@Shadhunter @High_Adept_Zeth @Casavay @Vulpas @GobMaw_HellSmasha @Maleth @matt23 @Jammysod @Aedric @Wata @BruticusTheGoreHound

Tristam's morning was surprisingly uneventful - for the past few days, numerous regiments had already made planetfall and the cheering itself had been completed by the first; now over a week later with numerous transport ships landing and disgorging their cargo; namely, thousands of Guardsmen, numerous battalions - Cadians, Armageddoneers, Valhallans, and more!
The march itself towards the Military base outside of the city was uneventful - many times getting small groups of citizens to cheer and applaud them, even some coming over to shower them with praises, hugs, kisses and gifts (notably flower necklaces) - giving about a third of the group some sort of marking (lipstick being notable in the cases of some of the men & women's cheeks).
As un-militaristic as it was, there was a notable amount of chatter that was happening throughout the lines; many cracking jokes at one another for one additional victory in the Emperor's name. The wars that had occured in this sector were painful and in recent years, had heavy losses against the Xenos - many Ork waaagh's having to be put down before they even started, and even managing to push back a Tau expedition; as close as the sector itself was to the Realm of Ultramar, many had learned to rely on themselves rather than pray that the close proximity to the fabled Ultramarines and their descendants would in any way be of help.
All the same, numerous generals had agreed that they would sent part of their forces back for R&R - something having stirred them into... In-action, so to speak; over two-thirds of most nearby regiments having been sent here, to Fenix.
Not that the common guardsman would complain, of course!

An hour and forty-two minutes had passed after exiting the transports before the many guardsmen had finally gotten to the base itself - sergeants barking out orders as squads lined themselves up behind one another.

As the men & women of the Imperial Guard started to quiet down, they noticed something peculiar; the "PDF" of sorts on the base. No, it wasn't a PDF exactly, but another regiment that was stationed here - the Death Korps of Krieg.
Their motions were stiff and with a singular purpose as they marched about, stood on watch duty, dissassembled & reassembled their lasguns - it was almost like... Watching machines. Servitors were more human than they in some regards. There weren't even any who had their gasmasks removed or even lowered off their faces.
Despite the level of unease they brought by their mere presence, the wave of relief and joy from the fact they were on R&R was more than enough to make up for it!

A sharp, booming voice was heard from the large structure's entrance - those who glanced over saw that it was a Governor General; one known by those in the Sector by the name of 'Governor-General Jackson'.
"ATEN~, SHUN!"
Polished boots, forest-green uniform, and a set of carapace armour that had at least half a dozen medals on the right breast. His hair was grayed and he had enough burns on the left side of his face that any guardsman with half a brain knew that it - and the bionic left arm he was sporting - was due to plasma damage; whether from one he wielded himself, or from a nearby malfunction, none would know except he.

Beside him however, was a sight many may have seen for the first time, and something that all would find themselves in awe by - not one, but a total of a dozen fully-fledged Space Marines, each in their Power Armour. One squad of 'Tactical' Marines, each armed with a boltgun and their helmets donned, whilst one ( @matt23 ) was equipped with a Jump Pack, Chainsword & Bolt Pistol; and lastly, another sight of what seemed to be a Captain. Differently armoured like any high-ranking officer of the Imperium though in their own way, the Astartes having been equipped with Artificer armour and a combi-weapon, with a power sword at their side.
"Right then - I'm here to welcome you all to this planet; most of you might be expectin' some sort of heroic, relaxing speech, but I'm not here to fondle your ego's." He said. "I have business to tend to; but I know that yer all here to enjoy yerselves. SO! First things first, is that you all get to the Quartermaster. You set your weapons there and you'll be given your room number, and th' Hotel that you'll be holed up in-- And no, before you start cheering, we are givin certain ones of you curfews. We're here as guests, we don't wanna hear about someone being fatherless in a year, ya hear me?"
A three-second silence went by, before the General gave a curt nod.
"Emperor be with you, Guardsmen. Enjoy this month; now get goin', the Chimeras are only gonna wait so long for you."

With that, the Governor-General bowed his head and limped aside, motioning for the Astartes to follow him, from where he spoke in a (relatively) hushed tone. Not so much quietly, but not yelling as he had been before, for a conversation that only they would find interest in.

From here, it was even less eventful, many finding themselves to part ways with old friends and rejoining new ones. But most of all, the peculiarity was in how this group of Guardsmen - the Mutant, the Enginseer, the Sharpshooter, the Ogryn (with the help of a Valhallan companion), the Commissar, the Stormtrooper, the Cadian and the Armageddoneer - all found that their designation was for Chimera 86.

Destined for the hotel, named "The Saint's Solace"
Oh how interesting this would prove to be.

Skudd wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Though to be fair, Skudd never truly understood what was going on. The Ogryn wasn't the brightest of his kind, in fact he was incredibly dim witted even by Ogryn standards. The only thing Skudd was good at was following orders. Some would joke that Skudd would probably forget to breathe if he wasn't ordered too. But they wouldn't be able to joke about his sheer commitment to the Imperial Guard and his devotion to the God Emperor of Mankind. If blessed is the mind too small for doubt, Skudd would be the shining example of the saying. As such Skudd merely looked down at his Ripper Gun that he still held in his hands in front of the quarter master. He looked up toward the quartermaster and down toward his Ripper Gun again. He looked at the other smaller humans who would hand their gun over to the gun person. And then he looked back down at his Ripper Gun.

This process repeated itself for perhaps a little longer then it should have.

Skudd would eventually ask the nice gun person "ughhhh...but this Skudd's gun..." it was clear that Skudd wasn't quite getting what was going on. Who were they fighting if they didn't need their guns. This was all highly unusual and difficult for Skudd to understand. Then again, anything that required higher brain functionality then that of a stone was pretty difficult for Skudd to understand.

Moloc was just as thrilled as the rest of the countless soldiers that were now being ushered into Chimera transports and driven out of the base. Or so he thought until he spied a confused looking Ogryn lumbering over to Chimera 86; Meaning he would have to share. Moloc had been through more campaigns than most guardsmen although if it weren't for the shrapnel scars that were etched into his already ugly face no one would be able to notice. This is mostly because of the simple fact that many guardsmen don't live that long after being deployed anyway, but Moloc seemed to have a knack for surviving in bad situations, or atleast that's what his service record said.

He felt a knot in his stomach tighten up as the Ogryn clambered into the transport. His only experiences with the giant brutes had taught him two things... that Ogryn are perhaps tougher and more fearsome than most orks, and also that what they lacked in brains they certainly made up for in odour. Of course between disobeying a direct order with the commissar watching over his group and squashing up next to an Ogryn in a chimera he didn't have much of a say in the matter, so he handed over his standard issue grenade launcher and climbed in without bothering to pay too much attention to the other passengers. He was here to relax after all and who gave a damn about who he had to bunk with when he did it.

To the hundreds upon hundreds of men and women of the Imperial Guard, touching down to Fenix for some well deserved rest and relaxation from the front, today was shaping up to be on of the better ones in memory.

To Brom Torgard, however, it was turning into one of his worst.

It had started off fine enough, the man awakening from his cot at approximately 04h00, swiftly stripping, cleansing, and dressing himself for the day. Garbing himself in the regalia and garb deserving of one belonging to his station, the Commissar had left his personal quarters at a brisk pace, a rucksack, loaded up with various pieces of gear, strapped to his back. From here, he would move quickly through the various hallways within the officer's building, exiting the structure, and crossing the compound to where his destination would lie. He'd arrive before the assorted barracks belonging to the Death Korps of Krieg, 958th regiment, 3rd Company, noting with a small smile beneath his rebreather, that the soldiers already stood at attention, in formation, silent, and still. As the clock struck 04h25, Brom, now standing at his own position in formation, would spot the arrival of Captain Stannis Katczinsky, taking up position with the remainder of his commander squad, of which he, as the company Commissar, would be attached to.

He'd listen to the words of the man, blunt, efficient, and to the point, much like the rest of his men. Brom, not for the first time, would once again consider the spartan qualities of those belonging to Krieg, comparing them to his own homeworld, so distant in his memory, and they tendency to embellish and utilize prose in their favour. Yet, with a mental shrug, he'd conclude that ultimately, his own people were of a more chaotic, unorganized nature, and that even he doubted they could compare to the fighting strength of the men he now served alongside. The Captain spoke, as it were, of their duties for the day, speaking of the continued influx of new guardsmen, from various other regiments and worlds, coming to this planet, to seek out a brief respite from the duties of the battlegrounds. The method in which he spoke of them, so lacking in any form of interest, would have convinced most that the captain simply didn't care about these regimental cousins. Yet, Torgard would know, for he'd worked for some time with the Captain, seeing him rise up from his rank of second-lieutenant, to where he was now, and as if reading a book, he sensed the disdain held for the others.

This would however, lead into the next point of business, as upon this day, it would be their duty to act as the standing force to welcome in the newcomers, and as such, they would need to be operating at parade standard. And, in the Captain's own words, he could think of now better way to start a parade than with a rucksack march in the morning. So, with this, orders would be called out, columns of men would turn, rucksacks and weapons held tightly by those who carried them, and with a final bellow, the march would begin.

It would not be a long one, by any means, for there was many things to do today, if they were to meet the standard set for them. As it was, the 10 kilometers would be over with by the end of the hour, the pace of the company seeing them heading for the showers by the stroke of 05h30. All throughout the march, Torgard had moved himself along the column of soldiers, gauging their steps, watching for any signs of weakness, of hindrance to the group. He would be pleased to locate none, as expected, his comrades once again living up to expectations. As the command squad were given their assignments for the day, Torgard would be back at his quarters by 05h40, where once again, he'd strip, cleanse and dress himself back up into the figure he was supposed to be. And so, with the day barely begun, the man had a purpose to his step, and a hidden smile upon his visage.

As the day progressed, things would occur as planned, each phase of their tasks going like clockwork. The company would garb themselves in full standard uniform, tunics pristine, boots shining, and rifles bearing not a trace of carbon, as inspections would ensure, before they'd be sent off to their posts, so that by 07h00, they company would be ready for the day to come. It would be at this point, that Commissar Torgard would receive orders, a notification to report to regimental command, which would be unexpected, to say the least.

What would come next, would be downright surprising, as by 09h00, Torgard stood within his own chambers, staring at the wall, his fists clenched. It was disgraceful, and completely beyond his control, but once again, the Commissar would look down at the paper in his hands, looking for a way out. The leave pass would offer him nothing of the sort, signed off by command, for the next few days, marking him down for staying at The Saint's Solace, a noted establishment where those who came to this base would spend their time while on world. Indeed, he'd grown familiar with the reports, for despite the efforts of the Governor-General, there was always a few rotten soldiers who got into trouble when the leash loosened on them for a bit. Eyes going over the paper again and again, he'd let loose a sigh of defeat, knowing that to challenge this further, would be to challenge the chain of command, and ultimately, the will of The God-Emperor himself.

Thus, he'd accept his situation, and resign himself to packing a change of clothes for the coming days. He'd try to recall the last time he'd began a day outside of his uniform, or his PT gear, and would find the task difficult, for the Korps ran a tight ship, and would always be on a combat footing. Much to his satisfaction, his luggage would be light, a single outfit within, his leave papers themselves, and a small chit that would earn him enough of his pay to properly afford this brief vacation. Exiting his chambers, he'd make his way across the defensive complex, back straight, eyes front, stride proud, giving a brief nod of acknowledgement to each of the men from his company he found stationed along his path, counting off each by name as he did some. Catching the distant echo of the Governor-General's speech to the new arrivals, a speech he'd heard often enough from his post, he'd conclude that the transports would be ready for his arrival, and that all that would be left, would be to turn in his equipment to the base quartermaster.

Due to not having to stand before the words of the Governor, Torgard reached the quartermaster before the rush of the other soldiers, swiftly passing off his laspistol, power sword, and finally, a small device, responsible for powering his refractor field. These were tools of war, and he was not permitted to bring them with him on his leave, as if the base did come under attack while he was gone, they would serve another in his place. He would however, keep his uniform, in it's entirety, including the rebreather mask he still wore upon his face. He was a man of the Korps now, and had been since his assignment to them. If his comrades saw him off, they would see him going into this borderline exile in the Krieg manner, diligently, efficiently, and always ready for war.

He'd reach the Chimera transports by 10h15 hours, as per his directives, swiftly stepping through the tides of guardsmen, who admittedly gave the Commissar a wide berth. Though he was not officially on duty, he always had a vigilant eye, and those who saw him striding through them could not possibly tell that he himself was looking to board on of the transports for a vacation. To most, he would appear as he always did, rigid, alert, and fully engaged in his duties. With this in mind, the Commissar would arrive at the transport designated for himself, and would stand, back straight, hands clasped behind him, before it. He was under the impression that he would not be granted a single transport to himself, as that would be abhorrently wasteful. Already, he eyed a Cadian that had found his way within, paying a quick survey of his uniform, before giving a mental nod, at the sight of a veteran of combat. However, until the remainder of those designated to this transport would arrive, Torgard would stand still, silent, patient, and dedicated, waiting to see just whom else he'd be sharing the Chimera with.

After a very long time, Erika felt like breathing relief. It had been so long she had almost forgotten what it was like not to be afraid and worried.
Erika handed over her weaponry and spotted an ogryn struggling to hand over his. She giggled at the sight and approached the simple giant.
"Hey, soldier. I am a SERGEANT. You have ORDERS to give your WEAPON to HIM."
She spoke the keywords plainly and clearly, pointing at Skudd's gun and then at the quartermaster. She was smiling and bit amused by the situation.
"You will get them back, don't worry."

"Turn in your weapons."

The thought sat ill with ebony-skinned youth, as he tossed his pear-white shawl around his mouth, to drown out the stench of unwashed bodies.The 'R&R' haven't even started yet and a million men and women of the Guard have already let themsevels go.Who in the right mind would allow them to keep weapons.

On Fornus Lix they would toss you out of habitat for not having your weapon on you.

As he pushed through the throng with difficulty as the masses teemed to myriad of Chimeras and various transports, Anis walked away from the Quatermaster and to the nearby pre-designated Chimera, limping all the way.A big, fullstocked crutch supported him under his arm, as he limped on his left leg, his right casked in grey and bulky med-foam.

Embarking with some difficulty and muttering to the standing Commissar with respect, he crashed on the bench next to Brom ( @BruticusTheGoreHound ) with casual abandon and ineptness of a handicapped man.

Sitting on his left side, his right leg fully stretched before him, he glanced at the Guardsman next to him (Brom) with his, unnaturally blue eyes.Revealing the lower portion of his face by loosening his shawl, Brom could see that Anis was smiling:

"Sorry for that, I cannot prevent this discourtesy.To be wounded...well..."he added with a scowl and risingof his line-thin eyebrows"...well...you do not choose that.Anis Ayakle, 23rd of Fire Drakes, Specialist." the man added, offering his right hand to Brom, his elbow still propped on the crutch.

Skudd turned his head to look toward one of the small humans that addressed him as soldier. And she apparently had orders for him to hand over his Ripper Gun to the gun person. "Emperor want Skudd give gun man Skudd's gun?" he asked. It wasn't a question from disobedience, but from a lack of understanding and required clarity. He looked down at his gun once more and looked back toward the small lady, "dohkay boss" he muttered as he plopped his gun down with a loud Thud as the heavy weapon hit the table.

Skudd then stood there. No gun in his hands. Looked down at the gun man. Looked down at his gun. Looked back toward the gun man. And eventually looked back to the small lady "Uggggh...now Skudd what do?"

@High_Adept_Zeth

Still standing rigid, the Commissar's body would not move an inch as the injured Imperial made his way onto the transport. Yet, behind his mask, his eyes would swiftly scan over the individual, taking in the garb he wore, along with the insignia and markings he could see, quickly realizing, with a bit of amusement, that he was unfamiliar with this regiment. His eyes would then move down towards the med-foam coating the man's leg, quickly formulating different scenarios that the man might have gone through to earn this injury. For what it was worth, in most, it would be an honourable wound, coming from serving in the line of duty, and would mark out this one at the very least as having tangible proof of his efforts and sacrifice. As such, he'd forgive the lack of finesse in the man's movements, paying little mind as the being slammed into the bench aboard the transport, instead choosing to keep watch for the approach of others.

However, upon hearing that he was being addressed, the Commissar, still unmoving, would turn his attention back towards this soldier. As the man spoke, slowly, Torgard would turn, his movements bearing a calculated quality to them, much like the wolves of his homeworld. Looking down upon the man, this soldier of the Fire Drakes, Brom would briefly consider the pointless drivel of this basic conversation. It was not as though they would be assigned to one another, and would need to develop a form of trust to serve in the field, nor was he being interviewed, and thus not needing to justify his condition. Indeed, for a moment, the Commissar would look down upon the offered hand, and consider the needless waste of time he was suffering through, considering simply turning his back, and ending this whole affair.

Yet, beneath his mask, he'd feel a slight grin twitch at the corners of his lips, as he thought to himself.

Torgard, you old fool, you've been spending to much time with the Korps, if you can't appreciate an honest conversation once in a while....

With that, he'd bring about his right hand from behind, clad in black leather, clasping that of Ayakle's with a firm grip. Though he maintained his posture, he did allow himself to respond to the man, his voice bearing the regal, confident tone of all those who came through the Commissariat, yet still bearing a stubborn hint of his homeworld's accent.

"Chosen or not, you're wound is as a badge of honour in the eyes of all who see it. Even the valiant must face the realities of war, yet I am confident that those who gave you this badge will have paid dearly for it."

Pulling back his hand, once more clasping it behind his back, Torgard would follow up his statement with an introduction of his own.

"Commissar Brom Torgard, 958th Regiment of The Death Korps of Krieg. I must confess ignorance on my own part, for I know little of the Fire Drakes aside from name alone. If you could enlighten me in the ways of your regiment, you would have my thanks."

Indeed, oft was the difference in culture on the myriad of worlds within the glorious Imperium, that such common things as ranks, tactics, and standard procedure, would be vastly different things from one group to the next. Torgard, wishing to remain properly informed, would enjoy a brief chance at learning more of how another regiment operated.

Erika smiled at Skudd and waved him to follow.
"You follow me, you got designated to chimera 86, right? We're going for a ride."
She started walking but looked back to determine if the ogryn understood.
Whether Skudd followed or not Erika made her way for the chimera.
Once there, she sat on the bench, and with a slight smile on her face adjusted her ponytail. Nodding a greeting to the fellows already in.

A heavy sigh came from Albert as he stood before the Quartermaster. His day had been rather well until he was stuck looking after the Ogryn next to him. How could anything be so dim that they don't understand the concept of not having to fight, especially after having it explained to them multiple times already? He groaned and, after quickly looking around to make sure no one else from the Valhallan 75th was around, briefly turned away to light a lho stick before attempting to explain the concept again.

"Now, Sku--" Albert abruptly stopped as he turned back to see the Ogryn's Ripper Gun on the table. Had he worked it out on his own at last? He quickly realised the answer was no as he noticed a sergeant telling him to follow her into the Chimera. Albert simply took a drag from the lho stick before turning to the Quartermaster and dumping his weapons on the table next to the massive gun.... well, except the stub automatic hidden under his jacket. Once that was over with he went around Skudd and started towards the Chimera. "You heard the lady, we're getting in this Chimera..." he looked at the Chimera, then Skud, and then the Chimera again, "Yeah, you're getting in... somehow..." Albert took another drag from the lho stick as he stepped onto the ramp leading into the Chimera, absolutely dreading the journey ahead now.