War in the Cluster (Only War - IC)

[ArcturusV]

Minos:

Daily Status Update:
Thought for the day: "Through all acts, Man venerates the Immortal Emperor"

Imperial Forces
The Saints Eyes, Reconnaissance forces from the blessed world of Saint Ivans. Currently on stand down in the planetary capital of Lost Haven, liberty given in recognition of Saint Delos Week.
A line infantry unit from Karis who call themselves the Karis 5th Rifle Regiment, and most everyone else calls them the "Virgins" and other such slang due to this being their first deployment, and the life on Karis having produced guardsmen who hardly seemed able to even conceive of the idea that someone might actually try to kill them. Fearless, but foolish. Currently assigned to security and watch duties in the surrounding territory.
Graxan 35th "Firebat" Regiment, serving as the heavy component of this war, with their hellhounds and heavy weaponry they are currently locked in conflict with an uprising of mutants to the north of Lost Haven.


Known Heretical Forces:
Scattered remnants of the Minos 1st Guard Regiment remain on the planet's surface, hiding in the wilderness. Estimated 40% fighting strength remaining. Mass surrenders have been trickling in over the last 3 weeks.
Mutant uprisings and riots have been occurring in outlying settlements and mining camps. Uprisings have only started in the last week, current cause unknown, believed to be the local xenophobia against the "Plague Bearers" from the wider Imperium.


Lost Haven:
Lost Haven serves as the oldest settlement on Minos, and while the mines it was built around have long dried up, the underground excavations still remain, and much of the city is built into former mine shafts, using them for storage and housing. Lost Haven's surface is a small, walled compound, with a short rockcrete barrier surrounding the city and 7 gates out of the city, roads leading to distant settlements. The few surface buildings belong to the members of the PDF (Currently claimed by members of the Karis Rifles who are providing security for the region), the Spaceport that is Minos's sole link to the outside world, and a small enclave of the Machine Cult.

Lost Haven is the closest thing to decent city on the planet, having it's share of entertainment, distractions, places of faith, and professionals among the twisting mines of the city. Travel through the city is long and laborious but the locals don't seem to notice, with each shaft being zoned for different buildings, and requiring a trip up to the surface levels to reach another branch. The Industrial Shaft (Factories, warehouses), the Trades Shaft (Tradesmen and professionals from Jewelers to Scribes), the "Entertainment" shaft (a short shaft filled with the recreation in the city, be it booze, gambling, or more. The people of Lost Haven are a grim lot and go for simple pleasures over sweeping orchestras and high art), and the "Robes" Shaft (Where the Administratum has offices, as well as Ecclessiarchy chapels and shrines, and where what passes for nobility on the planet live).

It's a place that most of you know somewhat well now. The local populace still doesn't like you. Most try to seem to ward off the "plague" they think you must have, either by wearing filtration plugs and respirators, or in the case of the poorer simple rags as masks. There's an uneasy air in the city, and you're still on your two days of leave before heading back into the jungle to try to hunt down the rest of the traitor guardsmen, or perhaps breaking up the Mutants as some of the men are spreading rumors about.

But for now you have your leave. The General himself has sequestered himself in one of the chapels to the God-Emperor, seeking divine guidance from him and his saints. The war, such as it was, seemed to be almost over, and discipline was getting a little lax as of late.

[Entaris]

Rexus Arkan wiped his brow and smiled as her finished the last torque check on the Saint's Eyes Chimera, lovingly nicknamed "Sheyla's Scorn" after a women who, it is said, attempted to seduce Saint Ivan, but was summarily turned away. It was also said that later the same woman was seen to come charging out of the dropship she had stowed away on into a fray of enemies, screaming fury to the sky with flamer and autopistol in hand.

That should about do it! Rexus remarked cheerfully to his gunner, Kelnst Bolgin, who was making busy buffing the various chromed bits Gunmetal Arkan always had affixed to whatever vehicle he was to operate, claiming it brought him good luck. The most prominent piece of such gleaming metallic items was Rexus's personal favorite autocannon, a chromed Howler he requisitioned immediately upon discovering the regiment had a pattern of weapon with the same name as his old gang.

Kelnst nodded and looked the transport over once more, inspecting the nozzles on the hull-mounted heavy flamer, the feeds on the storm bolter above the turret and the hellguns affixed to arms above ecah of the six viewing holes, ready to be swung down by passengers to aid in entry.

Arkan beamed and clapped his partner-in-drive on the shoulder, M'boy, it's been a long time since we first met, you and me, and I have to say you've become a man even the Saints would admire. He remarked, eliciting a barking laugh from the much younger Bolgin, Yes,Uncle, I'm sure that my 'specific' talents wouldn't cloud my given perception by the Emperor's Chosen whatsoever... He commented back, having had this duel of words many-a-time since meeting 'Uncle Rexus', who seemed to think his darkened past was more of an asset that the curse he saw it as.

Wiping his hands on his fatigues, Gunmetal Arkan stood back and admired his vehicle for a moment before turning away from the motor pool, Well, that's done. Let's go see what the boys are up to. He said as he headed towards the regiment's hab.

[Hemnon]

Rowan was hitting a lazy-streak, snoozing over in the corner of the billet-area, his huge Autocannon nuzzled close and securing, almost like it was a teddy bear or something like it.

He was a fairly new addition to the regiment, although he appeared to be hardened like a seasoned guardsman, before their first battle. From his own point of view, he was a handsome guy with a funny-streak, always ready with a snappy remark or a witty joke. Of course that's just his own idea of himself, which is most likely a fair deal off the mark.

And he was snoring like a beached whale, nearly sounding like incoming artillery, which made it rather hard for everyone else to get any shut-eye, which is why he was given a billet a fair distance from everyone else, over in the corner.

[Doc Kraken]

The hab door creaked open as Commissar Ffordeham pushed his way in, hat and sash immaculate to founding-day standards. The disciplinary malaise that came with the General's sequestration seemed to have hardly touched the man; he still retained every trace of his not-inconsiderable enthusiasm and energy. The Commissar had been using his leave to engage in brisk morning runs, repeatedly tour the barracks, offer unsolicited advice to officers and other Commissars, and delegate paperwork to whoever had annoyed him most recently.

And in his mind, it was nearly impossible to keep to his schedule in the face of the infernal racket arising from the habs...

It didn't take him long to identify the source of the commotion. Percarim's eyes narrowed and his mustache bristled as he glowered at Rowan.

"Down-time is one thing," he grumbled. "But by the God-Emperor, there's got to be limits. A man can hardly hear himself think in here." His eyes gleamed as an idea took root. Creeping quietly, he slipped next to the snoozing Guardsman, took a deep breath, and leaned down next to his ear.

"Trooper Acrylis," he began softly, before letting loose with his best parade-ground roar. "Atten-shun! What do you mean by this bloody noise? You, my lad, are having a deleterious effect on morale, and by Holy Terra I shall break you of it! On your feet! One-two, come on now!"

[Dekana]

At the corner opposite from Rowan, a set of bunks have been separated by a hanging cloth partition: a small gesture towards modesty for the female troopers quartered there. The partition is currently open, and Lumina, the squad's medic, can be seen sitting on one of the bunks with a book in hand.

Lumina sharply looks up from her book when someone a commissar starts shouting at the far end of the hab. After a few moments, she returns to the text with an annoyed look on her face.

Lying on the same bunk is Elessa, an assistant medic under Lumina. She is currently staring up at the ceiling, her face rather pale. She makes no movement when Ffordeham starts berating Rowan.

[Caimheul]

Carnelia springs awake at the first boom of the Commissar's voice, sitting up suddenly in her bunk, head just missing the bunk above her. "Bloody warp." she says to herself, before heading over to join the commissar still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She salutes sharply before addressing the commissar, still leery as his appointment to the regiment was rather recent. "Commissar Ffordeham."

[Hemnon]

Rowan jerks awake and nearly falls out of his bunk as he tries to get to his feet fast and quick, accidently banging his kneecap against a bulky part of his Autocannon. "Bloody hell on a Tuesday, jeez that hurts!" he grumbled out to himself as he got to his feet and half saluted, half rubbing his sore knee. "What's up Commissar? Did I do something wrong recently?" he asked, still having fresh memories about being accuses of indecently placing his hands on a female trooper, which was of course just the Commissar's good sense of humor for getting him into shape... So Rowan was in no mood for getting another of such a rumor pinned on him again.

[LeSwordfish]

Praise-Be-The-Saint was polishing her eyeglass, running a scrap of vizzy-cloth over the end of the old brass instrument. She was muttering the litany of true sight as she did so.

"In your head, Praiseby." Anna muttered from the topmost bunk. The older sniper was sat cross-legged, eyes closed, resting, if not asleep.

"I have to say them out loud." Praiseby, who was small and young and blonde, and rather popular amongst the younger male guardsmen, looked up at Anna with large round eyes. Like a rabbit. "The pastor said."

"The saint can still hear them in your head." Anna cracked one eye and a small smile at the younger woman, before returning to her meditation. It wasn't good to let her eyes tire.

She snapped open when Ffordeham began shouting and watched with quiet disinterest. On the bunk below, Praise-Be made a small satisfied noise and returned to cleaning her eyeglass, apparently confident that the commissar would find nothing wrong with her.

[Xunthrae]

Vin sat in his bunk mindlessly rubbing his Rosario while listening to the others in the bunk room, mildly perturbed at the volume of a far of member's snoring. Not wanting to get caught with something out of regulation, Vin took out a mirror to inspect his short black hair. He meticulously audited personal appearance fixing any discrepancy in his uniform. He did not want anyone mistaking a lacking appearance for corruption. Only watching as another soldier was berated for his snoring.

[Entaris]

Just as everyone had gathered to see the commotion, Rexus pushed his way through the hab door with one broad shoulder, So, lads, wha's tonight's mischi-...ah, erm... He stuttered to a stop as he noticed the Commissar, he and Bolgin snapping a salute and sliding off to one side which held piles of part boxes arranged tastefully into piles around two hammocks made of old grapnel line.

[Fibinachi]

The black water that passed as recaff on Minos had a taste like gravel, a consistency like sludge and a kick like an autocannon. Drinking it was an exercise in biting back the urge to throw up, while hoping the crud hadn't eaten through your mug. It was delicious. A Saint Delos week truly well spent, getting acquainted with the local brew.

Of course, walking around the subsurface levels did mean people stared, and a few made some very inventive signs when they thought Firniks attention elsewhere. Which showed how much they knew. Masks was an everpresent feature, an entire city of thrice filtrated breath and gently huffing crowds. Hopefully the Karis 5th and their ineffective security sweeps by overeager, smiling guardsmen who all seemed entirely unaware of the idea of firezones could keep a lid on things long enough for Firnik to work his way down the entertainment shaft. Ah, but for that glorious shot at whatever flowing rock with pretensions of being drinkable offered at the very lowest levels, he'd need some good Eyes to watch his back.

Didn't trust all these miners in masks and their going on about diseases.

Who knew, maybe Rowan could be good for a distraction or two. Didn't recall much from the Schola about Psykers and all that, but Vin might be good in a card game. Could be good to have at least one person who actually followed the rules at the table...
Terra, he'd just invite the whole squad. Make an excursion out of it, good reason to mingle and it'd shake people together for a bit. Finishing the last dregs of recaff available in his battered mug, and his train of thought with it, Firnik looked up to find that his idle feet had taken him to the squad barracks.
Perfect. Firnik swept through the open door (which really should have been a clue), and gave the cloth-split room his best smile.

"I have a great idea for tonight's mischief!"

And there was Comissar Ffordeham doing his best parade-ground routine, most eyes in the room on him. Rexues and Bolgin both were apparently slipping towards their hammocks, having just made the same tactical mistake Firnik had. Bloody warp of an ambush to walk into. Well, if you were going to get overun, you hit the full auto switch and muttered the prayer of acceleration.

"... It involves whole-some recaff drinking and mingling with the local pop... popula... people. All saintly, regulatory-like. Squad excursion, yeah?"

[LeSwordfish]

"That doesn't sound very mischevious." Praiseby said, with a slightly confused expression and the look of an angel.

[Idares]

As the commotion seems to escalate within the barracks a hunched figure seems to float by in all haste, oblivious to the mud pool his fellow soldiers have found themselves in.

In his witherd hands he cradles something most precious in such a manner that it could be mistaken for a baby.

"Oh yes, this is truly beautiful. From this shell we will birth an eye that burns with a most accurate fury. Not so Simon?"

A lumbering pale giant is in short persuite of the eager cloaked being. It vibrates: "Concur"

The determined Tech Preist waves a hand at hulk and snaps at it: "Oh be silent Simon! Of course you concur, your my mindless servitor." He then stops and pauses to stare at the unassembled Laser Sight in his hands. "But you are right Simon, this one would fit best with the larger Lasgun Child."

As the Enginseer called Sigismund was about to move of his eyes started to widen in awe, almost dropping the now less interesting Laser Sight parts to the floor. He takes a deep breath: "Can my visors deceive me? Its marvelous! So majestic and noble! Come Simon, I must befriend such a wondrous beast"

Sigismund's Servo Claw snaps repeatedly in anticipation. He shuffles as quickly as possible towards the Chimera that has caught his eye...

[Doc Kraken]

The Commissar fixed Rowan with a beady-eyed stare, half oblivious to the commotion his appearance had caused. "Yes, sah! You have done something wrong! Your...your blasted snoring could blow the eardrums out of a bull grox! That's not healthy, my boy! Not conducive towards discipline or considerate of the squad's needs! An ill-rested soldier is an inattentive soldier." He straightened up, noticing the others...if only as an object lesson.

"Why can't you be more like Firnik here, eh? Planning group activities and whatnot. Capital idea, good for morale. But you, sah, seem like a lad who appreciates a good rest. Tell you what, I'll do you a favor on that. A little healthy exercise ought to get you in top form for your next snooze. Don't fret, we'll get you too tired to snore! Ten laps around the building, quick as you can! Hup hup hup!"

[Entaris]

Rexus scratches his chin in thought a moment, I wonder if there's something wrong with his skull that makes 'im sound like an off-kilter boltgun He suggested, turning to the group before Kelnst, who was just laying back in his hammock, piped from behind the cap over his face, Heard it was a nose thing once. Something about passages being too narrow or somethin' Might ask Mad Doc Metalhead He offered before dozing off.

Rexus lit up, again impressed by his comrade's ability to rifle off the best suggestion out of nowhere. He hopped off his box and, after his arm made the large arc of an aborted around-the-shoulder he was always forgetting not to do to the commissar, he quietly reamrked to his officer Commissar, by your leave, I would locate the Enginseer and see if there isn't a more...permanent method to bring that rattle to quiescence? Not that he couldn't still use the excercise! He roared laught at the last part, rubbingt hte back of his head instead of slapping the commissar on the back as he would for any other not-his-immediate-superior colleague.

[padraig]

Theophilus made his way back from the Robes, striding confidently through the crowd of locals. His polished aquila necklace was openly on display, as was his St. Ivan's made chainsword. He'd spent quite some time in the Robes, between performing and attending the various services. The rest of the regiment was getting some rest, but he was busier than ever this holy week.

Valeria leaned in and whispered, "That one gave me a funny look."

"They've all been giving us funny looks. They think we've got some sort of disease. You know this. Be more vigilant, child." He responded quietly, trying to make sure the locals passing by didn't overhear.

He'd quickly grown irritated with these locals. Suspicion is often a virtue, but these people were straying into the realm of ungratefulness. He could have sworn he heard someone say "diseased son of a Grox" as he made his way onto the surface.

Hearing laughter as he approached his bunk, he perked up a bit. The joviality of the men and women was a welcome respite from waves of evil eyes and muttered insults. Grinning, he strode into the room.

"I've been spreading His Holy Word for hours now. What have you bunch of lazy oafs been up to?"

[Hemnon]

Rowan laughed out at the joke, that he could still use more exorcise. "If i got more muscles, there'd be not need for the Imperial Guard, just the Imperial Hulk instead. Gahahahahaha~" he continued laughing, for a second forgetting about the Commissar looking up at him.

"Oh um, sorry about that mister Commissar-Sir... I had Watch Duty up until a few hours ago and i really need the sleep after that... any chance of letting my snoring slide this one time? I'm no use all exhausted and worn out, am I? Kaitlin is sleeping as well, just look!" he said and pointed towards his Gunners-mate, who where sleeping right over there next to the sniper-girls. "I didn't mean to snore... just happens sometimes..." He said, scratching the stubs on his left cheek

[Idares]

Once Rexus is excused and would make his way to his precious Chimera he would notice the dull Servitor Clenching the back end track of the APC in futility an in attempt to hinder it's motion.

From the hatch pops out the hooded head and torso of the Tech Priest, wiring of the MIU protruding from his temples "Come now Simon, I said push not pull! It is crucial that we push Patrocinium to her limits to determine her capabilities. She might be weeping now, but it is for her own good."

If this was not shocking enough for Rexus the view on further inspection would be. The furthest left track has been disassembled and laid out neatly like a dissected cadaver.

[Entaris]

After getting directions as to the whereabouts of the regiment's wandering Techpriest, Rexus steels himself before entering the motor pool. Even so, he stops cold as he sees his darlin Scorn's tread strewn across the floor, HOI! You great crazed Cogweel! He shouts up to the Enginseer as he clambers up the intact side, What'd we talk about at the blasted HQ?! I understand that you're here on behalf of the Omnissiah, but, By Throne, you need to at least let someone KNOW before rattling around the insides of my darlin' Sheyla! He immediately began checking his chrome, expecting some outlandish alteration to have marred his good luck insignia during the Techpriests 'inspiration'.

[Doc Kraken]

Ordinarily, Rowan's excuses might have won him a little leniency. Ordinarily, of course, the Commissar wouldn't be making such a big deal over snoring. If truth be known, the downtime was making him restless...

"No excuses, now, lad, what would the Saint think of you? Tell you what, I'll jog with you! Surely you can keep up with one old paper-pusher, eh?"

And with that, Ffordeham began to jog in place, bullying the hapless Guardsman toward the door.

[Idares]

Sigismund perks up. "Oh, Oparatetor Rexus! He who tamed Patrocinium. You must forgive thhe lack of communication, I find spontaneous inspiration to be the best inventor. Do not fret, but one has to push the beast for greater results. If it has only one leg, it is easier to push."

He then falls silent and notices the soldier's jaw drop at the sight of the removed chrome upgraddes. "Oh do not be concerned Rider, Simon and I expertly managed to remove those cancerous growths without wounding the Creature." If he did not have a mask, one would have been able to see him smile with inocent glee.

Just before he dives back down into the the capula, he quickly jumps back up. "On a note of education, I am an Enginseer not a cogwheel. A Cogwheel, on the other hand is something that is used..." He continues to give an indept lecture on cogwheels and engineering.

[Hemnon]

Rowan groaned and just resigned to his fate and ran, as the commissar had told him to. He was dead-tired but if the commissar was stupid enough to exhaust one of the heavy gunners in the squad, then by all means. He wouldn't feel much pity for the Commissar when he ends up dead because he'd exhausted the one that is armed with an autocannon.

[Entaris]

Mother of Saints... Rexus sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, Enginseer, I've said this. Amongst my people, chrome-plated accoutrement is considered a blessed thing. The techpriests of Scintilla use it to bolster the pride of the machine spirits by granting them just a touch of the ability to reflect the Emperor's holy light. He reasoned, unsure whether or not anyone knew much about Scintillan superstition outside Gunmetal City's own forges, nor whether this was even true, though it had been passed down from the Boss of the Howlers directly, so Arkan didn't really question it.

[Doc Kraken]

Commissar Ffordeham easily kept pace with the worn-out Guardsman, seemingly oblivious to the man's exhaustion. His coat flapped behind him as he jogged along an old mine rail.

"Good lad, that's the stuff! One-two-one-two...good, clean exercise, my boy, that's the ticket! Just the stuff to keep one in fighting trim! Wave to the locals, now." His cheerful bluster descending into a bass mumble. "Plague carriers, are we? I'll show them plague carriers. Healthy as a bull grox, each and every one of us!"

[ArcturusV]

As the Commissar and the Gunner ran along the rails of the Industrial Shaft, most avoided their glances. People trudging towards their hab blocks, or to the taverns after a long, hard day of toiling in the processing plants. Most were caked in grime from the machines and the ores they processed, dressed in ragged clothing that seemed barely up to the rigors of their daily lives.

Both Ffordeham and Rowan noticed a few of the workers however acting a little... off. Where others avoided them, they stared at the interlopers in their Guard Uniforms and cheerful jogging so out of place among the trudging slog that most of the workers were in. They leveled long glances at the Guardsman and Commissar.

This happened a good six times, small little pockets of workers who just seemed to pay a bit too much attention to the presence of the soldiers. Not that it was hard to draw attention, everyone avoided the "Plague carriers" by a good 10 meters, scrambling out of their way the best they could. They kept trudging past, hiking up their shoulders to ward off the "unclean" off worlders as the moment passed.

[LeSwordfish]

With the commissar gone, Anna slipped cat-like from her bunk and crossed over to Firnik.

"So," she asked him, sotto voice. "What was your real plan?"

[Dekana]

Lumina takes the Commissar's departure as a cue to put down her book and stroll over to join Anna and Firnik.

"Not that I wouldn't mind some recaff, but - " she crosses her arms and makes sly grin " - I don't think that was the mischief you had in mind."

[Fibinachi]

"Recaff? Hah! Of course not. That'd be boring, Lum."

Wonder if he should spin about and join the jog. Bit of pre-evening exercise jogging to get ready for his actual running. No, no, Firnik, focus. Don't insult the sniper who can hit anything by running off to jog now.

"My actual plan involves good recaff. From down the shaft. I figure we all go see what the locals do down there, play a few rounds of cards, enjoy ourselves. I'm all done with the recaff on the upper layers, and I've heard grand things about their card games. And drinks. Apparently it involves rock? And they have this variation on Three Hand spire I want to see if we can cheat at. I was going myself but remembered the doc says I have an "Av-er-si-on" to being stabbed. Which is odd, cause they don't make me sneeze or nothing"

[LeSwordfish]

Anna frowned. "I don't like the way the locals look at us. Further we go into their territory, angrier they're going to get."

"What are you talking about over there?" Praiseby whined.

"Nothing. Say your prayers." Anna replied automatically.

[Idares]

Sigismund wanted to restart his lecture on mechanics. He takes a deep breath: "As I was sa..." Then pauses for a few seconds to ponder. "Yes, the Seargent has discussed this in depth with myself before, a concept of troop morale as she called it. To comment, the concept fleets me. None the less, very well."

He scrambles down from the copula and starts reattaching the left track. "Simon, you can reinfect Patrocinium with those chrome protrusions."

"Affirmative"

"Yes! Yes! I know you Servitor! No need to get overly witty"