Jb Member
Because we're here lad
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Vampiretwilight,
NecroKnight
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2 yrs ago
"STOP. QUOTING. ME." Jb, 2019, quoted in 2022." Roland, 2022, quoted in 2022.
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5 yrs ago
STOP. QUOTING. ME.
3
likes
5 yrs ago
Gone fishing for a week, will return soon.
5 yrs ago
Happy New Year!
4
likes
5 yrs ago
Merry Yuletide, one and all! Gods bless.
1
like
Bio
Greetings,
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
I am Jb; Briton by birth, roleplayer by my own hand, and lover of literature. I am also an amateur historian, a receiver of a Bachelors degree in Ancient and Medieval History - quite a useless degree, actually - and would like to think that I'm a fair, honest and open guy.
As far as RP'ing goes, I'm pretty open to most things really, all you need to do is ask! :)
So, if you've ever any questions for me, wish to speak about RP's involving myself or run by myself, or simply feel like a chat, don't be afraid to get in touch.
Most Recent Posts
The 42nd Millennium bought great pain to the vast majority of the galaxy, the tearing open of the Great Rift wreaking havoc that had not been seen since the all-encompassing warp storms of the Age of Strife, even the resurrection of the Ultramarines Primarch and the reinforcements of the Ultima Founding doing little more than barely holding back and containing the ever-flowing darkness; one misstep and the Imperium would plunge into nothingness, just another failed experiment in the long history of the Milky Way.
Of course, for those that railed against the Imperium and all it stood for, it was not all bad!
Indeed, the Era Indomitus has bought for Huron Blackheart and his legion-sized band of piratical marauders both magnificent highs and some setbacks to go with it - a Blackstone Fortress was gifted to the Tyrant by Abaddon himself, the Maelstrom now lies within the folds of the Rift, allowing unprecedented opportunity and choices for the Corsair warriors and ships, and a prolonged conflict against the White Scars even onto their homeworld of Chogoris had left the clawed fiend fewer in warriors but greater in pride... Perhaps even pride enough to forget about his humbling by Typhus of the Deathguard?
Nevertheless time does not stand still for the Corsairs, in fact it moves at breakneck speed, and the plans of the Tyrant of Badab with it; it is one of these schemes that you now find yourself embroiled, a warrior of a Corsair band under the Champion Kieron Umar - diehard servant of the Tyrant and one of the original Astral Claws - preparing drop and assail a Heretek facility within the Rift.
What you are looking for is not known precisely, but whatever it is, you have a feeling it is only the beginning of a much longer road...
Welcome, welcome!
If you've read the above, then you will know what you're in for here - taking the role of a renegade Astartes in the service of Lufgt Huron and securing for him an item most precious, precious enough that he sent one of his own ex-Astral Claws to lead the attempt.
Thus this is where you start, aboard the Strike Cruiser Witch of the Void orbiting the Dark Mechanicum-held world of Gjardmer, willing (or unwilling) to sacrifice yourself for Chaos, for Blackheart, for glory, or even for yourself.
This roleplay is Astartes-centric, so please make sure you're writing and knowledge is up to the task; if you're a fan of Dembski-Bowden's Night Lord or Black Legion trilogy then I think you will have fun with this RP, personally hoping this can be a prolonged writing project as well as an adventure through the up-to-date 40k universe.
If you have any questions, please, please do ask - too many people do not and then find problems later.
If the sound of this interests you, please fill out this short Character Sheet and post it in the OOC thread!
Name & Titles (if any):
Former Chapter/Warband: Even though you're all superhuman space pirates now, you had to come from somewhere!
Tactical Role: Self-explanatory, are they assault-based, tactical etc. Specialist roles - techmarine, apothecary etc - are welcomed, as they will be needed.
Patron Deity: You need not even believe in Chaos, it's up to you.
Brief Appearance: Quick sketch of your characters bodily looks, feel free to include armour etc if you wish.
Brief History: How your character came to be, and how they came to join the Corsairs - doesn't need to be novel length, although can be if you want.
In
Warhammer 40k: Enemy Without, Enemy Within - an 'Ecclesiarchal' RP [Mature][High Casual/Low Advanced]
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@BCTheEntity@jbeil@Andreyich
Some time, and the gathering of several civilian women and one Arvus Lighter, later...
Victorine hadn't realised how much she'd dislike standing around in nothing but her under clothing - a sleeveless top and pair of loose trousers in the colours of her priory - but is dawned on her as she watched the three not-quite-large-enough figures seemingly discussing with one another; she may not be an Astartes, but her armour was nevertheless much like a second skin to her, with or without the gift of a black carapace and numerous augementations.
"Right," she said after a couple of moments, one hand running absent-mindedly over the hilt of her powersword, the other over the bolt pistol she would not be drawing unless absolutely necessary, "this is to be as quiet as possible, assume anyone not bound to be an enemy - should they not be, well, I daresay the God-Emperor shall know his own. We'll be landing on the roof of the palace, here... " she pointed to a marking on a piece of rough paper given to her in haste by the same stuffy Guardsman, "a rooftop entranceway and staircase lead to the armoury and barracks, both of which I assume will be thoroughly ransacked, and from there through to the living quarters and, eventually, to the Governors personal chambers." She gave everyone a quick glance, all seeming as eager as herself to get moving, "we shall take the Governor alive if we can, if this is impossible," she gave a small barely perceptible shrug in the shadows of the evening and gestured to the Lighter concealed behind a towering hab-block building close at hand, "let us get to it, ave Imperator."
The Sister-Celestian watched patiently as the Lighter began it's descent toward the quite expansive rooftop of the Governors Palace, the air blowing her neatly cut hair as she stood easily at the open doorway to the flying vehicles cargo hold, the structure getting closer and closer - the simple vehicle doing well to keep its squat bulk from impacting with any of the many gargoyles, statues of religious importance, or spikes dotting the roof.
"I'm afraid you're going to need to jump!" Crackled the pilots voice over the comm-vox, "we'll see you when you call us, best of luck, and Emperor protect you."
Victorine prepared herself and jumped the last couple of feet, crumpling her legs up under her and rolling to a crouch, waiting for the remainder of her compatriots before moving with as much caution as she could toward the doorway marked on the page.
"Epsilon 25... 79-12-15... Gamma Gamma..."
She muttered to herself until the code-pad flashed a delightful green, pressing against the heavy access door until it gave way and swung open without a sound, the top of a stairway just visible.
"Stack up on me, Lisbeth take point, there'll likely be sentries posted near the armoury. Prepare your minds, prepare your weapons. Blessed are those without doubt, and we are truly His servants and his judgement."
The Celestian motioned for Lisbeth to take the fore, judging that she would be the most useful there due to her youth and size, "take us in, Sister."
Some time, and the gathering of several civilian women and one Arvus Lighter, later...
Victorine hadn't realised how much she'd dislike standing around in nothing but her under clothing - a sleeveless top and pair of loose trousers in the colours of her priory - but is dawned on her as she watched the three not-quite-large-enough figures seemingly discussing with one another; she may not be an Astartes, but her armour was nevertheless much like a second skin to her, with or without the gift of a black carapace and numerous augementations.
"Right," she said after a couple of moments, one hand running absent-mindedly over the hilt of her powersword, the other over the bolt pistol she would not be drawing unless absolutely necessary, "this is to be as quiet as possible, assume anyone not bound to be an enemy - should they not be, well, I daresay the God-Emperor shall know his own. We'll be landing on the roof of the palace, here... " she pointed to a marking on a piece of rough paper given to her in haste by the same stuffy Guardsman, "a rooftop entranceway and staircase lead to the armoury and barracks, both of which I assume will be thoroughly ransacked, and from there through to the living quarters and, eventually, to the Governors personal chambers." She gave everyone a quick glance, all seeming as eager as herself to get moving, "we shall take the Governor alive if we can, if this is impossible," she gave a small barely perceptible shrug in the shadows of the evening and gestured to the Lighter concealed behind a towering hab-block building close at hand, "let us get to it, ave Imperator."
The Sister-Celestian watched patiently as the Lighter began it's descent toward the quite expansive rooftop of the Governors Palace, the air blowing her neatly cut hair as she stood easily at the open doorway to the flying vehicles cargo hold, the structure getting closer and closer - the simple vehicle doing well to keep its squat bulk from impacting with any of the many gargoyles, statues of religious importance, or spikes dotting the roof.
"I'm afraid you're going to need to jump!" Crackled the pilots voice over the comm-vox, "we'll see you when you call us, best of luck, and Emperor protect you."
Victorine prepared herself and jumped the last couple of feet, crumpling her legs up under her and rolling to a crouch, waiting for the remainder of her compatriots before moving with as much caution as she could toward the doorway marked on the page.
"Epsilon 25... 79-12-15... Gamma Gamma..."
She muttered to herself until the code-pad flashed a delightful green, pressing against the heavy access door until it gave way and swung open without a sound, the top of a stairway just visible.
"Stack up on me, Lisbeth take point, there'll likely be sentries posted near the armoury. Prepare your minds, prepare your weapons. Blessed are those without doubt, and we are truly His servants and his judgement."
The Celestian motioned for Lisbeth to take the fore, judging that she would be the most useful there due to her youth and size, "take us in, Sister."
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@Lady Selune@ReedeThe23rd@BCTheEntity@CleanBreeze@Eisenhorn@Irredeemable@Reia
Time: 2 AM Location: The skies above Ventirest city, Vocintis, Weather and Temperature: Stormy, temperature unknown.
Moving from one warzone to another was never a swift procedure, especially when it came to the labyrinthe structure that was the Departmento Munitorum - matched with the military dedication of the Astra Militarum, and the religious fervour of the Adeptus Ministorum, it took nearly a month for everything to be sorted on Vernum and the various regiments assigned and shipped off to their newest posting.
The 87th 'Expeditio Vernum' Combined Regiment, C Company under Captain Di Fieroccu (much to the chagrine and annoyance of Colonel Vyacheslav) included, were marched raggedly onto the transport vessel Askellon and billeted aboard with at least four other regiments of the Imperial Guard, their whole journey to their new deployment taking seven months in realspace and a two week trip through the immaterium.
Once space was split open and the small armada of Imperial vessels, the Askellon along with them, reappeared in reality they were several days from their objective on thrusters alone.
In this time it was revealed to the officers, and through them the lower downs (though maybe not as low down as the rank-and-file), that they were heading for a civilised world called Vocintis - technologically as advanced as the rest of the Imperium, but still somewhat of a backwater near the Eastern Fringe - a planet that had become swamped in corruption during the coming of the Great Rift, but a strategically important one that the overstretched Imperium wanted back.
Sergeant... no, Lieutenant Sithech now, he had to remind himself, moved to-and-fro in the same manner as every other one of the soldiers of C Company gathered about him; each one of them was strapped into a harness inside the Valkyrie gunship, their weapons either clutched in hands or securely locked against the wall within reach.
Like his comrades-in-arms he was clothed in a mismatch of his own traditional uniform and the regiments own - a white and black pattern flak jacket and forearm armour covered by his usual tartan plaid, no helmet visible anywhere - his lasgun, bayonet already stuck on the lug, held softly in his experienced hands.
God-Emperor he hated the waiting, more so even than the way the gunship juddered and shook all around them, the sound of flak loud and clear outside the armoured plating, soon to turn into a lurching descent onto their objective.
Their objective...
From what he had been told, which had been somewhat more than the rest of the grunts in C Companies command squad, they were being dropped at the edge of Ventirest city with a company of Noctan Strike troopers - elite guerilla and stealth experts - as well as another company from the 24th Rigan Rilfes, all charged with securing the north-eastern city edge for further Imperial forces.
"ETA t-minus 5 minutes," crackled the voice from the cockpit, the side-gunner sliding open his doorway near the front of the gunship, the sound of flak and smaller calibres of weapons reaching the veterans ears with as much familiarity as the voice of his own dearly-departed mother.
"Well," he said with a chuckle to no-one in particular, "here we gae agin."
Time: 2 AM Location: The skies above Ventirest city, Vocintis, Weather and Temperature: Stormy, temperature unknown.
Moving from one warzone to another was never a swift procedure, especially when it came to the labyrinthe structure that was the Departmento Munitorum - matched with the military dedication of the Astra Militarum, and the religious fervour of the Adeptus Ministorum, it took nearly a month for everything to be sorted on Vernum and the various regiments assigned and shipped off to their newest posting.
The 87th 'Expeditio Vernum' Combined Regiment, C Company under Captain Di Fieroccu (much to the chagrine and annoyance of Colonel Vyacheslav) included, were marched raggedly onto the transport vessel Askellon and billeted aboard with at least four other regiments of the Imperial Guard, their whole journey to their new deployment taking seven months in realspace and a two week trip through the immaterium.
Once space was split open and the small armada of Imperial vessels, the Askellon along with them, reappeared in reality they were several days from their objective on thrusters alone.
In this time it was revealed to the officers, and through them the lower downs (though maybe not as low down as the rank-and-file), that they were heading for a civilised world called Vocintis - technologically as advanced as the rest of the Imperium, but still somewhat of a backwater near the Eastern Fringe - a planet that had become swamped in corruption during the coming of the Great Rift, but a strategically important one that the overstretched Imperium wanted back.
Sergeant... no, Lieutenant Sithech now, he had to remind himself, moved to-and-fro in the same manner as every other one of the soldiers of C Company gathered about him; each one of them was strapped into a harness inside the Valkyrie gunship, their weapons either clutched in hands or securely locked against the wall within reach.
Like his comrades-in-arms he was clothed in a mismatch of his own traditional uniform and the regiments own - a white and black pattern flak jacket and forearm armour covered by his usual tartan plaid, no helmet visible anywhere - his lasgun, bayonet already stuck on the lug, held softly in his experienced hands.
God-Emperor he hated the waiting, more so even than the way the gunship juddered and shook all around them, the sound of flak loud and clear outside the armoured plating, soon to turn into a lurching descent onto their objective.
Their objective...
From what he had been told, which had been somewhat more than the rest of the grunts in C Companies command squad, they were being dropped at the edge of Ventirest city with a company of Noctan Strike troopers - elite guerilla and stealth experts - as well as another company from the 24th Rigan Rilfes, all charged with securing the north-eastern city edge for further Imperial forces.
"ETA t-minus 5 minutes," crackled the voice from the cockpit, the side-gunner sliding open his doorway near the front of the gunship, the sound of flak and smaller calibres of weapons reaching the veterans ears with as much familiarity as the voice of his own dearly-departed mother.
"Well," he said with a chuckle to no-one in particular, "here we gae agin."
@Weeping Raven Sorry for the large delay, but that looks good! Feel free to pop him in the CHAR tab, and join our merry band if you so wish as well.
@Weeping Raven Write a sheet and put it in the OOC thread, then we shall see.
@The Wyrm@BangoSkank@POOHEAD189@Dusty@Penny@Blueskin@TyrannosaursRex
Right, who's still about and willing to press on? Certainly less back-and-forth than I'd have liked, but we can probably rectify that.
@Weeping Raven
Possibly, what did you have in mind?
Right, who's still about and willing to press on? Certainly less back-and-forth than I'd have liked, but we can probably rectify that.
@Weeping Raven
Possibly, what did you have in mind?
Is our infallible GM still around?
He is.
I'm down to post something else as say, a collab or the like. If not, I'm gonna hold off until the good GM updates.
If anyone wishes to do a collab, or just post, then please do so! I'll post if otherwise, but I'd be happy for further posts.
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
@Lady Selune@ReedeThe23rd@BCTheEntity@CleanBreeze@Eisenhorn@Irredeemable@Reia
Time: 5 AM Location: Adeptus Ministorum HQ, Vernum Primus Weather and Temperature: Clear white skies, -8 degrees Faranheit/-22 Celsius.
I am a scribe, a clerk, and I am meant to be at my desk! Raged Terebravisse inwardly and in verbal silence, I'm no Ordnance-tech or Regimental Aide.
The harsh Vernum weather chilled his exposed flesh, the joint between his quilled fingers and the still-organic flesh there taking on a rather unwanted ache as he clutched his writing slate to his chest, his bionic eyes whirring quietly as he moved his head momentarily to look over the ranks of assembled soldiers and war machines to his right; nearly three-thousand men, including Abhumans and recent conscripts, made up the ranks of the freshly minted 87th Combined Regiment - no actions or glories yet taken that would provide them with one of the monikers so commonly taken by other more veteran regiments, in spite of the many veterans of decimated formations who even now stood to attention on the frosty rockrete parade ground beside him.
Ahead of him walked the Command Platoon of their commanding officer, Colonel Dragutin Vyacheslav - formerly of the 1502nd Valhallan Regiment - a man who exemplified his planet in both mind and body, his icy flesh standing out in stark contrast to the recently presented uniform of black and white camouflage he now wore, and his glacial blue eyes focusing on the podium that had only recently been erected before the soldiers. Unlike that of the Lord-Militant it was a simple wooden platform, although holo-screens had been dispersed throughout the ranks, that the men and women may see him as he spoke.
Terebravisse continued to look gloomy, even surrounded all around by his fellow servants of the various arms of the Ministorum, his ears blocking out the continual droning of the brazier-waving priest striding forward before their snaking column. Other members of the Ecclesiarchy would be doing the same duties amidst the ranks of the Guard, saying prayers and reciting verse, but Terebravisse had no time for such things outside of his chamber. His own way of worshipping the God-Emperor was to make sure everything within his holy Militarum was correct, not to kneel on some stone floor or yell praise into the abyss.
Even as these thoughts occured to him the Colonel was mounting the podium, his command platoon - the Regimental Commissar, the standard bearer yet without a standard, and a hand picked group of aides and soldiers - surrounding the lower section of the wooden construct, forming a cordon and keeping watch for any signs of trouble.
Peering down his hawkish nose, his features very much like that of a bird-of-prey, the Colonel ran a gloved hand through his greying black hair and cleared his throat to speak, but not before taking a moment to survey those before him.
Before this 'inspection' each and nearly every soldier had been issued with a number of specific items, firstly their freshly produced uniforms - standard-issue flak vest, helmet, boots and cloth based on the Cadian style of armour, sporting a black and white camo scheme due to their 'founding' on the Hive world of Vernum, an urban enviroment - with many of the soldiers before him already looking toward him with the violet eyes of that great fortress-world; in fact this was the very reason for the choice of uniform, the solid core of his regiment being Cadian through and through.
Secondly came the process which many had complained about, but could really do nothing about, and that was being re-issued with standard issue equipment; this meant standard-bearers stripped of their former flags, sometime to be replaced by those of this newly created formation, it meant non-issue weapons taken from those that were carrying them, and it meant that such items were taken and locked up in the regimental stores.
It should be noted that the Abhumans remained outside of this structure, being counted as auxiliary formations, to be dispersed and shared among the rest of the regiment if and when they were needed.
His eyes fell for a moment on the only part of the regiment he had not yet inspected personally, and only because it was the part of it that made the flesh in his cheek twitch something fierce - that of C Company under the command of a Captain Arlena Di Fieroccu.
He was a veteran, not lost on Munitorum politics and efficiency, but had they had to have given his regiment a shortage of fresh materials! Why had the God-Emperor seen fit to find them lacking here, an entire company no less!
This was a company that he told himself he need not inspect, their commanding Captain a Mordian after all, and he had known them long enough to realise she'd keep them in line.
With the last flicker of annoyance sloughing from his features, he turned with a smile to look directly at the holo-projector relay set up in a servo-skull hovering before him.
"Brave warriors of the Imperium, you have done all that the honour of war requires, but there are still more enemies to drive from the domains of Man," his face took on the stern expression of one that knew these enemies well, "you may hail from different worlds, may fighting in differing styles, may speak another language, but from this point on you are all of the Emperor's Imperial Guard. You will fight and die for your brothers and sisters, beside them, as part of the 87th Combined - at least until we win a victory worthy of some other name."
His cool gaze could be felt even through the holo-screens, his calm but grave demeanour clear as he raised his voice to a crescendo, "you fight as one, you die as one, for Vernum was but the beginning of it; fight hard enough and you may one day be granted the right of settlement, perhaps even the right of a trophy world."
Pointing his hand up into the sky, he turned his head toward the crisp mornings gaze and let out a short sigh, "tomorrow we board our transports and begin the cycle of service anew, as a regiment dedicated to the Emperor anew, so check your gear and fill your bellies, for there is no telling when you may get either fresh uniforms or fresh food again." With a gesture from his hand the standard-bearer below the podium, who until this point had carried a furled and covered flag, pulled off the cover to reveal a flag bearing the symbol of an Ork skull impaled upon a Cadian combat knife, the word 'Vernum' visible on the top left of the red background...the rest just waiting to be filled.
"Do not fail me, do not fail his Holiness on Terra, if you should find problems then report them to your officers and servants of the Commissariet. Above all remember this, the Emperor protects."
Once that well-used phrase had been echoed by every man, woman and Abhuman present, the Colonel left the podium and boarded one of nearly three dozen chimera transports - each one patterned in the same black, white and blue scheme as the infantry - the vehicle heading toward the landing site, not three miles away, where tomorrow they would embark for future conflicts in yet another warzone.
With loud yells and cries each company was dismissed, to do as they would for the time being, turned out back to their billet areas and the recommendation of preparing themselves not seeming like a bad idea at all.
Time: 5 AM Location: Adeptus Ministorum HQ, Vernum Primus Weather and Temperature: Clear white skies, -8 degrees Faranheit/-22 Celsius.
I am a scribe, a clerk, and I am meant to be at my desk! Raged Terebravisse inwardly and in verbal silence, I'm no Ordnance-tech or Regimental Aide.
The harsh Vernum weather chilled his exposed flesh, the joint between his quilled fingers and the still-organic flesh there taking on a rather unwanted ache as he clutched his writing slate to his chest, his bionic eyes whirring quietly as he moved his head momentarily to look over the ranks of assembled soldiers and war machines to his right; nearly three-thousand men, including Abhumans and recent conscripts, made up the ranks of the freshly minted 87th Combined Regiment - no actions or glories yet taken that would provide them with one of the monikers so commonly taken by other more veteran regiments, in spite of the many veterans of decimated formations who even now stood to attention on the frosty rockrete parade ground beside him.
Ahead of him walked the Command Platoon of their commanding officer, Colonel Dragutin Vyacheslav - formerly of the 1502nd Valhallan Regiment - a man who exemplified his planet in both mind and body, his icy flesh standing out in stark contrast to the recently presented uniform of black and white camouflage he now wore, and his glacial blue eyes focusing on the podium that had only recently been erected before the soldiers. Unlike that of the Lord-Militant it was a simple wooden platform, although holo-screens had been dispersed throughout the ranks, that the men and women may see him as he spoke.
Terebravisse continued to look gloomy, even surrounded all around by his fellow servants of the various arms of the Ministorum, his ears blocking out the continual droning of the brazier-waving priest striding forward before their snaking column. Other members of the Ecclesiarchy would be doing the same duties amidst the ranks of the Guard, saying prayers and reciting verse, but Terebravisse had no time for such things outside of his chamber. His own way of worshipping the God-Emperor was to make sure everything within his holy Militarum was correct, not to kneel on some stone floor or yell praise into the abyss.
Even as these thoughts occured to him the Colonel was mounting the podium, his command platoon - the Regimental Commissar, the standard bearer yet without a standard, and a hand picked group of aides and soldiers - surrounding the lower section of the wooden construct, forming a cordon and keeping watch for any signs of trouble.
Peering down his hawkish nose, his features very much like that of a bird-of-prey, the Colonel ran a gloved hand through his greying black hair and cleared his throat to speak, but not before taking a moment to survey those before him.
Before this 'inspection' each and nearly every soldier had been issued with a number of specific items, firstly their freshly produced uniforms - standard-issue flak vest, helmet, boots and cloth based on the Cadian style of armour, sporting a black and white camo scheme due to their 'founding' on the Hive world of Vernum, an urban enviroment - with many of the soldiers before him already looking toward him with the violet eyes of that great fortress-world; in fact this was the very reason for the choice of uniform, the solid core of his regiment being Cadian through and through.
Secondly came the process which many had complained about, but could really do nothing about, and that was being re-issued with standard issue equipment; this meant standard-bearers stripped of their former flags, sometime to be replaced by those of this newly created formation, it meant non-issue weapons taken from those that were carrying them, and it meant that such items were taken and locked up in the regimental stores.
It should be noted that the Abhumans remained outside of this structure, being counted as auxiliary formations, to be dispersed and shared among the rest of the regiment if and when they were needed.
His eyes fell for a moment on the only part of the regiment he had not yet inspected personally, and only because it was the part of it that made the flesh in his cheek twitch something fierce - that of C Company under the command of a Captain Arlena Di Fieroccu.
He was a veteran, not lost on Munitorum politics and efficiency, but had they had to have given his regiment a shortage of fresh materials! Why had the God-Emperor seen fit to find them lacking here, an entire company no less!
This was a company that he told himself he need not inspect, their commanding Captain a Mordian after all, and he had known them long enough to realise she'd keep them in line.
With the last flicker of annoyance sloughing from his features, he turned with a smile to look directly at the holo-projector relay set up in a servo-skull hovering before him.
"Brave warriors of the Imperium, you have done all that the honour of war requires, but there are still more enemies to drive from the domains of Man," his face took on the stern expression of one that knew these enemies well, "you may hail from different worlds, may fighting in differing styles, may speak another language, but from this point on you are all of the Emperor's Imperial Guard. You will fight and die for your brothers and sisters, beside them, as part of the 87th Combined - at least until we win a victory worthy of some other name."
His cool gaze could be felt even through the holo-screens, his calm but grave demeanour clear as he raised his voice to a crescendo, "you fight as one, you die as one, for Vernum was but the beginning of it; fight hard enough and you may one day be granted the right of settlement, perhaps even the right of a trophy world."
Pointing his hand up into the sky, he turned his head toward the crisp mornings gaze and let out a short sigh, "tomorrow we board our transports and begin the cycle of service anew, as a regiment dedicated to the Emperor anew, so check your gear and fill your bellies, for there is no telling when you may get either fresh uniforms or fresh food again." With a gesture from his hand the standard-bearer below the podium, who until this point had carried a furled and covered flag, pulled off the cover to reveal a flag bearing the symbol of an Ork skull impaled upon a Cadian combat knife, the word 'Vernum' visible on the top left of the red background...the rest just waiting to be filled.
"Do not fail me, do not fail his Holiness on Terra, if you should find problems then report them to your officers and servants of the Commissariet. Above all remember this, the Emperor protects."
Once that well-used phrase had been echoed by every man, woman and Abhuman present, the Colonel left the podium and boarded one of nearly three dozen chimera transports - each one patterned in the same black, white and blue scheme as the infantry - the vehicle heading toward the landing site, not three miles away, where tomorrow they would embark for future conflicts in yet another warzone.
With loud yells and cries each company was dismissed, to do as they would for the time being, turned out back to their billet areas and the recommendation of preparing themselves not seeming like a bad idea at all.
In
Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP
→
4 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Greig finally had enough of wallowing in self-isolation, taking one last swig of fiery alcohol before turning back toward his surviving squad mates and the small fire they had managed to get going; it was more than enough to illuminate the scraggily lot of them, yet small enough to not be noticed as one of the larger fires going.
"Richt then lads, let's stoap pitying ourselves 'n' git some entertainment gaun, aye?" Asked and proclaimed the sergeant as cheerily as he could, rummaging momentarily in his huge rucksack - a distinctive piece of Finreht equipment - to produce a slender shimmering instrument that he gave an experimental whistle, the high-pitched noise piercing the air around them.
"Dae ye hae yer fiddle, Neacel? 'N' yer drum, Tadhag?"
Two of the six found their own instruments, lifting them out and giving one another a smile. Then came the last.
Grinning Wee Lachlan, now minus his vox set - it having been blown asunder some time between their last charge and the present moment - produced what appeared to be a tartan-dressed octupus from his bag and, after placing it beneath one arm, gave a few sorrowful drones.
"A'richt then! We'll stairt wi' a short dance, 'n' then git oan tae a tae o' jigs. As yer superior, ah will tak' th' foremaist dance. Lay oot th' guns."
Two lasguns were lain on the ground in a cross, Greig taking his position in the bottom right corner of the makeshift square, and a nod to Private Tadhag got a drum beat going, soon with a squirling tune courtesy of Wee Lachlan.
A small bow to no-one in particular and Greig was off, his kilt swirling about his knees as he leapt over the guns, keeping within the square and twisting this way and that as he did so.
No doubt it would attract some form of attention from others, even with the Finrehters placed within their own little corner, but whether it was the right sort or wrong sort of attention they would soon find out.
"Richt then lads, let's stoap pitying ourselves 'n' git some entertainment gaun, aye?" Asked and proclaimed the sergeant as cheerily as he could, rummaging momentarily in his huge rucksack - a distinctive piece of Finreht equipment - to produce a slender shimmering instrument that he gave an experimental whistle, the high-pitched noise piercing the air around them.
"Dae ye hae yer fiddle, Neacel? 'N' yer drum, Tadhag?"
Two of the six found their own instruments, lifting them out and giving one another a smile. Then came the last.
Grinning Wee Lachlan, now minus his vox set - it having been blown asunder some time between their last charge and the present moment - produced what appeared to be a tartan-dressed octupus from his bag and, after placing it beneath one arm, gave a few sorrowful drones.
"A'richt then! We'll stairt wi' a short dance, 'n' then git oan tae a tae o' jigs. As yer superior, ah will tak' th' foremaist dance. Lay oot th' guns."
Two lasguns were lain on the ground in a cross, Greig taking his position in the bottom right corner of the makeshift square, and a nod to Private Tadhag got a drum beat going, soon with a squirling tune courtesy of Wee Lachlan.
A small bow to no-one in particular and Greig was off, his kilt swirling about his knees as he leapt over the guns, keeping within the square and twisting this way and that as he did so.
No doubt it would attract some form of attention from others, even with the Finrehters placed within their own little corner, but whether it was the right sort or wrong sort of attention they would soon find out.
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