The Forty-First Millennium came to a close with the death of Cadia and the Great Rift opened in it's wake, plunging the galaxy into a new era of chaos.
A Primarch has returned to guide the Imperium once more. Enemies of Humanity have laid siege to Holy Terra. What was once an almost stagnant Mechanicus has found at least some small part stirring to life following the footsteps of one who dared to innovate. Distant Xenos stir from their slumber, pacts of convenience are struck, and hungering maws draw ever closer.
Somewhere amidst this intensifying madness we find a newly risen regiment of the Astra Militarum, more commonly known as the Imperial Guard, marching forth into a galaxy aflame.
They are not you.
You?
You are the whims of Fate to which thousands of lives will move. None among the soldiers marching to war will follow your orders, but by your choices their stories will be told.
So… From which world will our regiment hail?
[] Balmung - A breadbasket of the greater Imperium, it is from Balmung's fertile plains that dozens of systems and hundred of worlds are kept fed. Much of the planet is dominated by plains, the few mountainous regions acting as transit hubs and cities while the planet's people have long lost memory of the concept of forests (the last forest was cleared from the planet surface over nine hundred years ago).
Due to the abundance of food the planet provides and it's crucial nature for the stability of so many worlds this is merely the sixth time Balmung has found itself forced to tithe a regiment to the Militarum.
[] Urtul - Imagine, if you will, a planet encased in a gargantuan shell of rusting metals. Standing within an observation deck in orbit constant flashes of light lash out from within the decaying structure. If one could pierce through that outer shell they would find endless corridors and long abandoned chambers devoid of true value.
Head even deeper below and soon metal corridors give way to a world forgotten. Forests, long dead, lay preserved as they were seemingly centuries ago. Mountains stripped bare of all but the most worthless stone stand slouched amidst vast wastes. And yet even this planet must pay it's tithe as the 34th Urtul marches out into the stars.
[] Caledonia - Idyllic plains filled with wheat. Rolling hills crested with emerald forests. Quaint rivers beside which rest peaceful hamlets. Vast mountain chains separate the world of Caledonia into distinct territories and it is in the valleys and canyons connecting each that the rattle of iron and clash of steel ring true.
Again the time for the fiefdoms of Caledonia to pay their tithe has come. Again the honored knights of each land have been bequeathed the ceremonial garbs and taken up their swords as members of the 122nd.
[] Forge E-4258-M-9 - Forge Epsilon 4258 Minor 9. Belonging to the greater Forge World of Epsilon 4258, Minor 9 is a minor celestial body orbiting the planet proper. Long ago it was hauled there in order to sustain industries deemed too toxic for undertaking below. While those industries continue to this day the people who call it home have adapted in their own ways.
As a regular attempt to prevent unsustainable population growth and to reduce the Forge World's tithe so resources might be put towards greater projects, the Fabricator-General has ordered the formation of several regiments for the Guard. Among them is the E-4258-M-9.59.AMR.
NaNoWriMo kicking off once again and a little too much Darktide have given me a desire to write for an idea kicking around in my head. Rather than controlling a specific character you all will piece together a regiment of guardsmen being cast into the meatgrinder of the 42nd Millennium and from there you will act as fate. Voting for what theater of war they are thrown to, what surprises await them, how things all go to shit when battle begins, and the like to see what stories unfold as a result.
