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Ever since the benevolent God-Emperor first purged the superstitions and backward beliefs from the Cradle of Mankind, the entire concept of a 'Hell' (in the ancient Judayo-Kristian form at least) was expunged from mankind's resume of things to believe and things to take as little more than fairy-tales. Heaven, Hell, Daemons and deities were just as useless and part of Man's pre-enlightened minds as things under ones bed or spirits in the cupboard; it has come as a suprise to the masses then when, confronted with the truth of the matter - that these things do exist in their own twisted and corrupted way - fragile minds have crumbled...but this is pure digression, and the point is this! Hell [b]does[/b] exist, whether within the minds of men and women, whether as a physical manifestation of ones own temptations and innermost thoughts or convictions, or - in our current case - as a Penal World in the arse end of nowhere.

The first 'settlers' - though they cannot really be given the title, for they were nought more than a pair of enterprising brothers who found a fine spot for purgatory - initially earmarked the unnamed planet as a potential staging post for further invasions, or as an outpost or training planet for the Imperial Army as they were known at the time. As the Great Crusade came to a close and the galaxy began to sour, the Emperor of Mankind becoming more deity than man, an idol to worship rather than one to emulate, it was decided that the planet would come to be re-purposed by the stagnating Imperium and was given the frankly overbearing High Gothic name of [i]Redemptio[/i]. 

Redemption, ha! They would have been better calling it what it was, the place earning many epitaphs and monikers in the following centuries, as many names in as many languages as there were inmates and criminals to use them.

While never an attractive planet, the sphere of mostly barren slate-grey rock - holding winds that could freeze a man or strip their clothing to tatters with their intensity, and with mountain ranges that pierced the sky - did hold a number of natural mineral resources, the mining and refining of which were perfect ways for the Planetary Governor (more like Head Jailer) to keep the collection of human refuse in his facility in line. Matched with the nutrient poor gruel that was the mainstay of the prisoners diets, the systematic abuse of male and rape of female prisoners by the more 'civilian' prison guards - the few Arbites personnel, primarily used to quell riots or potential rebellion, keeping well out of and away from such matters - and the monotony of a featureless landscape (the mountains didn't even have snow on them...they just [i]were[/i]) and the potential for this place to be called 'Hell' was indeed higher than not.

There were some optimists, there always were at the beginning, but once you were on Redemption for more than a few weeks...well...you soon began to realise that you would likely die there, probably after being made someones bitch, possibly slipping up and running foul of one of the multitude of gangs, and that other options, [b]any[/b] other option would be preferable.

This is where out tale begins.

Rumours had been circulating of late, tales of great victories won and battles fought against the overwhelming press of foes that were the Imperium's to dispatch, but more importantly that - what with the campaign route passing near to Redemption, and the ever constant need for fresh bodies to stoke the fires of war - a delegation was soon to arrive from the front. Why were they coming? Who were they? What did this all mean? None of the prisoners really knew, and many were not even aware of this gracious honour, but those 'in the know', the ex-Guardsmen and PDF troopers, the prostitutes and clerks, they knew what it meant and what's more they were prepared to kill if it meant being able to leave this place.

One unlikely group of Imperial heroes were eating their daily noon meal when the representatives of the Militarum arrived, though they did not know they were heroes yet, having taken their assigned places on the benches of the eating tables and been given their non-lethal spoons with which to sup on the grey sludge that didn't even pass for food. Up on the catwalks patrolled hard men and women in uniforms of red and black, the only splashes of colour anywhere in the canteen (the prisoner jumpsuits being the same grey as the walls, tables and exterior of the prison facility), shotguns and auto-weapons held in their arms or holstered until needed, steely eyes looking out for any sign of trouble. It was onto one of these gantry ways that the Captain stepped, all brown and green suited and with one hand on the hilt of a power weapon at his side, his aides rushing in about him to view the potential mass of cannon fodder below them.

Should one have wished to be selected, they could do worse than thinking of [i]some way[/i] to grab the Captains or his aides attention.



[hider=Please Read!]
[@Drunken Conquistador][@Laduguer][@Amaranth][@DeadDrop][@Hank]

So, there you go, thank you for waiting.

Now, we're [b]all[/b] here in the canteen (think stereotyped sci-fi prison 'dining room', guards up on the walks, long benches and tables, few entries and exits etc) at the moment, just chilling and waiting to die...

You have a couple of choices, and it ranges from causing a 'distraction' of some sort, to simply sitting and eating your gruel - characterisation is encouraged, of course. You can also simply wait, and I'll move us along without too much hassle.[/hider]