You pull Primevere closer to you and connect with her heavier vox set. "Lieutenant Albert is dead. Tercio Beta wiped out completely. We are holding their command post." There is static, and you receive a garbled response. "Vox-Trooper, clear up that static."
Jean Claude, ever reliable, reaches the Vexilla and grabs it before it can fall. He raises it high and waves it in the air. "The Raptor still flies! We will never fall!" He shouts over the Vox, firing his lasrifle into the air with one hand.
"Herrand!" You hear Amélie yelling and pivot to face her. While your Section cleared out the crater, hers had manned the lip to open fire on the empty slopes. "They are coming!"
Rushing over, you stare down and curse as you…
something massing in the valley.
A mass of darkness is approaching, blotting out the cloud of white phosphex vapour. In the distance there are great clouds of regolith and dust being thrown up.
"Élan!" You shout, and the First Section joins the Second at the parapet, firing into the fog. Grenades are thrown through the vacuum, blowing apart in spouts of blu- no! Red blood. No! Dust! Dust and machine parts.
Machines?
Men collapse clutching invisible wounds, some of them burning and smouldering. You see two turn their pistols on themselves.
Why are they…
"Death to the Alien!" Amélie shouts. "Death to the Old Night!". As her men fall around her. The skull of the man next to her explodes.
"For striking Mankind in its weakness. Extinction!" You quote the Writ of Extinction signed by the Emperor… for a reason you can not quite grasp.
Primevére stumbles and falls. Your eye shoots to your squad monitor. Nothing happened. You grab her by a shoulderpad and drag her into cover. The fighting begins to quiet down for a moment, and a peek out of cover… confirms that the wall of shadow approaching you is getting closer.
"Status report." Jeanne answers over the Vox. She is almost growling, her voice intermixed with the gutter slang and insults of the lower levels of Pars. You can not grasp her voice. It is too muffled.
"This is Sergeant Khorban." A stunningly loud and clear voice resounds over the vox, clearing away the mental fog, for a moment, you see shaped like blue orbs wrapped in metal. "We did not ask for assistance. Your flanking force was consumed by a Phosphex cloud." He pauses. "The intervention is recognized."
You say nothing as you ponder what happened. Phosphex clouds are liable to turn upon those who unleash them, by whatever arcane mechanism motivates their movement.
"Please confirm. Veletaris and rifle section are dead?"
"Confirmed." Khorban says, his voice once again breaking through the fog, parting it and revealing a great tendril emerging from the ground in the distance. "We are holding this flank. Can you hold your position?"
You peek over the parapet.
The world is falling apart. Great masses of black and grey moving just out of sight, fading in and out of existence. You try to remember what you are fighting. Psykers? Xenos?
You say something, but can not hear the words.
Amélie gets into cover next to you, looking out into the death coming your way. She curses a string of gutter franc that makes Jeanne's prior outburst seem well-mannered. Her helmet cocks up as you stare at her in surprise. "Too bad about the suits. If we could take them off, we could die…" She trails off, her combat high slightly abating.
"I don't feel like dying tired. You?" You grin behind your faceplate. Perhaps you would not be executed if you retreated from this position.
Retreat from what?
Suddenly Philip throws himself into cover next to you. "Evening!" He laughs. Your head shoots around to look at his Rapier and the Servitors and troopers attending it. He's followed you all the way here. "Shitty place to die, if you ask me. But there's worse people to die with."
You mumble something.
"Come on!" You shout, as the wall of darkness approaches.
You wake up with a startle and lunge forward, something wrapped around your forehead is stopping you.
People around you are speaking in hushed whispers.
A figure in black robes walks around you. The human's eyes are covered by a blindfold. His forehead is tattooed with the symbol of the Astra Telepathica. The Emperor's Psykers.
You are in a room filled with noisome machines and foul vapours. You see figures in black armour holding lances standing near a doorway.
The Psyker puts a hand on your forehead and everything goes black.
You open your eyes in a dull, colourless Medicae ward, lying under a thin blanket. The constant sound of pistons pumping and blood filtration machines humming fills the room. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your head is pounding with a headache. Through narrowed eyeslits you see an empty bed across from you, slowly turning to the side, you see more beds packed together, but only a handful have figures lying in them.
You hear… the grinding of tracks. Servitor tracks perhaps? And the noise of something on a tray clanking. There is something in your left arm, and a line leading to a bag containing… blood perhaps?
Grey walls. No decorations. The engines sound wrong. Too clean. None of the occasional chugging of any troopship you've been aboard.
You try to get up, when a firm hand on your shoulder stops you. "Don't move."
A hulking form in a grey robe is sitting by your bedside. You are too tired to be shocked, and just quirk up an eyebrow as you realise it is Sergeant Khorban.
Your mouth feels dry. "Where…"
"The Grey Daughter, Gloriana-Class flagship of the Revenant Legion, alongside the rest of your Cohort." Khorban says with a rumbling voice.
"The figures in black. The Psykers." You try to climb out of your bed. The Astartes keeps you down with a single outstretched finger held against your chest."
"You were in close proximity to the First Legion after they deployed Chrono-Obliteration weapons. Your mind-wipe had to be more thorough than that of the rest of your cohort."
"Mind… wipe?" A spark of panic in your breast. "Was I not allowed to see those weapons?"
"The weapons weren't the problem." He taps a finger against his temple and grins, fangs visible. "Your visual memories of seeing the Cymoeba and Proteus were curdling to poison." He makes a snipping gesture with his fingers. "The Astra Telepathica removed the memories."
You frown. "I did not think we'd warrant such special attention."
He shrugs. "The Mind-Witches needed training in this, and you were available."
Considering the revelation, you lean back into your bed. "What is going to happen now?"
"You spent two weeks in a coma waiting for your turn to get a memory wipe. We are orbiting Mars to receive repairs after Proteus ate the front of the ship. And now we get to throw you out." He chuckles darkly. "Now tell me what you think of the new limb."
Your heart skips a beat and you rip away your blanket, the Astartes no longer stopping you.
You see:
[] A genewrought limb:
A thin line of scar tissue on just past your right elbow hints at the fact that your forearm has been replaced by a cloned one. The hand feels incredibly strong, in fact, the whole right side of your body feels stronger. You doubt you'd ever drop a sword while holding it in this.
Your right arm, the bones of your shoulder, and the muscles across your right shoulder and chest have been replaced by an Apothecary. You have an impeccable grip and your limb does not tremble.
[] A cybernetic forearm covered with cloned skin and flesh.
A nobleman's replacement limb of synth-skin and artificial bone and subtle cybernetics. You feel a twitching in your hand, and by presenting your palm, you see the barrel of a blast charger jutting out. There is also a cogitator screen on the back of your forearm, and a series of plugs.
Contains a one-shot Blast Charger pistol that can be reloaded through replacing the power cells located in your wrist. Also functions as a cogitator screen with Vox, Bio-monitor, and data storage options. All inferior to your void armour and presumably important to the previous owner.
[] A brutal cybernetic replacement:
Your forearm up to past the elbow has been replaced with a well-crafted but unadorned metal prosthetic. The limb is currently tied into a support cradle, and you can see a partially extended chainblade. You'll need to adjust your void armour to use this.
You have an extendable wrist-mounted chainblade.
You struggle to find the words. "You sat here waiting for me to see this? Why!?"
"I thought it'd be funny." Khorban says.
A burst of forced shocked laughter erupts from your lips at the thought of Khorban wanting to make a joke.
"So… What will happen after this. Another joint deployment? Will we be seeing each other again?" You ask.
To your surprise, Khorban actually seems slightly taken aback. "Perhaps." He searches for the right word. "The Ninth Legion will return to Neptune and continue the purgation. You will be returning to Terra for retraining. Our cooperation has been an exception from the norm. After Neptune, we will remain in reserve to be deployed to the worst war fronts. If that means we meet again? Then so be it."
You can see that, no matter how much he is hiding it, Khorban does like you.
He growls to remove any trace of a grin from his face. "Now follow me. I'll put you on a shuttle before one of our newly ascended brothers decides they fancy you."
The look on his face is a stoic mask hiding the sharp fangs you saw before. Sputtering garbled words emerge from your lips as you try to ascertain the level of innuendo and wordplay that the marine is using. "Bu-Wh, uhhh...Fancy? But, you! Wha-How!?"
He just stares at you, tilting his head to the side at your reaction. "Several of your troops did not survive medical treatment, and we do not waste flesh aboard this ship. Their memories live on in us." He adds with a grin. "And you look very tender."
Oh. You realise, to your growing horror, that he was literal. You are also:
(This is a humorous choice meant in good faith, and will in all likelihood not come up all that much. It is just fun. Do not make me remove it.)
[] Just a little bit disappointed:
Those robes have to be hiding something, right?
Herrand leans towards favouring men.
[] Just confused:
You're from Franc.
Herrand has no preference in partner, so long as they're human.
[] Very relieved:
You might be the only one in your family that doesn't sell to both sides in the conflict. Herrand leans towards preferring female partners.
[] Uncaring :
You only see a purpose to physical affection for reasons political and persuasive
Herrand has no desire for physical intimacy beyond political or economic reasons.
Sitting in the shuttle ferrying you to an officer's cabin aboard a freshly constructed troop-ship heading for Terra, you hold a data-slate as you read up on what your Cohort has been doing since you fell into your coma. The casualty estimates are grim. Thirty-five percent losses, two-thirds of the NCO's, many high ranking officers. The battle was a debacle, and the regiment needs large-scale reorganisation.
A message arrives on your slate. It is from the Legate Marshal.
He wishes you the best, and remarks on your excellent performance. He notes that for your actions, he has agreed to arm his personal retinue and private staff with Autopistols from your family. When you meet again on Terra, he wishes to discuss your promotion to commanding a Tercio, in light of the heavy losses and the retraining.
Your heart leaps at the news, and you quickly bring up the messaging system on your slate, trying to record a vid-message for your parents, when a message from them arrives.
It is the typically brusque but still caring message you have often received from your parents, encouragement, with them hiding their feelings over official correspondence with talks of pride, motivation, and awe.
The subject of Sallas Arms quickly comes up. You nod in approval at what they have been doing.
They discuss the contract with the Marshal, and how they have put their techno-savants to work in establishing an 'Autogun Package' to sell to colony worlds for starting up production using pre-supplied tools and local ores.
You assume your mother came up with that idea, she's always been more prone to selling knowledge and industry over your father's preference for firearms.
Sallar Arms has acquired a lucrative mine on Mercury, staffing it with well-trained Franc artisans and local labour. An orbiting Manufactorum will begin sending out its first packages of autoguns to the mobile mining settlements on the surface. There was a delay when the Martian Forge-Temple that they purchased equipment from suffered a rebellion. But thanks to the delayed shipment, they received an additional shipment of servitors as compensation.
Your family received word through back-channels that your brother has survived his ascension, and is now a member of the Third Legion. But also that in accordance with Legion protocols, they have taken a new name and will not contact their family. A marble statue of your brother now decorates your family home.
You flip the slate lengthwise and prepare to start typing out a reply. When you pause. What do you focus on?
[] Play down your narrow survival, focus on the good news:
Herrand hardens himself towards loss. He does not indulge in emotions.
[] For a moment, pour out your heart to your parents:
Herrand allows a moment of private weakness, away from sight.
[] Focus on a strictly professional message:
Herrand's ambition grows as he mentions he will not stop at the arms contract.
While you were recovering. Your Cohort was deployed to Terra for retraining and reorganisation. They have been deployed to
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats)
[] CentMerica:
As one of the first groups to side with the Emperor, the Mahya tribes have been granted, by a Sigillite Decree, the right and duty to restore their old cultural legacy. The jungles around their territory was hit by mutagenic warheads in millenia past, turning the wildlife hostile and virulent.
The Cohort trains in jungle warfare and preparations to fight on worlds with a hostile biosphere.
[] Gyptus:
The Sigilite has decreed that the Great Pyramid of Gyptus is to be rebuilt. While at the same time, the deserts of Northafrik are to be used for training in the operation of sealed armoured vehicles. The Cohort joins twenty million other Imperial soldiers in equal parts reconstruction labour and desert warfare training.
The Cohort trains in desert warfare and operations on airless worlds within the frost-line of star systems.
[] The Canad Wastes:
The great white north of Canad is one of the last areas of Terra not under Imperial control due to both its remoteness and the excessive amounts of mutants and hostile techno-tribes. The Verdyn Chemical Engineers were tasked with subduing the tribes with minimal loss of life, so as to integrate their labour and technology.
The Cohort trains in arctic warfare and operations on airless worlds beyond the frost-line of star systems.
[] Atlantik Dome Cities:
To partake in a suppression campaign against anti-Imperial tribes in the area, and waging a hearts and mind operation among the villages and tribes of the area by clearing away mutants and remaining mechanical threats.
The Cohort trains in pacifying local dispersed populations and bringing them into the Imperial fold. Using the proverbial velvet glove.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] Pan-Pacific-Empire remnants:
To partake in a suppression campaign against a handful holdouts against Imperial Rule that have survived the fall of the Pan Pacific Empire, destroying rogue machines, suppressing local rebellion, and enforcing the Imperial Truth.
The Cohort trains in crushing resistance, targeting intellectuals and leaders, taking hostages, and preparing for the arrival of actual reconstruction forces.
[] The retribution of Ursh:
Several Ursh cities have recently rebelled against Imperial rule. After their leaders were executed by the Custodes, the rebellions fell apart, but so did civil rule and administration. The Cohort is to use this as an opportunity to learn occupation duties.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities and handling non-compliant civilians.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
[] The liberation of the Arctic:
The Arctic Hive of Gorglund has recently been freed from a hidden cabal of Psykers that mentally controlled the population from the shadows. The Cohort is to aid in reconstruction and use this experience to learn how to bring Compliance to newly liberated populations.
The Cohort trains in reconstructing cities following liberation from Psychic(or Xenos) domination.
Cohort equipment will include Imperial crowd-control equipment: Water cannons, Web-launchers, Tear Gas, Rubber bullets, low-power adapters for Lasrifles, and Heavy Bolters.
As part of the reorganisation of your Cohort, it also received new vehicles. For planetary warfare, it is being retrained to deploy as:
(These are narrative choices and do not involve stats. All forms of equipment will be part of your Cohort, these are just how the bulk of your Cohort's infantry will deploy.)
[] A completely Aerospace capable drop-army:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort primarily operates in a supporting role. Each infantry section has its own Arvus Lighter to allow them to be deployed from orbit and to strategic locations on battlefields. Along with this comes a new air arm for the Cohort, fighter coverage and plenty of air strikes.
[] A completely Mechanized ground force:
When deploying planetside, the Cohort does so in the new Dracosan transports. Each infantry section has its own vehicle and trains to operate as Mechanized infantry alongside it. The vehicles are either deployed in whole Tercio's from large transports, or by individual shuttles.
The prologue is over and Act 1 has begun, and now the journey to true officer status within the Solar Auxilia is underway. Part of that means that combat will become more focused on tactical and strategic decisions and the like, with less of a focus on the nitty gritty of combat.
The current rolling system will last so long as you are on the Sub-Tercio/Tercio command levels. Once you become the commander of a Sub-Cohort, the combat will become increasingly abstract and instead be more about narrative choice and navigating your way through the Crusade.
4 hour Moratorium for voting. Plan voting, except for the orientation vote.
