[@FrostedCaramel][@Bright_Ops][@Searat][@Superboy][@CaptainBritton][@DocTachyon][@BangoSkank]


Right then, the mustering begins!

Just to set the scene, you are freshly arrived on Jafetsport - unless your character comes from there, of course - and the square, that is usually full of stalls and more of a marketplace, has been turned into a mustering station for those answering the call of their Planetary Governor and system overlord.

It is a hubbub of voices, of casual conversations, of servitors and trucks moving and shifting supplies here and there, some volunteers having come in ones and twos and others in entire groups (think the PALS battalions from WW1) - the Jafet's Rest Miner Lads, or the Ipsim Fisherman's Guild among them - and although some are more eager than others, all have come of their own accord, with whatever form of weapon and clothing they could muster. Some with old-pattern weapons and defunct armour, others with no more than a stubber and the clothes on their backs.

The fact that none of them know what is actually happening on Jafetsport may be something to do with the oddly high spirits, spirits that may soon be dampened somewhat.

For now 'the mustering' is all they need worry about, reporting to Enforcer staff and signing their names or mark, getting a full belly from the canteen tents and perhaps even some extra clothing/equipment (rough weather, terrain etc) from the Quartermaster.

All-in-all, it is 2 o' clock on the most advanced planet in the system, the sun is shining, and there are no worries...yet.