[@Drunken Conquistador][@Laduguer][@Amaranth][@DeadDrop][@Hank][@Cash78]

Things could have been worse mused Kenelm to himself, his eyes glancing down the list present on his dataslate screen once more, his eyes invisible behind his mirrored visor. If one were to take a quick look at the list then they would see a stream of names and crimes related to former Guardsmen and women – this was both a blessing for the Arbitrator and somewhat of a curse; on the plus side they were disciplined, well trained, and highly organised while on the negative side they were disciplined, well trained and highly organised. One thing Kenelm could not shake was the feeling of having already proficient killers at his back.

Not [b]everyone[/b] was a soldier of course, but when you had such figures as Ratch 'The Spider' from the Savlar Chem-dogs, Nitya 'Big Nell' Dylis of the Necromundan house Escher and 18th Necromundan Regiment – a head taller and more muscular than most men in the prison, she was not one to be messed with – and Nasir 'the Knife' Halseen formerly of the Tallarn Desert Raiders 4th Regiment in your own squad then you had to keep your head on a swivel.

Slowly but surely a semblance of a squad was formed around him, some of the individuals standing to attention, some nursing their equipment and their weapons, and some looking around with bleary eyed disbelief that they were even free.

“Get up!” Yelled the Arbitrator at those that, for whatever reasons of their own, were groping about on the floor, “get up and form two ranks, now.”

Two ranks [i]were[/i] formed, along with enthusiastic encouragement from the Arbitrator and constant prodding with his power maul, eventually all facing the same way; that, and a number of [i]crump[/i] sounds coming from the surrounding formations – as further convicts attempted to revolt, and were similarly put down – had an influence that could not be understated.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to Eighth Squad of the First Redemption Penal Legion. I am Arbitrator Kenelm, but you can call me 'sir'.” His tone was very matter-of-fact, the law-man pacing back and forth along the line as he spoke, “you may be interested to know that many among you once served with His Imperial Guard, although how you could have sunk so low as to get dragged here is beyond me.”

Using a classic stratagem of 'divide and conquer' had come to the mind of the Arbite even before these felons had set foot in the hangar, now, with the blood provided him, he would make sure he did not need to have his hand constantly on his remote.

“Not all of you are so fortunate though...not all of you had honour before you came here, and many of you appear to have lost it.” He paused a moment to let this sink in, “in doing this holy work for the God-Emperor you may well regain your honour, through the sacrifice of your own life or through acts of unparalleled valour in the field. Make no mistake, if you sweat and bleed for Him on Terra then you shall be rewarded for it; freedom is the ultimate price here! Your freedom! Do not allow others to disrupt that chance, for they are below you and would see you fail.”

A high-pitched wail emerged from the dataslate, a swift slide of the hand silencing it once more, the expression on the Arbitrators lower face turning to one of amusement as he scrolled through the flashing Gothic runes on his screen.

“Legionnaires, the Landers are incoming and not long from now you will be snug and sound aboard the Imperial Ship [i]Wandering Iron[/i], so get your kit on, screw your heads on, and follow me.”


[hr]


The journey from the hangar to the orbiting Dauntless-class Light Cruiser was a reasonably swift and uneventful one, those of the Legion probably wondering what the grey orb they had called home now looked like from orbit, their transport to the far away warzone being one of the smallest in the Imperial arsenal – at only 22 megatonnes and with an approximate crew of 65,000 souls – yet still swift and capable enough for their particular needs at this moment.

Once aboard the ship, glares and quips from Naval personnel – not least the Armsmen who resented their very presence on the ship – were almost constant as they were guided through the labyrinthine corridors and, if anyone had been paying attention, constantly moving down and down until they reached an area of the [i]Iron[/i] which seemed as if it had not been used in centuries.

It was an area the size of several hangars, more than enough space to fit the 1st Legion in, and contained dusty piles of tent-beds on one side and beside them footlockers, everything constantly covered in the dull illumination of a red emergency light.

When Kenelm questioned a Rating about it he simply shook his head, “we had an Imperial regiment in here once...a long time ago...welcome aboard,” was his only response; he [b]did[/b] agree to see about getting some better lighting in the area though.

“Right, we'll set up over there,” ordered the Arbitrator, pointing a stern finger at the far north-east corner of the hangar, some distance away from anyone else, “get those beds and lockers and get to it.”



[hider=Please Read]Right, not one of my best posts...but there you go.

Feel free to go through the entire process with your character, or not, it's really up to you; once everyone's posted (a round, if you will) then I'll move us onto something a wee bit more exciting.[/hider]