Eisenhorn

Star Wars: Order 66

CT-3519, or Doc as the clone preferred to be called, wasn't awaiting transport on some landing pad. He was ducked behind a piece of debris, patching up a downed Clone before droids opened fire on his specific position again, instead of in his general direction. The fighting was thick, which was none too surprising considering it was one of the last Separatist outposts on the planet that was still holding out against the Republic forces, in all their glory. Or so many believed of the tin soldiers wound up and marched off to ever so glorious deaths. He shunted off the bitterness in that thought, he focused on the task at hand. The trooper had been grazed by blaster fire, but the main damage came from a thermal detonator taking out a chunk of his other arm. No way this one was going to be fighting without some serious work back at the medical center proper. But he needed stabilized first, and that was something he was more than equipped and trained to do. Several larger bacta patches over the worst of the injured areas, and bandages over the other parts, forming an impromptu sling to prevent unnecessary movement, and to support the injury until he could be evacuated from the firefight.

There was no way Doc could run the injured clone back, not with the fighting that was going on now. Instead, he braced the trooper on the rubble so he would be least likely to take a blaster bolt that would probably push the likely lethal into certainly lethal when it came to the injuries sustained. Making sure he was clear to the clone that yes, he was done with the fight and was to keep his head down and no, he was not to try and prop himself up to open fire on the droids unless it was life or death, he grabbed his compact DC-15S and opened fire from his point of cover, ducking down as several droids returned fire. The attempted flanking maneuver on the outpost had failed, and now it was a bogged down distraction, forcing the separatists to fire in multiple directions now instead of just being able to focus fire in one direction. Granted, that was little consolation to Doc as the Sergeant in charge of this flanking maneuver went down, helmet rolling away in a different direction of the rest of the Clone. Well, that cut off the official leadership for this flank group, but the Clones kept firing and keeping at least some of the Separatist forces distracted. It worked, sure as sure, which would no doubt make Doc's job none too easy before too long, as this kind of firefight begged for another clone to get hit.

The jedi in charge, Renkin, would probably need to know of the development on their situation, so Doc took de facto control, since none of the other Clones had the time or thought to do so, considering the Sergeant or another specialist would take care of that normally. He had to respect the Jedi, the man had proven adept at patching people up from what he had seen, which was always welcome. It was simple to just blast someone or cut them down, but taking those injures and preventing them from proving deadly was not quite as simple. So the man had his respect in that regard, but it was moot, he had a report to make. "Sir, Doc here. The sergeant of the flanking force is down, casualties are starting to mount and the uninjured are too pinned down to advance as originally planned. Fair amount of fire is being drawn though, might create an opening for the main force." That would be all he got off for now, as another fiercer volley of blaster fire forced him to duck down low, dragging another Clone down before he lost his head, literally. Another one went down, and when the worst of the current fusillade of fire ended, he bolted for that piece of cover, a bacta patch in one hand, blaster rifle in the other, firing shots at the Separatists before ducking down, starting his grim work again, taking pot shots when he needed to protect the Clone under his care.

Halo RP Anyone?

Well, the idea of working upwards from the ground, as it were, with the Spartan 2's would be interesting, so consider me on board.

Warhammer 40k: Crusade of Redemption

Excellent, disgraced guardsmen ahoy!

Specialist Cherevin

Name: Specialist Zekial Cherevin

Background: Imperial Guard Weapons Specialist, served with the Yeveian 122nd Siege Regiment

Appearance:

Personality: Betrayed by his commanding officers and those that he served side by side with, Cherevin no longer trusts easily. In fact, a major flaw in his personality now is his inability to trust anyone farther than whatever capability they have to betray him and stab him in the back for their own gain. Cherevin still harbors a hatred for Chaos, more so than when he served with honor, for if Chaos had not trapped the hive, he wouldn't be in such a position. But this hatred is safely channeled and aimed at the forces of Chaos, and to a lesser extent the enemies of Man. But still, all this hatred and distrust is wrapped up in a neutral, military bearing that has not faded despite him being a guest of the Imperial brig. Still standing tall, as he had as a Guardsman and not stooping to the level some prisoners and traitors did to survive, his pride had not broken despite the setbacks.

History: The star system of Yeveia bordered several warp storm infested systems, and saw near constant assaults from Chaos raiders and traitors looking to supply themselves again. No planet in the system can support life on its surfaces anymore, and the two planets closest to the system's star are dead worlds, temperatures and atmospheres so extreme that even trying to land is tantamount to suicide. The capitol world is dual classified as Fortress/Death world, nearly the entire population militarized and conscription or 'preferred auxiliary' programs accounting for over 75% of the system population occupation. The ruling class are whoever the highest surviving officer in the chain of command is at any one time, some men lasting a few days, others until they die of old age, feats that often earn eternal recognition from the rank and file. It is in this blasted world that Zekial Cherevin was born. Both his parents were NCO's in the tithe that had went out to the Imperium, which was lowered due to the quality of the troops and, in general, they couldn't spare as much or they would risk the entire loss of the system. Zekial was left behind to be raised by his uncle, a PDF officer due to an injury that prevented the old man from continued active service. While other children would be learning to walk and talk, he was learning to march and fight. Conscripted as trench fodder for a Siege regiment, he defied the odds by outliving the other conscripts and earning a real place in his regiment.

Only after he survived his first siege was Zekial authorized a real role in his squad, issued training in various special weapons that one might expect to come across for trench fighters. From flamers and grenade launchers to melta guns and explosive ordinance, the young lad rapidly figured out that if he was going to survive, he would have to be able to field just about any weapon he could get his hands on. Assigned to a special weapons team, he proved talented with any weapon command saw fit to assign him. From torching oncharging cultist forces with flamer, covering an advance with smoke rounds from a grenade launcher, or sending a bunker sky high, Zekial appeared to have a bright future as NCO for the squad, and perhaps further on. But fate, whether by the Emperor's hands or anothers, would not be content to allow him to rest so idly, relatively speaking, within his regiment.

A recent chaos invasion had left an underground hive lost, and the 122nd were assigned to break the defenses on the surface and spearhead the grinding assault to expell the invaders. Zekial and the others in his squad were some of the first into the trenches, digging alongside engineers and dodging sniper fire while praying a stray ordinance round wouldn't obliterate all of them. Luck or providence was with them, and they managed to dig in and then break the chaos lines in record time. Tasked with breaching the chaos held hive, none of them were prepared for what would happen next. Tasked with breaching the primary starport gate, which opened upwards directly into the sky, no one really figured out what happened. Whether too much, or not enough, explosives were used, or whether there the gates were trapped, or a fickle, unlucky turn of fate occurred, the gate was indeed breached, but the servos that normally opened the gate went critical, causing a chain reaction that would lead to the complete loss of the hive, and all the surviving population and supplies, chaos evacuating via gates into the warp with minimal casualties.

Officers and men of standing well above that of the current General in charge of the system demanded answers, and the General demanded answers of the Major in charge. Demands went down, and it was decided to pin all the blame upon Zekial, in their minds reasonably so despite the fact the Guardsman could not have foreseen the consequences of him following orders. Demonized and ostracized as a murderer and traitor, Zekial was swept away for execution. While he could have fought back, and caused some serious damage, he did not. He knew of his innocence, at least he was certain in it, and despite his less than fanatical religious belief in the Emperor, if they indeed met face to face, the disgraced guardsman could at least defend himself. Of course, this changed with his sentence changed to eternal service to the Inquisition, which meant little in the Guardsman's mind. After all, that was still as much a death sentence as a firing squad, right? Either way though, he had marching orders, and maybe he would clear his name in due time after all in such service.

Equipment:
Carapace Armor, modified to accept various backpack modules for heavy weapons
Trench Shotgun (Modified Shotgun that has a shortened barrel and operates a (sometimes) reliable semi automatic system of fire), when not issued a heavy weapon
Serrated Combat Knife
The Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer

Star Wars: Order 66

Me thinks before the battle would work as well, maybe get a little interaction, establish some relationships briefly before they are scattered or stressed by the Order 66 business.

Star Wars: Order 66

Welp, got my Clone Trooper done, so here he is.

Doc

Name: "Doc", Medic Trooper CT-3519
Age/Race/Gender: Standard Clone Trooper

Weaponry: DC-15S Blaster Rifle
Other Items: Backpack unit packed with various medical tools, supplies, bacta injections, and other equipment needed to patch up and get Clones, and other friendlies for that matter, back into the fight, or back to more equipped medical stations for more in depth treatment.

Personality: Doc has deviated fairly far from your normal loyalist clone. He doesn't care for the fighting, the bloody mindless grinding marches on the Separatist forces time and again, watching one too many good men and women, clone or not, die defending the Republic or while just trying to survive in a crossfire between armies. He can be described to go so far as to hate the war now, the sheer amount of violence from both sides distancing him from the new clones and veterans who thirsted for more combat. He will openly voice his opinion when asked, having grown too old, in his mind, to be bothered with beating around the bush and being tactful anymore. Having developed under various commanders, both Jedi and clone, he doesn't feel the same camaraderie and connection to his clone brothers that he once did earlier in the war, but still at least tries to get along with those he serves with, since he is the one they are relying on if a plan fails again and the casualties start pouring in once more. He technically holds the same rank as a Private, although his experience and role as a medic separates him from the rank and file.

History: One of the first batches of clone medics born on Kamino, he went through the exact same training as the other medics that were destined to serve with their normal brothers in the war against the Separatists. Serving in the initial wave of clones that deployed to the Battle of Geonosis, as a first generation clone, Doc would find himself patching more injuries than he had been initially prepared for, having to improvise equipment and scrap to keep clones alive. He himself was injured during the fighting, droid blaster fire tearing through his helmet, which had saved his life by taking the brunt of the energy from the weapons fire before it hit him properly. But the battle was won, regardless of the casualties, living and dead, and after being properly healed, Doc was reassigned to new battlefields. From claustrophobic street fighting to high speed fights across open plains, Doc saw a variety of injuries, in just about every battle zone imaginable. And he grew to hate every waking moment of it.

Doc knew clones that lived for the next fight, some who were driven by the will to protect others, that each long term survivor had a driving force that kept them going. He found that he was still fighting and keeping others alive for that day the war ends. The day where a man like him, a soldier bred from birth to fight and keep an army functioning, would no longer be needed or even wanted. So whether he was firing his rifle at an approaching wall of droids on some blasted field, dragging a badly injured trooper behind a pile of debris to keep the unlucky soldier alive, or packing his kit for deployment towards the next warzone, Doc kept looking long term, fighting and acting for that final moment where he could look around him and see that warriors and soldiers would not be necessary any more in his lifetime. He considered himself prepared for whatever the war would throw at him, and prepared well enough for those around him as well, all for the sake of ending it and hopefully being able to retire in peace. But nothing could have prepared the medic for hearing Order 66 actually enacted, but he now has to decide whether to continue following orders or not. Whether the orders of the Republic he was bred to fight and die for meant more than the Jedi that had fought and possibly bled alongside them in the trenches, figuratively and possibly literally. And it both terrified and relieved him that betraying the orders of the Republic were going through his head.

Star Wars: Order 66

Sounds fun and interesting, getting started on my CS now.

Warhammer 40k RP

Well, it certainly sounds interesting, sure as sure. Always was found of the Imperial Guard aspect of things, forced redemption or not, so count me in.

Keepers of Death (Black University Saga)

Alex chuckled at the mental image of both the young girl, who introduced herself as Alexandra, and his own escapades if he was waving around a big scythe. None too good, sure as sure. But the smirk on his face did fade as she described seeing people die, and then having them do so a few days later. The thought of saving said people from those deaths was an interesting one, he could give it that. But he couldn't argue one thing, and that was figuring out what the hell this kind of job entailed before judging it either way.

"Agreed, running around with a big scythe just sounds awkward. Names Alexander Westfield, most folks stick with Alex though. Saving people from preordained deaths sounds interesting, if for no better reason than to give fate and that whole nasty concept of being unable to choose your way in life a swift kick in the junk. I can't really say what this job will hold, maybe a mix of all the ideas you gave? Save some from untimely deaths, make sure others die when they are supposed to and move on peacefully, who knows? Way I see this, personally, is that it beats what I had going for me back home, so I'm here for the long haul." Back home, he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of that. Alex figured wherever he could put his head down safely for a nights rest was home, so the very phrase amused him when he used it. But odds were this would prove to be something someone didn't just walk away from, not easily, so it should prove to be a unique change of pace, sure as sure. And as long as he got to live it as he saw fit, then that was good enough for him.

Keepers of Death (Black University Saga)

Well, I don't want to just run away with the posting, all things considered, so I'm giving the others a chance to jump in.

Keepers of Death (Black University Saga)

Alex nodded, hearing out the younger woman's thought process as she described it. Yea, this was certainly not what most would consider normal, that was for sure. She seemed nervous, and he half sat, half leaned against the back of the seat in front of her, mainly so he wasn't just standing there all awkward like, arms crossing out of habit more than anything else. That usually seemed to alleviate nerves from other people he dealt with, so he just stuck with what he figured worked in the past. "I hear that, if I felt like it would have helped, I would be freaked ou and running for the doors. But, way I see it, folks are taking this in stride because they want to become whatever this will make us out to be, beating whatever their normal lives had. Whether its really some mythical Reaper, or not, I can't say. Feels like some overly elaborate prank in some ways, even if it ain't."

He chuckled when she mentioned maybe everyone else knowing what they were getting into, noticing the pause before she continued with explaining why she was here, and he nodded. Alex could see how grades could be a problem, hell, his own scholastic experience was not anything impressive, to put it mildly, and he said as much, not actually giving away much in the personal life department, no need to be that familiar yet. He was keeping half an ear cocked towards that Ramon kid and the posse that was building, but didn't give them much thought right now. "Yea, my schooling wasn't worth anything notable, so this beat working some fast food joint minimum wage for the rest of my life, it sucked what little I had to do before I kicked that place to the curb."