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From the Ashes ((IG RP))`

Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Vlayden, Feb 4, 2018.

  1. Akerath Vlayden Well-Known Member

    The world itself was a wasteland - lush forests turned black and old, decrepit trunks falling into craters caused by basilisk cannons. From the defenses made into the mountainside, one could see across the plains that lead to the beachside along the eastern walls; throughout the lands as far as the eye could see was pure ruin.

    Craters filled with blood, gore and debris littered the landscape, many beige-armoured corpses covering it for miles, along with organic, sleek vehicles with no treads, its turrets flat and laying against the top of the wrecks with bulbous weapons attached to both it and the front of them. Numerous blacker, thicker bodies lay strewn about as well, their armour plates still flickering with light-bending power, their stealth qualities working for a time after the user's death all the same.
    Large, boxy suits of plate and servo's also were layed here and there, their arms with different weapons yet all with tremendous damage; many seemed to die in at least pairs, or on their own with what could be their 'teammates' not too far ahead of them.

    Yet all this was but chaff in comparison to the Imperial losses.

    For every one of the Xenos bodies, there were four guardsmen. Trench networks that criss-crossed along the plains and into the woods were filled with the Death Korps of Krieg, as well as many having charged out of such trenches to bayonet the foe; some succeeded, their bodies being close to another disemboweled foe. Many did not.
    Cadians, Catachans, Mordians and Brontians all were within the forest as well, many of the former's bodies being seen facing the Citadel, all along its path; a retreat had been attempted, with so few who had managed to get in alive, let alone unscathed.

    The Death Korps & Mordians were perhaps what had kept them from falling so quickly - the former's sheer attrition rate and demand for blood forcing every inch, every meter to be payed in many lives and ammo, whilst the Mordian's strong discipline and organization, along with their constant accurate fire with each time they fell back, ultimately until they had gotten back to the fortress itself.

    Hundreds of Leman Russ tanks were upon the battlefield as well, many sitting in front of the citadel walls with holes punctured in their frontal armour, massive railguns puncturing them and destroying the vehicles in single shots; yet for what the Tau had in quality, the Imperium had in quantity. Every tank destroyed, another two rushed past it, guns blazing. An Armoured regiment of the Cadian 812th had the 347th & 103rd Armageddon Steel Legion mechanized regiments had spewed out of the gates, chimera transports filled to the brim with guardsmen.​

    In particular was the sight of one massive battlesuit with what looked to be a shield upon one arm, the other replaced with a form of gatling cannon. Three Leman Russ tanks were all around it, two of which in front of it with countless holes upon their hull and turret, one behind it with its sides punctured and the turret a few meters away - its ammunition having cooked off. The frontal armour of the Riptide had been shredded with the shield arm being melted off - plasma, perhaps - and set at its side. A chimera transport was bashed against its leg, tripping it with a dozen guardsmen all around it. Among them was a single heavy bolter that was set upon the riptide's corpse, being used as cover as they fired maddeningly at the enemy.​

    Unfortunately, such sacrifices had not stopped the Tau's entry - while costly, they all the same advanced forward with battlesuits at the front, demolishing the gates and surging in. The many levels were covered in Fire Warrior bodies, their long pulse rifles being cumbersome in such close quarters, along with the merciless zeal that the Imperium possessed.
    Despite all this, the victory itself was perhaps a pyrrhic one - yes, the Tau were defeated. Reinforcements from the Cadian 901st and two more Armageddon regiments, with one Valhallan mechanized regiment had come from the rear, forcing the Tau into a retreat. Yet the casualties were unimaginable.

    There had been two million Guardsmen upon this continent, the vast majority upon this northern sector that they'd fought for. Now there were not even two thousand left, many regiments wiped from the records, with many more dangling by a thread with perhaps one or a dozen lives remaining.

    Hours had passed as names were called, hours upon hours of platoon commanders writing off many more guardsmen as KIA or MIA - friends lost, many without a word. It was one of the more painful things, hearing a name as MIA. Sometimes one would see someone hear a friend's name as that and break down, knowing its true implications: there were no MIA here. Merely KIA that weren't found.
    Yet sometimes, one found someone who would grasp at that thread, in a daze, wandering out onto the battlefields in search of that one name. Maybe a longtime friend, maybe a loved one. But they'd search until the day's end. It never ended well, for them, whether they found that person or not.

    The next morning was a somber one of course, the men and women being lined up within the Fortress Halls - a large place, once pristine but now ragged and damaged, its massive pillars cracked and charred, numerous Mechanicum turrets upon its cieling damaged or destroyed altogether. The day before, a hundred Tau bodies littered its marble floors along with almost a dozen Battlesuits: they had been removed, the Adeptus Mechanicus that accompanied the relief force taking them for... 'Study'.

    A Dais was set up within the halls, and on it stood a man; from the looks of his gear, it was clear he was from Armageddon. A thick longcoat, with his respirator hanging around his neck and his helmet off with it. His Auburn hair was at chin length and he had a thick stubble as well; the war had lasted almost a year, and one had little time to tend to oneself.

    "Men and Women of the Imperium; today, we have won against the Xenos enemy," he started, his voice hoarse yet still loud - even with the vox caster that set in front of him. "yet we all have seen the price of such a thing. My predecessors had underestimated this enemy, and here we were sent, undermanned and undergunned. Yet we have emerged victorious, all the same."

    A small pause for him to take his breath. "We have lost many friends here, many brothers and sisters; worse yet, many beloved regiments such as the Cadian 435th are now gone forever, not a man left in their name. We shall honour them here; their banners shall line these walls, in their name, just as the surviving ones shall."
    "However. This is not what this speech is for; it is not about your past, of the accomplishments we as a whole had succeeded with. But our future."

    "We had numbered two million, three hundred and fifty thousand, eight hundred and four when this battle began. Now, we are only one thousand, three hundred and seventy six. By all rights, our regiments are depleted; we have no supplies left for the most part, and we will require reinforcements that would take too long to come. And because of this, I have come to a decision: henceforth, your old regimental flags shall forever hang here. We shall not bring them with us; henceforth, we are to become a single Regiment."

    A burst of murmurs and chatter had started up - many confused, some pleased, and some angered, shocked even. The only thing that kept it from escalating was the sight of the Commissars upon the right side, their battered longcoats still sporting the bright reds and golds, their skullpeaked caps upon their heads, among them was Siegfried Skyruss, the man standing tall enough to feel a giant amongst men.

    "I am not under any illusion that you are all going to enjoy this. Many of you have been proud soldiers under these names; but look at our manpower. Many of us do not even number in the hundreds." The man's shoulders soon slumped, and he took ahold of his respirator. "I have given the orders to the sergeants and platoon commanders; while we do not have any title yet, by Imperium law we shall be Regiment 12506; our name shall come later. I expect, and am confident, that all of you shall aid in giving us a proper title, and a reputation that shall put fear into the hearts of our enemies."

    His heels clacked together -- in unison, the newly formed regiment did so as well. Kriegers had their heads held high, passive and obedient, uncaring for the deaths of their comrades. Cadians kept theirs high out of pride and spite of the enemy, using this pain as fuel to fight their foe.

    Platoon Commanders now turned to their forces, and with data-slates in hand, called out names.

    "Harada P., James N. 5691823-1968299-Delta..."
    "Khal N., Lianna G., Arban N....."

    Names were all called out from each one, the men being formed into their own squads with a sergeant at their head. It was clear that they were mishmashes of all sorts. Cadians, Praetorians and Kriegers. Armageddoneers, Therons & Mordians.

    "Roy T., Aquilia C., Zhara, Garrul U., Saven H., Romanus L., WR-613780-Alpha, Dei K., Kallen, Siegfried S. - squad Gamma."
    The voice came from a relatively tall, Cadian woman, her flak armour scorched on the right side and a cast that wrapped over the same arm. Her hair was trimmed to barely under a centimetre, and her piercing Violet eyes stared back into each of them as they came over.

    "I'm to be your Sergeant, it seems: Sergeant Korallia Linnis." She said, a small frown coming at her lips; it seemed at least, a bit displeasing to her. "You're to meet me in two hours, on the eastern side of the wall, beside the gate itself. Pack your things and we're going to get off this blasted rock. Any questions??" She looked to every one of them expectantly; as though she had thought maybe there would be one. Her gaze had looked over towards the Commissar for a moment, a nod of respect being given, with an uneasy stare pointed towards the Psyker. No words were spoken directly of course, simply... Looks.

    Here began Squad Gamma's journey; one can only hope it doesn't have an end anytime soon.​
  2. Bossaroo bossaroo Well-Known Member

    Roy had been scrubbing soot and carbon off the mouth of the barrel of his Missile launcher his respirator hanging around his neck as his prosthetic eyes clicked clearing themselves, he still couldnt get used to how these damn things blinked. He shook his head and chuckled lowly , look at him complaining about his eyes blinking off when many poor bastards wouldnt blink again. Seb, Morgan , Sarge , Andre... the list goes on damnit, how the list goes on. He Let the shuddery breath out of his throat , was thankful he'd lost his tearducts to that stray shot and kept on with his work. Soon a man stood above the crowd of battered souls that made up this sorry lot of survivors and he looked up. The Sky was still as grey as ever, full of smoke and ash. He heard the fellow Armageddon native speak but he didnt process much of it except the numbers, he was never good with numbers but those numbers didnt sound nice. His eyes drifted over a chimera and he remembered

    They'd been so damn eager, eager to see if tau bled easier than the orks back home , placing bets on who'd get the most kills. The smiles came easy , Alex told him to smile the idiot. The door dropped and before he could raise out of his seat they were being tossed around with what was left morgan flying away. He woke up to alex smacking him awake, glanced by a railgun he said. Glanced

    Roy shook his head and listened to the rest of the mans speach and when he heard his new sergeant he nodded hardly taking the time to look at his squad as he began hauling the large missile launcher over his shoulder the end dragging the end behind him. The other hand dragging along his empty rocket rack, Emperor guide Alex to his light. His back was going to kill him if he didnt get a hand to help him with this massive metal tube. When he got to his area he packed up his few essentials , his primer , And his Ork tusk necklace. He had started turning away before he looked to Alex's kit. His bag was heavy was mementos and stolen spares and once more he was glade he lost his tear ducts
  3. Taec Taec Arkhona Vanguard

    Kallen had been sat on a crate cleaning the foul blood from his knife when the announcement had been made. He shook his head hearing the losses. How Xenos had dealt such a blow to the might of the imperium was a question he found difficult to answer.

    As the new squads were formed, he pushed himself with one hand to drop from the crate, and after sheathing his knife; he made his way toward the new squad. He didn’t have any questions for the new seargant, so spent the next few moments studying the others who he was now to fight with. He rolled his eyes when he saw that one of them was a commissar. Kallen debated asking why they even needed a commissar, but decided not to. Instead he just glared angrily at the commissar. Once they were told where to meet after getting their belongings, Kallen decided he would just make his way to the gate early when everyone had finished asking questions. Everything he needed was already with him.
  4. Gallows CupcaknHell Active Member

    While the announcement was being made, Garrul was sitting at the foot of his sentinel, sleeves rolled up, rebreather and longcoat somewhat callously thrown into the cockpit, cleaning off some of the xeno scum’s blood off of the leg where he was fairly sure he’d trampled one of their wounded. He silently swore when he saw a large gash on the left leg’s hydraulics, complaining that ”his baby” surely was angry that she’d been damaged during the battles, and he was sure the next startup would be extra fiddly.

    When he heard that they were forming a new regiment, he muttered angrily about how this ”better be temporary”, and ”the commissar assigned to the unit certainly didn’t bloody help”. Though he was still a loyal guardsman, so he walked up casually to the rest of his squad, lighting one of the cigars he’d found on his mates dead body, honour his memory with a last couple of puffs.
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  5. Ancient ItsTime Preacher

    The Tempestus Scion, Aquillia, was sitting on a carefully stacked pile of artillery shells, examining and cleaning her Plasma gun as she read prayers she remembered by heart. She seemingly purposefully ignored the speech the Armageddonian gave and kept working on her sacred weapon. Aquillia had witness many things during her service as a Storm Trooper, yet the loss of her ten man team this battle has evidently took it's toll on her. The behind-enemy-lines operation that was tasked upon Aquillia and her Scions seemed to be a simple one, sabotaging the listening posts and important enemy positions, turned sour and resulted in the situation shes currently in.

    "Perhaps if we hadn't slipped, we could've saved what... Half a million souls? One million? One and a half million?" she muttered to herself before finally slapping the Plasma gun back together and slinging it over her shoulder.

    She slid her Omnihelm back onto her head and reached for the dog-tag necklace that was laying beside her, happening to walk in the general direction of the crowd as her name was called. She approached her new squad, looking her new squad mates over.

    By the looks of it, Aquillia had little time to patch up or replace her gear after the battle. She was still reeking of blood, both Human and Tau, covered in mud and mostly importantly the condition of her carapace armor, which seems to have been field-patched by her.
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  6. Wata Wata Arkhona Vanguard

    Kiratai was in a foul mood. No matter how many he had killed it hadn't been enough, he lost almost every clansman he could have called friend. At least he had had the pleasure of sowing death and fear in the name of Attilans. He even had a few more scars to be proud of and even a trophy or two.

    Amidst the crowd of guardsmen Kiratai had a circular space of his own for people kept a few steps away from him. He crudely shoved the mess of a hair he had aside and spat on the floor after the announcement of a singular regiment was made. "Utter garbage." He muttered, before walking over to his new "squad".

    "I want my pound of flesh, we should ride again and soon." Dei declared once he was in earshot of everyone, sizing up their sergeant with an appraising eye.
    "I'll beat the next blue bastard to death with it's own rifle if not trampled before then."
    The Attilan fixed his fur lined coat, still bloody from the enemy and not just from his latest battle, he was filthy. His scarred visage took a near permanent scowl.
  7. Talvisota RuinaImperii Active Member

    Always. Always. Always work to do

    A quartermaster’s job is never completed. Every moment another soldier falls. His equipment destined for a greater fate than he. This was the way. WR-613780-Alpha knew the way. Human blood on the lasguns was deemed acceptable. The filthy of ichor of xenoes was not. It must be cleansed before it can be returned to service. Men and firearms alike.

    Always. Always. Always work to do.

    Days blurred. Nights blurred. Weeks and months blurred together into a swath of grey and beige and crimson as near skeletal hands danced their numb tango to disarm the dead, then disarm the dead. The time that passed was counted by boxes of standard-issue bonesaw blades. Many snapped under the pressure of the task ahead. 780 did not. A Korpsman does not bow in the face of war. A Korpsman does not sleep until the job is done. The tools may break in the line of duty but 780 will not.

    The other regiments do not perform to the same satisfactory standard the Death Korps do. An annoyance. They are too soft. They cry in the face of the enemy and they scream when their bones are being returned to their place. Many complain and whine. 780 hoped this war would toughen them up. Or at least break those who are unfit to serve the God-Emperor’s will.

    Many are found wanting.The Quartermasters have their hands full redistributing the supplies recovered from the dead to all the regiments under their care, and not just the Korps. Failure on their part. More unacceptable wishful thinking. But this is the Task. 780 will complete it.

    Sometimes the soldier isn’t dead. Battered. Broke. But fit to fight another day. Some, 780 found dazed, confused. Bodies injured in the combat and mind shuffled by the shells. Those patched up and were sent back to the front alone. To stand strong in the face of the enemy. But others 780 found huddled. Hidden. Bent double behind rubble and carcass. Tucked away in foxholes obscured by the bodies of their own squadmates. Cowardice. Unacceptable. Traitors beyond redemption. Their gear was taken from their trembling hands, and then their lives. The former would go to a worthy soldier. A loyal subject to the Imperium. The latter would be free to face the God-Emperor’s judgment. And his wrath. 780 has no further business with the dead.

    Always. Always. Always work to do.

    The Command had deemed the losses of this war unacceptable. Consolidation. Liquidation. A logical decision in the face of attrition. The new squadmates are sloppy. Unorthodox. Filthy. Making childish statements about honor and loss. And there is an odd one among them. 780 pays them no mind for the moment. The Commissar receives a crisp salute first, then the Sargent. The order is strange, emotional, but acceptable for the time being.

    But until the time comes, The Quartermaster has work. 780 eagerly awaits the Sargent’s dismissal.
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  8. Maleth Maleth Subordinate

    Saven had been busy performing maintenance (and cleaning up the blood, dirt, and other such blemishes) on what was left of her gear, after the battle had claimed her friends (or rather 'friends', if they weren't giving her a hard time based on suspected 'inbreeding', loose/overly tight clothing and social implications thereof, and so on so forth), her precious equipment, like her pack being slagged by a shot from one of the Tau Pulse rifles.... The list went on.

    If she was to count what she did have, it was her life and her state of mind, and maybe a fresh start with the new Regiment. In someways that was a relief, even if it was a relief tempered with grief at the devils she knew either being dead, not yet found or the odd one or two that had made it along with her.

    Not that her part in the battle was much fun as Heltharan was jetting around in the thick of it. She'd be the first to admit that if it wasn't for both her divergence from the human form and her witchcraft, she wouldn't have survived being so involved in battle, or at least in need of bionic reconstruction rather than anything approaching normal medical attention.
    Yet all of that effort was ultimately in vain, going by the death toll both she had witnessed and merely heard during or after the battle. Not that the speech by the Armageddon speaker was much in the way of comfort either, as if history was going to be forgotten that quickly, or the future looking bright.

    Still, a more immediate concern was that after looking at the odd balls assortment of who the Hybrid was going to have to call her squadmates, she didn't dare raise a hope about accepted by them any time soon. Especially not with a Commissar around, her 'impurities of the human form' and aforementioned powers, if the latter ever came out and she didn't get shot for it.

    At least her gear was presentable compared to the... Less hygienic members of the squad. And given what she would guess were the specialties of the squad, she did have a question for the Sergeant: "Yes, I don't suppose you have an idea where the various... Specialists, would be stowing their gear?"
  9. Fox Vulpas Well-Known Member

    "Well chaps seems like this maybe the last time we will all be together as Praetorian." A Lieteuant said to his group of the surviving Praetorian were in a small groups clustered together forming a small blobs of bright red coats and white flak armor, from former squad mates to regiment pals, Many of them were quite displeased at hearing of the break up there regiments to form one, If anyone would choose they would rather be sent straight to praetorian to restart there years of service just to keep serving along with each other instead of having there regiment shattered to now work with a bunch of other regiments.

    Many of them began to disperse and leave as there names were called up to be dispersed into other squads. The Praetorian had done there duty and held there lines against the tau ust as the mordians recovering the retreat of other regiments and refusing to give the xenos a inch without bleeding them. A thing that both the Morians, and Praetorian would grow to respect each other from there discipline.

    Even though they were to be separated they still followe orders as they were alwalys loyal to the imperium and its orders. One of them Specialist Zhara was in a group with her praetorian line men and surviving specialist her coat and armor had many burns and soot stains on it and seven her helmet a bite out of it from a kroot rifle.

    She had not been covered in blood like most but was covered in soot from the burning dutys she and her squad had burning kroot backs as they tried to break there lines dumping promethium down on a group of tau an lighting them aflame, A sound she would never forget was the sound of vile xenos, and traitors burning to death a glorious sound and the sound that meant she was doing her job right. There was though a few time were she would have to reluctantly fire upon her own kinsmen s over run position as the rear line began reforming and firing upon xenos that tried to breach there defenses though sacrifices had to be one in the name of the emperor, and she was sure the men that died were now in front of the emperor and his sons telling them of there battles and duties in his name.

    As Zhara and her cohorts began a small vigil for the lost prehistorians with a priest giving prayers to the emperor and huming there regiments theme she heard her name called. "Well Zhara its seems its time for us to part ways, Do the emperor and our home world proud." The lieutenant said putting a hand now on there specialists as he id other that left the group. "I will sir, I will make sure preatoria gets known for stomping out, out xenos and rebels sir!" she said giving a salute to the lieutenant before leaving she had litho stick in her mouth still lit, and the light smell of amesac was on her and promethium from when the lieutenant passing around some from his own stash and a few others that wouldn't be needing it any more, and the corpse burning duties she had. As she reached the stage and the sergeant she would douse her litho stick but still keep it in her front pocket.

    "Only question for me mam is where we headed to and what our next mission maybe, We Praetorian are already to get back to duty and start cleansing the world of the enemy of the imperium." Zhara said with a salute. her own eyes looked over to the squad that was with her, Patchwork was what came to mind, as we as ragtag, Her eyes stopped over Saven the one whos regiment she had heard rarly about, something was off about her, what ever it was Zhara couldn't tell passing over it she, saw someone who looked to be a heavy weapon personal, as well as a rough rider, A commissar, a scout, and a scion. and kreiger.... It was at that moment Zhara realized something. "Got another question mam what type of squad are we?" she asked now wondering what type of squad she had been assigned to.
  10. Siegfried sighed and stepped away from the line of his fellows. There was little to say about the previous battle, little in the way of positive things anyways. The previous war and most recently the battle was a catastrophe and he was certain the previous leadership were executed for incompetence because of it. The only reason the war was even won was three reasons, the inherent weakness of xenos to the purity of humanity, the discipline and determination of regiments like his former Mordians and the Death Korps, and the efforts of those who are currently in command.

    He had a permanent unhappy look on his face which seemed typical of one of his station. He had sometimes pondered this in his time alone away from the fighting. Happiness was a useless thing that's hivescum cling to so they feel some purpose in their life so they feel a need to continue working. Happiness is what guardsmen use in their memories to remind them why they fight. Happiness is a tool to use to keep the people of the Imperium in line. So did he have a use for this tool, has he ever been happy?

    Memories of another time came into his mind, when he was in the scholar progenium and with fellow children. Then his time as a Cadet Commissar in a squad with others. The times he had with his fellow orphans and Cadet Commissars flashing in his mind. Yes, he had been happy at times when he was younger. When he needed such an emotion to keep him sane in the extreme turmoil that is growing up in a galaxy such as this. But did he have use for such an emotion now?

    No, happiness was not needed for him anymore. Hate, duty, and piety shall sustain his emotional needs for the rest of his days now. He is a Commissar of the of the Imperium of Man, his purpose is to strike the fear of the Emperor into his enemies, and those few of his servants who are found lacking. He finished his thoughts as he found the squad he was going to be assigned to. Only offering a glance at each member and a nod to the sergeant, he would have preferred to be kept with the remnants of the Mordians but he will make do with this.

    After the short introduction he turned and went go collect his personal belongings, no matter how few of them there were. This new regiment will be interesting, eleven commissars in a regiment of this size should certainly be more than enough to quell any animosity between former rivals. But the sheer task if recovering from the previous defeat and the proceeding reorganization will be a bureaucratic undertaking he feared would spin a tech priest’s head. So many units, so many former purposes, all needing to be considered when they are resupplied. Do they simply make the regiment conform into a single type or do its best to keep former regimental units the equipment to perform the duties they once did on a much larger scale. But that was something to ponder later, he had roughly two hours to get his things together, he pulled out his watch and checked for a moment. Plenty of time really but best to get ready now, a Commissar can never appear lazy.

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