle, his ritual of visual and mechanical inspection was over soon and blessed the old girl with a kiss before rising up once more, his ruck slung back into position. "Alright Guardsmen, you've been sitting on your asses getting paid to do nothing. Now the Emperor has come to collect." An excellent leader of men, he had the ability to make one think he was talking only to them, and was blessed with the aura of a man of much higher rank.

Free hand rose up to the switch ad he waited for the signal from his vox-man about when to drop. "So.. If anyone wants off this ride, now's the -- " A short nod from his comrade about the green light was enough to stop his joking before finishing epicly. "Too late. Going down!" He threw the switch and immediately they were away under the propulsion of the pod, that feeling of falling through the void - weightless. Whatever awaited them planet-side promised not to be good, and knowing these damnable drop pods, who knew where they'd land.  

[Xxx- Bizkit -xxX]

Nayendril Threshervan
My face
Rank:Conscript guardsman,Location: Imperial cruiser "Eternal Reckoning", Company: The members of 118th RIP.

Nayendril and his comrades had only two things to say to their sergeants rhetoric at the end of his tiny albeit mildly comforting speech "HOLY FETH!!!!"and then the drop hit them. There had never been any experience in Neyendril's entire life that compared to atmospheric drop his head snapping back while the two boys beside him screamed bloody murder. He was simply trying desperately to keep his helmet on tightening the strap inch by inch with his fingers while the rocking of their vessel made his head practically vibrate on the spot. To say the ride into orbit was a drag would be an understatement. It felt as if they were suddenly suspended adrift space and time for a millenia before they smashed into the upper layers of atmosphere the hull of the craft erupting into flames. Nayendril took one last look around the craft before suddenly they were jerked violently by the force of an incoming explosion rocking their pod off-target. It was not an uncommon occurrence such was the fact that many dozens of imperial regiments were clustered together to secure similar objectives throughout the enemy world. They were intended to take the coastal port city called 'Crayathen' by the old imperial inhabitants fifty-six standard terran years ago. Naynedril wasn't sure what it was called now but he was sure it was likely a chaos-ridden cesspool about to be filled with blood. Both theirs and the archenemy's. Theirs was one of thousands of drop-pods and ships being hurtled at the side of the planet to establish the beach-head that would allow them to start pushing into the mainlands of the planet.

Nayendril himself wasn't sure if he was nervous, dizzy or just about to puke as the inside of their craft began to spin rocking as the explosions of enemy anti-air fire began rippling across their hull shock-waves battering them left and right while they jettisoned down towards the small city. According to the data-slates assigned to four of their squad members thankfully one of them being 'Steeltoe' said that the local population had been estimated around fifty thousand all of which was now assumed either killed or converted until notified otherwise. The local pro-throne resistance movements were located further south towards the more arid and tropical countries from what they'd heard. But then again they were only rumors; for all Nayendril knew every woman,man,child on that rock were out to kill him. He wasn't going to let them. Then suddenly all his thoughts ceased as they made impact the hard smack sending them all flying an inch into the straps and restraints of their seats. Theirs was a brief moment of respite while hissing sounds filled the air likely the clamps to their release bay before it dropped and with it so too did their restraints the vessel miraculously having managed to land upright had dropped them just outside the city. They were currently crushing half of what Nayendril assumed to be an old storehouse for a nearby farm. About a mile west was the bridge that would lead them directly into hell. But Nayendril was certain he could hear the sound of motors...and weapons priming. Getting closer.

show spoilerhide spoiler

Frenzy of Death

Holy dude, so sorry. Work/life got hectic. Still is, but I'll def post a.s.a.p. Just quote me to get my attention ><

 

[Ociluce]

Plink!

The cultist’s head snapped back through a pink mist, its motion described by a thin arc of blood trailing from the entrance-wound. Before he had hit the ground, two more of his cultist ilk had passed by his still-twitching corpse, screaming the name of their obscene benefactor.

A grey-bearded ratling snarked, “Thank you, sir! May I have another?”

His squad-mates, situated in the pre-engagement-bombarded-ruins of what had once been a bakery, snickered, and they added their sniper-fire to his. There were needle-rounds to go around, and the killing field that used to be a plaza was still wide. While the horde of chaotic rabble seemed to number in the hundreds in the minds of the pilot in the moments before impact, they knew that it was a small band that couldn’t number more than a few dozen. If the ratlings could keep up this weight of fire, then not one of the maddened rebels would make it to the base of the building. And if they did... well, they had an answer to that.

The dropships were easily capable of dropping a whole company of terrified and screaming guardsmen to the surface in one go. Standard procedure was to split the companies into platoons and send them in separately, ensuring that though it was slower-going, the Guard would lose fewer men to a lucky shot. However, the RIP were a special case; they were cannon fodder, and they were meant to bulk up numbers. If they could get a few hundred more bodies into the grinder a sixtieth of a second sooner by cramming a single dropship past recommended crew capacity than they would by sending in three birds, then so be it.

Unfortunately, the ratlings’ dropship had taken a nasty autocannon fusillade to the right wing on the way down, and the bird went down on the outskirts of the city. What a sight! The ratlings had the time of their lives, laughing and whooping all the way down, oblivious to the true peril of their situation until they’d made it outside. As far as they were concerned, it was just a rough landing. A rough landing that flipped the bird and killed about fifty-seven standard-height guardsmen, but hey; you can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs. Speaking of which...

“Haze!” a black-haired ratling shouted. He punctuated his statement by popping a cultist’s eyeball and medulla oblongata from 200 meters. “How’re the eggs coming?”

Sure, nearly three-score guardsmen had died, but the rations had survived the crash. This had been one piece of consolation in the quagmire. They had all cheered upon hearing a vox broadcast stating that the commissar had also been shot down, and that he hadn’t survived. Real, God-Emperor-honest cheers of joy. And tears, even! And then the old man piped up, and the ratlings went back to hauling their supplies to the bakery to set up shop. And by shop, they meant shop. A shop of death and head-shots, and a shop of black-market goods to sell in the mess-hall later. But, hey; they might as well enjoy the plunder a little, because they could only sneak a finite amount back into orbit. This involved getting the kitchen going again.

After several seconds passed, the black-haired ratling realized that he still hadn’t heard back from the kitchen. And he was getting hungry. “Haze?” he called, taking another shot. “Haze? Are you there?”

----------

The silent approach really wasn’t their thing. The cultists loved to run, screaming, toward their certain death. After all, it meant joining the Four that much faster. However, their Chosen had said that the snipers had to go, and that somebody had to actually make it to the building and survive long-enough to kill the snipers, and Aspiring Champion Cho Varmasse and his rabble had drawn the short straw. Granted, straws were now a rare commodity on the planet, so lady fingers were used. Real, honest-to-Khorne lady fingers. Corpses were a dime a dozen, as the ancient Terran saying went. Cho had gotten the pinky, and that was that.

He didn’t think that he was heard. He couldn’t even hear himself think with all the racket his comrades were making. His five-man team relatively-silently stalked through the rubble, careful not to displace stones nor raise an alert. Laspistol and axe-rake in hand, he and his five companions stole through the wreckage. The snipers were on the third floor. The cultists were on the second. In less than a minute, this would all be over. The snipers would break; they stayed this far back from the blessed killing because they were cowards, and those who survived Cho’s attack would scurry and scream and be overrun as they broke from cover. They w-

Tatt! Scrkkskrikkkkt!

Something shifted in a darkened corner of the concrete hallway. Fearing that they’d been spotted, the team spun around as one and began to fire, snapping off shot after shot after several dozen shots at the darkness. It mattered little that they couldn’t see what they were firing at. First the darkness took their sight, and then the light-blindness of the brilliant las-bolts set in. They knew where the sound had come from, and knew that if they hit it with enough las, whatever had made the noise would blow apart in a spray of viscera and Munitorum-issue gear.

Cho was the only one to see death coming.

He had presence of mind to look the other way and kill whatever came into the hallway from behind. At first, he didn’t see it. He was too busy scanning the doors. And then he caught the faint glint of matted steel above him, poking out of the ceiling. Matted, carbon-scored steel. And a narrow lick of flame in front of a high-pressure nozzle at the end of that steel.

The cultist whipped his laspistol around, letting out a frantic cry of alarm as he squeezed the trigger. “They’re coming out of the gods-damned wa-“

FWOOOSH!

“Just frying some ‘taters first!” Flame-Trooper Hazrael called back. When the dying screams and human flames died down, she dropped out of her hole in the ceiling, cradling her special-issue flamer unit to her chest. She landed with nary a crunch of boots on concrete gravel. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, replaced her cap, and stalked off to the kitchen. Taters weren’t her thing anyway, and she also felt a hankering for grox omelet.