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An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content] [Seeking Heretics!]

I think this is everyone now that Sisyphus dropped out

@Ollumhammersong

I'll get working on a first post.

Warhammer 40k: The Eternal Fight for Freedom - Penal Legion RP (Looking for cannon fodder!)

If Nathan had thought that there would be no repurcussions for his actions, something that is highly unlikely considering precisely where he was, then he was very much mistaken. No sooner had he thrown the tray - something that the Governor of the prison would probably have to ban because of his actions - than the flare of a forcefield crackled into life and sent the tray spinning away from the observing party on the gantryway.

Captain August Argyle barely even blinked an eye, having seen more than his fair share of combat zones, taking a little more interest as the prison guards (not the Arbites, they were reserved for special occurences) closed in on Nathan, several of them bringing extendable batons to bear with flicks of their wrists.

"You've been warned enough times, Hall!" Shouted one of them from behind his half-face helmet, "this is the final straw, you lunatic."

Before Nathan had a chance to move, as if there was anywhere to move to, one guard had already cracked him across the back of his legs, others gripping his limbs as they dragged him bodily from the table and dumped him without ceremony onto the cold, hard, floor of the canteen; for further emphasis he was booted repeatedly, hard enough to bruise but not so hard as to break anything, heavy-duty boots finally ceasing to attack him as the Captain began to speak.

His stern voice was amplified through speakers on the walls of the canteen, piercing blue eyes sweeping over the human dross as he spoke, glaring out from beneath his peaked cap.

"A war is being fought not far from here, a holy crusade to bring several systems back into the light of the Imperium and the authority of our beloved God-Emperor," his words were sure and strong, much like his resolve, "soldiers die out on the field every day, good soldiers, while scum like yourselves sit here in luxury and need not fear for your lives...but that is about to change, for I have been sent here to raise the First Redemption Penal Legion, meaning that some of you may even be fortunate enough to redeem yourselves in the eyes of Him on Terra."

For a moment he paused, pulling a dataslate from his jacket and seemingly studying it with some intensity, before looking back up and continuing.

"We will take volunteers but, should there be a shortage, we will simply take you instead. Should you wish to volunteer, make yourselves known to the guards, who will take you to a holding cell in the eastern wing. I will be there shortly."

The Eastern Wing was the arrival (and departure) wing for the prison complex, where new shipments of inmates arrived and the dead were returned to space, it also held the facilities supplies, uniforms and so on. It was as secure an area as any other in the prison, and more well guarded than the Governor's own quarters, a place where a man may see the back of this shithole if he should be so lucky.

Please read

Okay, so, your characters will need to grab a guards attention before being escorted to the eastern wing and the huge holding cell there; I leave it to you as to how you want to do this etc, and will post again once our willing (or unwilling) volunteers are all there.

You can be the first to arrive, you can be the last, it doesn't matter.

The cell is simply a huge, empty, area minus a few benches bolted to the floor and the obvious bars (likely with a forcefield beyond them) as well as a multitude of guards.

I look forward to seeing what you write, and we'll get to the action eventually.

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

Done. Please, continue.

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

Nergüi enjoyed the ride to the fortified headquarters of the Guard on Tarson immensely; in spite of being shoved inside of the rear of the Taurox like a canned food product, he was a White Scar and all of his Chapter enjoyed going at speed. So much so was he enjoying it that he began to feel a pang of yearning for his own Assault Bike – a mechanised replacement for the steeds that all nomadic warriors on his planet would treat like one of their own family.

They filed out of the nearly twin vehicles in an orderly fashion once they had come to a stop, the members of the Celestian's task force crowding around her to be taken into the interior of the fortress and into the presence of the highest ranking officer still left in command. Although the Apothecary received his fair share of stares, some Guardsmen and women even kneeling as he passed, he took such things in his stride and simply ignored them for the most part; this was not out of any malice toward them, not at all, but he had gotten used to such reactions on Armageddon and now these quaint customs of unaltered mortals barely even registered.

Lieutenant Nova of the Tarson Guard was a woman quick to look them over and even swifter to give orders for their most useful dispersal, the look of relief upon her face most evident indeed, her eyes glancing briefly up at his towering form before focusing on the remainder of the unit. Although his helmet has been looking toward the rear of the room, the HUD and sensors registering and recording all it could for a later time – even target locks flickering into life around every biological life form present – his organic eyes looked down at her from within, and a smile twitched at the side of his lips.

"I need someone medically trained to handle injuries in the infirmary, we have many wounded who need the assistance immediately."

"Alright everyone, you know your areas of expertise, carry out your orders then report back here once they are finished."

“I request a guide to the infirmary,” boomed the voice from within his helmet, a nearby Guardsman sequestered temporarily for his purposes without much of a fuss.

They made good time, the guide – who had introduced himself as “Private First-Class Niells” - obviously knowing the layout of the complex better than most. A layout that was mapped by the sensors of the White Scar, up until and including their arrival to the doors of the infirmary.

“My thanks, Private.” It was a small platitude, but the bald-headed Niells seemed to have been emotionally uplifted nonetheless.

It appeared that the field surgeon and his team of exhausted aides was not to be so easily amused, the bearded and grizzled doctor glaring up at the towering hulk with narrowed eyes the colour of a stormy sea, his thick, hairy, arms crossed tightly over his chest and apron as he approached the Astartes.

“You can't fool me with your airs and graces, Marine. I fought beside your kind on Ebascos Eight! These others may never have seen one of you bleed,” he almost bellowed, “but I've seen your fellows die.”

With an almost casual movement, causing the doctor to take a startled step back, Nergüi removed his helmet with a hiss and attached it to his hip in one smooth movement. Revealed then was a craggy face and wispy beard of aged grey, two dark and deep eyes taking in the man but betraying nothing of his feelings, his mouth moving into a smile seemed more threatening – coming from the over large transhuman face – than comforting, the ritual scarring of his homeworld doing nothing to ease the nerves of any present.

“What colour was their armour?” He asked in a voice like the deep bass boom of a gun or trumpet, wisdom etched into every syllable, but also the clear feeling that he meant no harm.

“They was dark blue,” replied the doctor, quite taken aback, “blue with a white dragons head on their shoulders, and a silver aquila.”

“Your memory is good, Surgeon,” congratulated the savage-looking Marine, “and those were the warriors of the Star Dragons, neither kith nor kin to my own but loyal and steadfast for all that.”

His eyes now swept past the chief surgeon and into the infirmary – a fancy name for a room of sterilised equipment, simple beds and plastic curtains, a room of piss and blood and screams. There must have been dozens of dying and wounded in that one room alone, damage of every sort visible in a glance, it was good to be here.

“Will you be able to mend the wounded in that?” Questioned the surgeon with incredulity, his tone one of serious scepticism, a hand gesturing at the power armour.

“Find me tools, and I shall save as many lives as I can.”

With a quick glance behind him, where Private Niells was still standing and had not moved, Nergüi chuckled deep within his belly and pointed the man back the way they had come, “please inform Sister Aviza and your Lieutenant that I am here and preparing to assist the Guard in any way I can.”

WARHAMMER 40K: THE TARSON INCURSION

I'M GETTING THERE! Give me 6 hours to finish work, get home, and write something. Then you shall have a post.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Necroes Yea, post all you like. I'm waiting on Manatee, but will probably just shove them out the door.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content] [Seeking Heretics!]

@Sophrus Yes, you may well be the last person I accept.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Necroes Although, if Urgrugg loses it like that again, I'll still shoot him.

An Unholy Mass: Warhammer 40,000 RP [Black Crusade Inspired] [Mature Content] [Seeking Heretics!]

@Sisyphus I like the name and avatar...I have a good feeling that you won't just go blowing things up for the Hell of it...so yes, there is room.

Are We the Bad Guys? - A WH40k RP [Mature]

@Necroes You are right, I should have expected it, which is why we're going to carry onward and upward. I apologise.