The Storm <Team Three>

[Kyeudo]

It looks like you survived it all. The time in prison awaiting trial, the two months of basic training, and the trip so far, crammed into a small room on a military transport with your squadmates. Basic was the worst, with the grueling combat drills and days of marching. The odd thing is, is that ever since you were arrested the food has been pretty much the same, a pile of brown slop the cooks brew up from whatever seems to be lying around.

Your squadmates are like you in some ways, convict soldiers serving out their sentance on the front lines. In a way, its better than ending up in the mines or the factories, slaving to death in the heat and never seeing the sun, but not by much.

You and the other squads on this ship are the "property" of the Confederacy of Stars, a cluster-spanning nation of great power. You've been sentanced to serve as Confederacy Marines for varying lengths of service, depending on the severity of the crimes you were convicted of. If you manage to serve out your term of service alive, you get the option of continuing your service or leaving with a clean slate. Not many make it that far.

You are being deployed on the border planet of Alvion IV, a small mining outpost. Alvion III recently dropped out of communication with the rest of the Confederacy, and rebellion or piracy is the suspected cause. You are on a "peacemaking" mission. If there's rebellion, put it down. If there's piracy, hunt it down. If there is niether, keep it from starting. Your commanding officer, Seargent Blake, will give you further instructions upon arrival. For now, all you can do is sit, wait, and get aquainted with your new squadmates.

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Note: this story line is going to be more steam-punk than normal D&D. Expect Eberron-level magitech or more.

[DiscipleofBob]

"OY! WHER' THE BLOODY HELL AM I?! I'LL TAKE YE ALL ON YE COWARDLY BASTARDS!" It was a very familiar sound when Orgeth woke up, something that his bunkmates had to get used to. How Orgeth could even start the day off with that much energy and a hangover without any alcohol readily available was a mystery. The past two months had been the worst of Orgeth's life, even worse when he got kicked out of his homelands. It started out as just a barfight, a simple honest brawl. Maybe he started it, maybe he didn't. Who cares? Anyone who got hurt probably had it coming, and anyone who walked away had guts that Orgeth respected. It's not like it was the first barfight he'd been in, nor the first one that he was arrested and did some time for. But this last one, he wasn't sure what happened. He was still kind of drunk during the proceedings, but the next thing he knew, he was being shipped off to boot camp instead of prison or the mines. Those would've been fun. Boot camp was just annoying. Escaping was too much trouble, so Orgeth made sure to give his superiors as hard a time as he could give 'em, a practice that continued to this day. If there was one thing Orgeth hated in the world, it was authority. Almost every day he woke up forgetting where he was, and cursing at the top of his lungs before his mind reoriented itself. Aside from the outbursts and the general disdain for authority, Orgeth came to actually like some of his fellow inmates. As far as he was concerned, they were in the same boat, right now literally. Then they were finally deployed, to try and put down some rebellion or piracy or some rubbish like that. Orgeth kept wondering the whole time why he shouldn't just go side with the rebels or pirates or whatever. They gotta be a better lot than these mooks who kept ordering him around...

[Armads]

Yry gets up quickly, and looks around, ready to dodge anything that would be thrown at him. Prison was terrible, but once the wardens found out that he had been a son of a chief, they took their grudges out on him. It did not help that he was smaller than the rest, anyway.

I'll get back at those losers some day...

Letting his thoughts wander, he suddenly remembered that man's face. The one who he attacked by mistake, thinking he was a bandit. He was, actually a bandit, but he had powerful friends. It was all that man's fault, pressing for charges and getting him such a terrible sentence. But he'd made a mistake. With the training he'd acquired in Boot Camp, Yry would be sure to repay him the favor. If he survived this peacemaking mission.

[Kyeudo]

Wall of text hits you for 100d6 sanity damage!

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FYI:
Crime in the Confederacy is punished in several ways. Most minor crimes (such as petty theft) recieve corporal punishment coupled with public humiliation, such as forty lashes in the public square.
More major crimes (such as assault, rape, or murder) get sentanced to work off their debt to society, either as an indentured worker or as a convict soldier. Assignments to either depend on the crime commited, the current needs of the state, and the likely aptitudes of the criminal. (This means that your fellow marines are not likely to be nice people.)

Attempting to escape your sentance is its own crime, one of the few crimes that can carry a penalty of death. Treason is one of the few others, and carries a mandatory death penalty.

Military justice can be even harsher. Insubbordination, assaulting an officer, and desertion of duty all can carry a penalty of death, although corporal punishment is more common.

Basic training for convict soldiers generaly amounts to which end of a spear goes in the enemy, a crash course in military discipline, and some specialized training for those that share a modicum of talent (such as spellcasting of infiltration skills). Those that wash out of basic training or are deemed unfit for service are sent to the mines or factories.

This does not mean that everyone in the Confederate Military is a criminal or ex criminal. Those that join willingly tend to get specialized training and are usualy deployed as officers commanding squads of convicts. Most of the upper ranks are made of those that joined up willingly.

It is possible to earn a battlefield pardon through meritous service and valor.

Convicts are easy to recognize. They are branded in the middle of their foreheads using a modifed, permanent version of arcane mark, which is removed when their sentance is up. The mark has a tendancy to shine through even magical disquises and form changes, although it is possible to hide or temporarily surpress. There is a black market for early removal of the brand, but it is extremely expensive and hard to find.

Orgeth probably got drunk in the wrong port town and ended up a hapless victim of Confederate justice.

Armads, feel free to name that man, unless you want to not know his name. You can also discribe him and how he fought, if you'd like. The more information you give me about him, the more I can flesh him out in game, if you are looking for some sort of rival/nemesis.

Everyone can feel free to choose the crime that landed them in the marines and the length of their sentance. The length of sentance won't end up mattering to the campaign (at least it shouldn't). Just give yourself something appropriate to the severity of the crime, between 2 and 20 years.

[Mantid]

Feste sat in the corner, watching is "fellow convicts" get up, as he scratched at the mark on his forehead. He knew the itching was only in his mind, just the fact that he knew it was there and couldn't see it rather then any effect of the mark itself. However, telling himself such things couldn't give him the same relief as scratching the imaginary itch did.

He certainly didn't deserve the mark. His so called crimes had been petty, a little food here, some pipe weed from the captain's private stash, a quick nap on the captain's couch when he wasn't looking... nothing serious. They couldn't expect him to sacrifice all his luxuries while he crewed their ship, after all, even if he did do as little as possible. Course none of that mattered this last time. It seems one of the younger captains Feste has served under, Erlis Headstrong, had taken up a Confederate commission and had been promoted several times. Erlis, apparently wasn't one to forgive and forget, either, as Feste hoped after running into his old captain so many years later. It wasn't like Feste had known that bottle of wine was a gift from some princess from some minor royal family, meant to be drunk the next time the princess and Erlis met!

Feste shook his head as Orgeth strung up from bed, throwing a half-eaten, stale biscuit at the dwarf. The biscuit was almost as hard as a rock, and tasted like it was only half as digestible, but it was an improvement over the gruel they were fed and was one of the few things Feste felt he could get away with "borrowing" from the kitchens.

"One of these days I'm going to sew your mouth shut while you sleep," Feste teased.

[Armads]

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Yry doesn't know the name of that guy.

[Leon]

Wolfe uncurls from his bed and shakes himself down.

Anotherday, another drill, another day i wish i'd just stayed in shape. Just cant open doors like this he thinks as he pads over to the slop

[DiscipleofBob]

The stale biscuit hit Orgeth squarely in the head and fell on his lap. Rubbing his head from the pain, Orgeth quickly picked up the biscuit and started wolfing it down. "Oy, thanks for the breakfast! I owe ya one." Whether he was just being sarcastic or serious was kind of hard to tell sometimes.

[The_Shaman]

Felstahan

The wiry elf in the corner doesn't rise yet, staying a little longer in that meditative posture of his. He just opens his eyes for a moment to look around and, seeing that there wasn't a big chance that anyone would try to beat him up or throw something dangerous in his direction in the next thirty seconds, closes them once more. His mind needed a bit more time to shake out the trance and pull itself in full shape, and Fel needed his mind just as much as he needed the rest of the body... probably more. He didn't feel guilty of anything, he didn't feel indebted to anyone, and he certainly didn't feel like staying... if he could help it. He had never cared much about the military and he didn't want to start now. Unfortunately, the military cared about him, it had him, and that's all that mattered at this point.

Well, that and just what in Corellon's name was that thing his father had taken and those humans were so hell-bent on. For all Felstahan knew of them, their military types didn't make that much of an effort for some old archeological find. And, on a much lesser level, just when he would have to get up: the way his cellma... okay, squadmates were rising, it might have to be soon.

Felstahan Evenbreeze breathed in heavily, opened his eyes and, for lack of a better word, unfolded.

[Kyeudo]

The door to the room slams open, revealing Lieutenient Carter. The short, stocky human, almost as stocky as a dwarf, glares at everyone, still barely waking up. "You've got five minutes to dress and report on deck. We make planetfall within the hour and the Seargent wants to be sure everyone's ready for a hot drop." He leaves just as abruptly as he came, muttering under his breath about green recruits.

[Armads]

Yry quickly dresses and goes to the deck as fast as possible. Being late would probably get him into trouble with those annoying officers.

[Mantid]

Besil jumps to his feet. He takes a quick stretch before slipping his equipment on and making sure his "borrowed" goods are safely hidden. Sipping his daggers into place, he hurries onto the deck, mumbling about having to work today.

[The_Shaman]

Felstahan

The elf stands up and stretches for a few moments before changing into his "official" clothes. He doesn't seem in any particular hurry, but his movements are as fluid as they are precise. He takes up something from his pocket, fingers it slightly, and puts it in the pocket of his uniform. He goes out at the same time the others do, mumbling something in elven.

((does anyone else speak elven?))

[DiscipleofBob]

Orgeth mutters dwarven curses under his breath. If he were in a position to escape, these would be loud-mouthed slanders in every language he could think of. Now was kind of a tricky situation. He got dressed and got his equipment geared up, but he took his time doing so, and spat at the ground in disgust.

[Leon]

Raagh, aargt

With a Thought and a slight action and a feeling of a change in pressure.

as i was going to say, Once more unto the breach.
i wonder what drudgery will will be enduring on this foray

[Kyeudo]

You all gather on the ships deck with the other three squads stationed on this ship, lining up with formal precision. Ahead of the vessal, you can see the jagged disk of Alvion IV, a brown expanse of mostly barren dirt and rock on which some farmers and ranchers eek out an existance. Alvion IV isn't as rich a world as its rebellious neighbour, but the Confederacy doesn't like losing so much as a single asteroid, let alone a modestly useful planet.

Seargent Darius "Blackeye" Blake marches in the door, followed closely by the four lieutenents. The grizzled gnome marches to the front of the group, back ram-rod straight. His gaze sweeps out accross the assembled marines, the black stone occuping his left eye socket leaving you the eerie sensation he's still watching you, even though his real eye has since moved on. Blake is as hardnosed as they come. After one of the new marines gave him some lip over his height, he decked the man and gave him twenty lashes for disrespecting an officer. From the rumors of his exploits, you hear that was his way of being kind.

"Alright you apes, we have been given the honor of securing Alvion IV. There are only two settlements, so this should be easy. You will be deployed in two squad teams, one to each settlement. I will be leading one team to the northern settlement, while Lieutenent Anders will be leading the second team to the south. We are to cut down any resistance to Confederacy possession of the planet. Anyone who doesn't resist, don't bother. Get to the drop boats and we will get this over with. Dissmissed."

[Armads]

Yry quickly and quietly shuffles to a drop boat, and prepares for deployment as learnt from his training.

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Umm, why are we at Alvion IV again? I thought the rebellion was at Alvion III

[Kyeudo]

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You are being deployed to keep the rebellion from spreading. The main force is heading to Alvion III.

[DiscipleofBob]

Orgeth grumbles his way over to the drop boat and climbs in. Maybe if he got lucky, he could find a way out of this military bull**** on the planet below. Either way, he started taking notice to his compatriots' moods and feelings about the situation to decide whether or not any of them were trustworthy.

[The_Shaman]

Felstahan

Fel looked to the side after the gnome finished, going over something in his mind. As the gnome leaves, he quietly says Hmm, so he suspects rebellion. Only natural if he hasn't been told anything to the contrary, I suppose..., mostly to himself.

He goes to the dropboat with a thoughtful expression on his mind, which he puts aside with a sigh as he prepares for deployment

[Kyeudo]

The other squad assigned to your strike team is composed of all humans. Most seem to be simple thugs, probably sentanced here for assault or robbery, although one member of that squad looks more like he's doing time for petty theft or some other minor crime, as he's so skinny. Most of them look apathetic to their fate, while the skinny guy looks nervous. The two lieutenents, Anders and Carter, look more bored than anything else.

As you all get settled on the wooden benches along the tall sides of the wooden drop boat, the two sailors manning the boats aether sails cast off from the transport. The boat sails down to wards the planet, towards a small village on the south end of the planet. From the air you can see it to be not much more than a handful of houses built around a mill and a blacksmith.

Through the void of space you can just make out similar drop boats launching from the other ships of the fleet, sending men down to Alvion III in greater number, accompanied by several fighters, easily identified by the trail of witchfire left in the wake of the small spelljammer's helms.

Your dropboat comes to rest on the west side of the small village, a stone's throw from the nearest house. As the gangway is dropped, Lieutenent Anders begins issuing orders. "Third squad, secure the blacksmiths shop. Fourth squad (that would be you), secure the mill. Let's move out."

[Mantid]

Feste hustles along to the mill, lagging a little behind the rest of the fourth squad. It was his short legs, or so he would claim.

[The_Shaman]

Felstahan

The wiry elf goes with the group, at first showing quite a bit of carefulness. He takes a bow from his backpack and readies an arrow in one hand, but eases up a little when he sees no one threatening (if he does). Still, he doesn't go anywhere near the front unless explicitly told to.

[DiscipleofBob]

Orgeth draws a dagger just so he can have a weapon ready, and goes along with the group, hurrying towards the mill, watching and waiting for some sign of combat to begin.

[Armads]

Advancing cautiously towards the mill, Yry draws his longsword and readies his shield. He makes sure to stay behind another person, in case of an attack.

[Kyeudo]

As you hurry into town, with Lieutenent Carter following behind your group, you notice a lack of people anywhere. There is no one on the streets and doors here and there have been left ajar.

You quickly reach the mill, a large two story wooden structure with an immense water wheel churning in the river that flows past the town. There are two doors, one in the front and a larger set of double doors in the back, big enough to pull a wagon through if left open.

[DiscipleofBob]

"Seems suspiciously quiet. Eh, lads?" Orgeth heads to the door of the mill and stands just outside the door on one side, trying to sneak a peak inside or hear something without risking his head getting blown off.

[Leon]

Well, lets not Mill about

Wolfe will hang back a bit but be ready to move foward should the need arise

[The_Shaman]

((Are we going to make listen/spot checks automatically or should we ask to make them?))

<<Come out.>>

A small dark grey stone tumbles out - and up of the elf's pockets, and balances itself on his shoulder.

[Kyeudo]

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If you want to roll your own, feel free, otherwise I'll roll them for you when the time comes.