(DH) Prologue- Descent

It has been quite a period time since your last deployment under the Inquisition. Quite recently, you have been deposited into the the 117th Imperial Army, a task force allocated with the mission of reclaiming systems recently seceded from the Ixaniad Sector. A shadowy figure, known only as the Unknown Heretic, lies behind the heart of the rebellion. S/he has conjured forth an immense army built from depraved lunatics and the murderous Logician Cult. Together, they threaten to destabilize the surrounding sectors, and as such, intervention from the Imperial Guard and Navy are necessary.

You are attached to the army's 5th Corps, 143rd Mechanized, in L Company (known affectionately "The Hounds of Eichel") Directed to fight in the ill-reputed Nazara, its members are not pleased to be funneled into a remote, backwater world that is the den of animalisitc savages.

...

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The interior of your Chimera is dim. Weak light faintly cuts through darkness from the various dataslates and auger-instruments used by the occupants. An assortment of ammunition and ration boxes occupy the APC’s canopy, heaving with the weight of its provisions. The odor of used lho-sticks is thick in the air, and the floor is covered with their presence. Around you are warriors native to the wastelands of krieg; they are draped in olive greatcoats, overlaid with respirator units and plasteel shoulderplates.

“Lieutenant Chelkar.”

One of the drivers leans back on his seat, a lho-stick occupying his mouth.

“Deployment in seven minutes. Make sure your men are in order. As for everyone, Captain Eichel says to check in for further orders once we're on the ground."

*Checks gear for problems and finds none.*

*Gets on Vox*
"Alright men, we deploy in 7 minutes, check your gear and make whatever preparations you need. The EMPRAH PROTECTS"

*Looks at the Driver*
"Put on heading 2 7 0, assume attack formation."
"We'll come in lower than the rising sun, and about a mile out we'll put on the music!"

*he shrugs his should a little uncomfortably then reaches into his pocket and holds a small book and mutters a few words to the Dark Gods to himself under his breath* here we go again. time to spill some blood. *he looks down at his hell gun and appears to be listening to it* "More blood. More Death. More Sacrifice." the gun whispers into his mind. 'I hope no psyker is around to hear that' he thinks.

*Looks at Broklaw like wtf and turns back to the driver*

"Notify me when we are a mile out."

yi heres the filler. since you bastards abandoned me on that planet i was sucked into the warp where i was severely tainted and turned into a chaos sorcerer. i have acquired a power that allows me to persuade anyone easier than most Whispers of the warp. i have convinced the IG that im clean and let me back in. my Hellgun was cursed and is now a daemon gun that does a severl differant types of damage.

*is insanely out, and appears to be stoned*

"I'll be sure to do so, sir." The driver lowers his visor and starts up the Chimera.

Though the Chimera's pict-screen located behind the entrance to the driver's seat, data feed begins streaming in from the world's local comm-channels. The Guardsmen are busy idling, either smoking lho-sticks or fixing weapons.

"Listen up!" Watchmaster Kluge bellows to the surrounding squad.

"Ensure your rebreathers are fastened properly and your air canisters secure! Let's hope you lot are blessed with enough braincells to know the results of improper procedures."

Time slips by quickly, and soon the dropship is in the final stages of preparation.

"Ready for launch in 'T' minus zero." The lander's engines activate with a thunderous roar that echoes throughout the entire hull. The Guardsmen respond likewise with a cry of their own, bombastically shouting their own battle hyms and tunes.
You are suddenly thrown into weightlessness as the lander begins accelerating ; however, having already been through hundreds of drops since your last time on Iocanthos, you are now fully prepared for the experience of landing. The Guardsmen around you show no indication of motion sickness either; they continue to merrily chant sangs for their native world of Krieg.


"Over the Borcage the Volga and the Lien
The Panzers push into heathen land.
Men of Krieg , clad in black garments,
Have poured like storm into the enemy.
With rattling tracks, and roaring engines,
Panzers roll forward!
Panzers roll forward!

Hot sun glows over the enemy soil,
Our Panzer-motors sing their song
Tanks in burning sun
Stands into the fight against the Heretic !
With rattling tracks , and roaring engines!
Panzers roll forward !"

*smirks at the lines Stands into the fight against the Heretic !* "they dont know anything.. the cowards think these metal BAWXES will save them.. the cowards.. the fools..." he mutters to himself

*Looks at Driver*
"Alright, lets start up the music. Play it loud!"
*Leans over to the stereo*
"Romeo Foxtrot shall we dance!"
*Presses play https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V92OBNsQgxU*

The driver, a certain Watchmaster Kaiser, does so with an indifferent countenance. The music is blared over the APC's vox, mostly tuning out the local pict-cast networks incoming from Nazara.

Upon the cast's screen, what appears to be a broadcast station is shown, the background heavily adorned with the imagery of Ulanai Coalition. At the forefront stands a clean-cut morale officer, clad in an overly tidy and fixed uniform, spouting an incessant spiel of pro-Ulanai dogma.

"... Right now the Imperial devils push onto our land, suppressing the free will and choice of the people! But they will prove to be no match for us, for they are but animals- base, instinctive, and easily cowed! Their so called 'Guardsmen' pale and falter at the very sight of battle! How do you think they will react, when Nazarn blood and iron is arrayed against them? We die fighting with bullets in our chests, but the Imperial will die with bullets in their backs, for they will simply have to scamper back to the depths of hell they came from. Come forth, my brethren, let us all take a part in overthrowing the i-"

The pict-cast flickers and dies, static rippling throughout the air.

"Must've shorted out," comments Kaiser.

"eh, It won't matter because they won't be able to hear their precious broadcast anyway when we show up music blaring"

"Oh ill send them to the pits of hell if they so desire a place." *lifts up hellgun and cracks about every bone in his neck. "They shall no fear like no other. They shall be put down like the animals they are for Tzeen... The Emprah."

"WHOP YOUR WAD ON THE COUNTER!!!" *whops a wad of thrones on the chimera seat*

"You ok eltee? someone might take your random acts for... possession." -he smirks at the end-

"Take your own advice, Trooper..."

"Let's hope their music isn't as shoddy as their broadcasts, eh?" the driver chuckles.

Like a fiery meteor, the company troopship blazes vividly in the night sky. Unlike the miniature and ill-maintained shuttles used by the amateurish and destitute, its descent is far more orderly and respectable, as it establishes its presence on the ground with much less shuttering and burnt-out exhausts.

As you hear the distinct clamp of the vessel's ground supports, the lights in the Chimera immediately activate and the interior is suddenly awash with bright light. A series groans are emitted from the other guardsmen before Kaiser abruptly starts the engines, the vehicle jerking as it accelerates without warning.

"can we just get to slaughtering these fools before i grow impatient?" -his seared shoulder burns with anticipation-

*Stands up and moves over to the Cupola, where he motions the gunner down and takes his place to get a better view*

5 thrones says he gets his head blown off. any takers?

Chelkar:



As you gaze for the first time upon the surface of Nazara, the air feels surprisingly sterile as you emerge- luckily, the re-breather has blocked out the suffocating effects of the world's heavy Argon content. Your eyes scan the environment, noticing that the Chimera skirts the edge of a rocky beach leading into Nazara’s filthy, pollutant-filled ocean. Overhead, the corpulent form of Nazara’s red star pierces through the hazy, overcast sky. It appears as a malevolent red god, eyeing its subjects below with an unnerving intensity.
Within range of your eyesight, you make out what appears to be a staging ground for your company. It is a massive temporary camp, choked with orderly rows of tents and mounds of supply stockpiles.

Broklaw:

You detect a voice several seats to your left:
“If the Lieutenant gets his head shot off, guess who’ll take his place?”
The speaker leans forward and reveals herself as Jaeger, the command squad’s watchmaster and standard bearer.

Rifle in hand, the watchmaster scans the other occupants with a sardonic look before speaking again.

“Say, you over there, with the stuttering problem. Where the hell did you come from? The sewer pipes?”

i hop your not addressing me. i would like to inform you what happened to the last people who pissed me off by simply throwing bottle at me. they were all noncoms. and i killed them all." he said with a wicked smile.

*Leans back down into the interior to address Broklaw*

"Hey can you stop waving your dick around? I'm trying to admire the view from up here."
"It looks like we're a mile or two out from our camp, so prepare to disembark."

Be careful when talking about dicks sir. the psyker might hear you and you know how he is.

Running his left arm across his forehad Chekov swore under his breath, the cramped nature of the chimera had become immediately evident once his team had mounted up and even now he lay squashed inbetween the hulking figures of two Kreigian soldiers. They made no attempt to ease his displeasure and he knew that they could see him, he stuck out like a sore thumb. He had traded in his Inquisitorial armor in favour of his homeworld's, the red and gold of his uniform clearly marking him out as a member of the Vostroyan firstborn.

As the chimera drew closer to its destination many of the soldiers around him began to chant their battlecries and check their weapons. Moving with the crowd he pulled his Lasgun out from under his seat, the weapon was his single most valued possesion it dated back to the age of The Heresy and had been passed down in his family for generations. Muttering the many Litanies of the Machine God he prepared his weapon and gave a prayer to the Emperor for the safty of his team.

Chekov could spot the camp up ahead and he knew that the man they were looking for would reside there.