Hello assorted heretics and xenos! This will be my attempt to write a cohesive story based on the Third Armageddon war with input from you! Essentially, I'll post a section of the story every so often and at the end of that section you'll be presented with a few choices. General consensus will dictate how the story flows and what our poor guardsman does. While I do plan to update this accordingly, be warned that certain choices can lead to the story ending prematurely. Making our guardsman charge a ork Nob with nothing but his lasgun bayonet might not end well. - A helmet flew from somewhere to your left, clanging against another trooper’s flak armor. The startled young man let out a rather loud shout, spinning around in an effort to find out who had thrown the thing. The resounding chuckles and claps contrasted deeply with the situation you and your regiment were currently in. Despite the fact that your home world of Armageddon was currently enduring the largest Ork Waaagh! in the history of the Imperium of Man, you still found time to mess around with your squad members. The fun abruptly ended as officers and sergeants started yelling for the assorted regiment to form up, the rather quiet mustering area suddenly bursting with activity. You had the honor of serving within one of the one-hundred and twenty different Armageddon Planetary Defense Force regiments – the fifty-third, to be precise. There was nothing extraordinary about your particular regiment. They didn’t specialize in anything interesting and were almost indistinguishable from the other hundred or so planetary defense forces. With a short glance to your left, you hopped down from the ammo crate your rump was gracing and begin marching down to form up. As you make your way to the mustering area, you notice a large line of troopers to your right, huddled under what looks to be some sort of makeshift armory. You pause, debating on whether or not to stop by before you line up. Despite the influx of supplies received in Death Mire to combat the ork hordes, the PDF were not particularly high on the list of regiments that needed quality gear. You even knew a few soldiers who were unlucky enough to not get a basic lasgun. Shooting a small glance downwards, you inspected your gear with a small hint of relief. A sleek, sharp combat knife rested on your hip and a few extra charge packs for your lasgun made themselves at home on your belt. The flak armor you wore offered excellent mobility, though you’ve heard rumors about the actual effectiveness of the ‘armored’ part. You snapped your attention back to the gear stand. While you couldn’t tell which regiments were currently using it, you could definitely see they weren’t PDF. These men were almost certainly Imperial Guard regulars, from the look of their uniforms. You hesitate as you ponder your choices. Do you: A: Attempt to grab some extra gear from the stall, despite being a member of the PDF. B: Head to the briefing. The Emperor will protect you during battle, not some extra gear.
Welcome to the the RP section mate! And these types of Rps are gettin sorta popular, quite nice to see really! B: Best not to push your luck and get shot for being where ya shouldn't knowing the guard.
Hello Deran! I've always liked these types of stories and figured it would be pretty fun to try something like this out. Enjoy, and thanks for posting! - You eventually decide against moving to retrieve some extra gear. With the looks some of the guard members are giving you and your comrades, you have a feeling that attempting to requisition some of their gear for your own use would have ended badly. With a small degree of pushing and shoving, you eventually make your way into formation, among what must be at least two thousand of your fellow regiment members. You can't help but feel excited as you stand to attention. Being a single soldier among thousands definitely helps with morale. You feel as though you can take on any threat with this number of men fighting alongside you. With rumors of the incoming Waaagh! and even talk of the Adeptus Astartes joining the fray, you feel as though you're about to be witness to something historic. A small pang of guilt jolts into your conscious as you stare straight ahead. You chide yourself for thinking in such a boyish manner. Hive Death Mire is home to numerous civilians and important military installations and you realize how foolish it was to think the coming war would be easy. You focus, staring ahead. Standing atop a podium in full battle dress is your regimental commander, flanked by the regimental commissar. The regiment commander was a stern, gaunt man with a handful of medals pinned to his intimidating uniform. Short graying hair added to his overall grim appearance and despite the many rumors floating around the fifty-third about the man, you had no way of knowing if any of them were true. The regimental commissar, on the other hand, stood a foot shorter then the aging regimental commander and much to your dismay seemed much less intimidating. You've been lucky enough to avoid punishment by any commissars within your regiment within your two year career though you have no doubt in your mind the regimental commissar is just as efficient and terrifying as any other. The regimental commander took a few steps forward, vocoders on the platform ensuring the entirety of the regiment could hear him. His voice was low, with a scratchy undertone of a man who had fought in quite a few wars. Despite the Commander's unnerving appearance and icy demeanor, you personally could not think of a better man to lead a regiment of relatively green PDF soldiers. "Men of the Fifty-third!" All at once, a chorus of over a thousand boots clapping together echos throughout the mustering ground as the entire regiment stands to attention, lasguns dutifully resting on their shoulders. You follow suit with this maneuver, having done the drill hundreds of times before. "Today, we are tasked with the defense of Hive Death Mire against the same orks that ravaged and burned your planet long ago." The regimental commander speaks in a somewhat grave tone, not bothering to hide the blunt truth from his regiment. "Despite the support we are receiving, this battle will be bloody. We will make the savage greenskins pay for every inch, like we did decades ago on this very ground." The commander turns to offer a weary glance at his retinue before finishing the curt briefing, "God-Emperor protect us all. You have your orders." As the briefing ends, a cacophony of yelling and general noise is heard as squads begin forming up and vehicles begin getting into formation. Thousands of men and hundreds of vehicles begin organizing themselves according to platoons and squads. The mustering area itself is utterly huge, surrounded by sky-reaching hive complexes. Walls stand high and proud, with gun emplacements pointing outwards. Shaking yourself from your reverie, you quickly jog past the mass of troopers swirling about and find your squad. Eventually, you end up at the pre-determined rally point. About thirty or so of your squad is already here. From a quick estimate, you assume around twenty or so troopers are still missing. You recognize a few faces and move to stand by them, intending to wait for the rest of your squad. A skinny, tanned PDF soldier you recognize as Collim offers you a short nod. The two of you got along rather well and you distinctly remember going through basic training together. You return the nod, not exactly in the mood to make small talk. Thankfully, he seems to feel the same way and the pair of you idly watch your squad form up. "First squad! Third squad! Sixth squad! On me, on me! Move!" You instantly recognize the distinctive, booming voice of Sergeant Clayne. A veteran of the imperial guard, Clayne was needed to lead PDF forces, as the number of talented squad leaders among the PDF themselves were notoriously low. Managing three squads, Clayne nevertheless embraced the task with gusto typical of the Imperial Guard. He used his men's strengths and weaknesses when the need arised and in general has proven himself a competent leader of men. Sergeant Clayne continues barking out orders in his trademark booming voice, his retinue handing out all types of important gear, from vox casters to mortars. Being a member of third squad, you stride forward to meet with the aging sergeant. His retinue of about twenty men have all sorts of gear with them, gear it seems Clayne wants First, Third, and Sixth squad to have. You look over your options, realizing all it would take is a quick volunteering shout to acquire some of that pristine gear. You're fairly confident you can use what's there to good effect. Despite official rules and regulations, most of the regiment is trained with the many types of weapons employed. You doubt anyone will make a fuss if you choose to change your role slightly. - You choose: - A: Grab a couple of frag grenades. Nice and simple. B: Attempt to requisition a Vox caster. No doubt there will be need of a Vox operator if the fighting gets intense. C: Grab a long-las. The longrange weapon is certainly different from your average lasgun, but you're confident you can use it well. D: Volunteer to join a heavy weapons team, manning an autocannon alongside a heavy weapons crew. - More later today, need some sleep!
D. Since our character seems to be a touch idealistic then manning such a powerful, booming weapon would probably be in his interest.
Thanks Zyver! Constructive criticism is wanted, so feel free to shoot me a PM or simply comment here if you have any ideas or advice on the story. Enjoy! - With considerable effort, you manage to evade the crowd deftly enough to secure one of the deadliest items available - a heavy bolter. You crouch down, hoisting the massive piece onto your back with great effort. Despite almost falling where you stand, you manage to get the heavy gun into position without much trouble. A quick-thinking trooper follows behind you, calling out. Straining to turn your head, You idly register the guardsman carrying two large boxes of what you assume to be ammunition for the thing currently resting on your back. Sergeant Clayne's voice booms from behind, directing further squads into support roles as you make your way to the defensive perimeter your squad had been assigned days before. The entire Hive by this point had become another gear in the well-oiled Imperial war machine. As you dodge through the numerous regiments of imperial guardsman and PDF, you idly ponder on how anything can stand up to something like this. Chimeras and Leman Russ battle tanks rolled down the main highway as the mechanized regiments moved to the forefront of the coming battle, flanked by numerous air strike squadrons of Thunderbolts and other fighter aircraft you don't recognize. By this point the battle in space over the planet of Armageddon had begun. Fleets engaged one another in massive conflicts, the Ork tide seemingly unstoppable as they push past the valiant imperial navy defenders. For every imperial cruiser lost, the orks lost dozens. However, this did very little to slow the overall assault and in a terrifyingly short amount of time orks once again landed on the surface of Armageddon, the entire planet plunged into what may be the most violent conflict of the forty-first millenium. The fortifications of Hive Deathmire were impressive. The docks, integral to the Hives defense, were defended rather heavily and civilian sectors were fortified past the point of reason. Bunkers lined the streets, flanked by an obscene amount of trenches. Any xeno lucky enough to make it past the initial defense would have one hell of a time fighting through the cramped streets. A sudden burst of yelling snaps you out of your thoughts and you become keenly aware of just how heavy the gun on your back is. You recognize the large 'III' on the shoulder of some troopers and come to realize you've met up with your squad at the designated zone. Your ammo-buddy hovers behind you as Sergeant Clayne makes an appearance - it seems he's leading your squad personally, something you're immensely grateful for. "Squad three! We're moving to reinforce the hundred-and-third regiment of Guard! Get in those trenches, get on the bloody walls! Heavy guns stay near the back! Anyone with a melta - up close! On me!" The ever-yelling sergeant waved a hand and your squad quickly formed up into a march. You spotted another heavy bolter within the group and glanced over your shoulder to ensure your ammo-buddy was nearby. You quickly turned your head as the greatcoat of a Commissar came into view. Powersword drawn, he seemed intent on reaching the frontlines of the battle. Rather out of the loop, you assumed the orks were making their first move and despite not being briefed officially, you know through general rumor that a massive space battle was going on and the ground invasion would happen here shortly. It was hard to see anything past the towering hive buildings, though you imagine that'll change rather quickly when you reach the walls of the city. Passing tanks and artillery pieces, you finally come to the spot where you assume you'll be for what may be the next few days, or hours depending on how the battle went. The wall was rather high, and featured all types of cover. Shooting holes were nocked in some places while other areas had stomach-high cover to duck behind. The wall continued for as long as you could see and it's clear just by looking thousands upon thousands of guardsman could man the wall at once. Feeling rather enthusiastic about your chances, you begin climbing the long ramps to the wall along with your squad, following the tide of guardsman. "Reede, Collim, Gentry, left side! Setup there! Haul ass!" Clayne's distinctive voice rang through your ears as you hear your name mentioned. You quickly move to obey the order, setting up the heavy cannon with assistance from Collim and the guardsman known as Gentry, who had previously been your ammo-buddy. The cannon's tripod rests on one of the lower walls, keeping you relatively clear from fire as you duck down to peer along the sights. You clear your throat, speaking loudly in an effort to get your heavy weapons crew to hear you over the already immense amount of shouting coming from the horde of guardsman. "Keep the ammo flowing, guys! This'll be over quick!" You offer a expertly-feigned grin towards the pair and thankfully it elicits a chuckle from the pair. Despite your boast, you have a sinking feeling this won't go as well as you hope. Hundreds of guardsman line the walls of this particular part of the hive. Behind the wall, trenches spread for miles and buildings are further garrisoned by sharpshooters and specialists. The fighting will no doubt be brutal and bloody if it reaches the streets of the hive. You look to your left at Collim, debating if you're the best choice to fire the weapon. You turn, turning to address your makeshift heavy weapons crew. Do you: A: Offer Collim the gunner position and spot for him. B: Offer Gentry the gunner position, and manage the ammunition. C: Man the gun for yourself and give unarmed-Gentry your lasgun.
B: Gotta keep the ammo flowing, let someone hopefully more confident than yourself manage picking out targets.
