Aboard Imperial transport ship Divini Muneris en route through the Immaterium, approx 2200 HRS.
The calm before the storm...
The barrack-deck of the First Vosmarth Regulars was almost completely silent, save for the ever-constant humming and thrum of the ships engines propelling them all through the warp and to wherever the God-Emperor had need of them. So too were the shutters closed, as they always were during warp-travel, lending an air of familiarity to the ships night-cycle as it progressed.
It was almost silent though, almost.
Sitting in nothing but his underwear and vest, his pale and freckled flesh prickling in the warm recycled air of the regiments temporary home, Private Ùisdean Ruadhán stared yet again at the weapon clutched within his hands. Almost whippet thin and a good six feet and three inches tall, his hands and digits matching this perfectly, Ruadhán could wrap his fingers about the barrel and depression where the stock fixed to the gun without strain or effort and it fascinated him just the same now as it had back on Vosmarth.
Really the weapon was nothing to look at, a standard-issue M36 Kantrael Pattern Lasrifle such as those wielded by the Cadians from one side of the galaxy to the other. It was a robust and sturdy piece of kit, a killer in the correct hands, decorated only with the stamping of a golden Aquila on one side and the forge-worlds production serial number on the base of the grip, finished in a matting of black.
Each and every soldier of the regiment carried the same weapon, even the non-commissioned officers and medical staff, as well as their bayonet-cum-combat-knife, bergen, spare ammo, Uplifting Primer and so on and so on.
To the sleepless ex-Hiver everything was just so...so new.
From the polished and neatly placed combat boots at the bottom of his cot, to the armour plating and helmet waiting silently nearby, it was all fresh off of the production lines. How would it look after their first action he wondered? Would he still be wearing it, or would it then belong to another Guardsman, or be taken as some trophy by an enemy?
Such thoughts bought back memories of his parents faces when he had informed them of his decision to join the Militarum – his father's hard glare before he turned away, his mothers tears and grasping embrace...
With only his table-lamp (set onto the lowest light setting) to show the bloated tears that began to roll down the teenagers face, Ùisdean allowed them to carve a trail over his sharp cheeks and to drip onto the rifle he held in his hands, his mouth beginning to move in a silent prayer as he recited one of the many that they had learnt in basic training.
“The Emperor protects.”
(OOC: So, this is just a small introductory/casual post period, where you can each give your character some 'screentime' and allow others to get to know them better. Feel free to give as much or as little detail as you like, although more does usually help others when responding to you. Feel free to ask any questions in the OOC thread if you're unsure about anything.)