Thread: In the Emperor's service [Ghostwolf and Dionysius]

Ghostwolf said A minuscule light blinked in the side of The Paragon, the Endeavour-class capital ship resting at high anchor, standing watch. That light signified a shuttle leaving one of the Light Cruiser flight decks, the small squat form of an Arvus Lighter making good time as it sped towards the planet below. It carried a light cargo. A few crates of supplies, a single passenger and their kit. A sigh escaped the sole passengers lips as they sat within the cramped cargo bay, pushed back into the seat by the dull yellow frame of the acceleration cradle. A thin finger flicked the screen of the dataslate again, scrolling the information, what little there was. With a small growl of annoyance, they pushed forwards with their shoulders at the cradle, trying to get comfortable on the hard seat. Is everything alright, Commissar? the pilot questioned over the crackling intercom, hearing the rattling of the restraint. Yes, everythings fine, thank you. The Commissar replied, raising her voice so the pilot could hear her in his compartment, trying to avoid a sarcastic tone. Everything was not fine, it was far from fine. Verena Tyber sighed once more, rubbing her forehead with frustration. Recently graduated from the Schola Progenium, the Commissariat had assigned her to her first posting, the first regiment she would be attached to. She was relatively young for a Commissar, she had not served as part of a Cadet Commissar training squad and neither had she been seconded as a Junior under a more senior Commissar. She had graduated on merit alone, deemed competent enough by her instructors and assessors due to her strong academic record, weapons proficiency, and high scores in various aspects of combat training. However classroom scenarios were not the same as dealing with a real flesh and blood regiment, training exercises very different from the harsh bloody realities of a battlefield. She was young and inexperienced, and she had been provided with very little information about the regiment she was to join. You could always count on the Departmento Munitorum to be vague. The Commissar could feel herself beginning to get wound up, starting to anger. She was young, she even looked young, and she was fresh from the Schola, but she was determined to do her duty well, to serve the Emperor in the way only a Commissar could. She would oversee the morale of her regiment, enforce discipline among the ranks, and inspire the men and instil in them the glory to be found in fighting in His Imperial Guard. But how was she able to do this when she lacked even the most basic information! It didnt help that she stuck in this frakking cradle! She hated space flight, her petite form trapped by the uncomfortable restraint, while outside there was nothingness. Taking a deep breath, Verena closed her eyes, reciting to herself words of the Imperial Creed and various litanies. The last stanza of the Libation to the Emperor, and in the dark when the shadows threaten, The Emperor is with us, in spirit and in fact. The Litany to Duty, give me the strengh to carry my duty through, and smite those who seek to thwart me. She felt herself beginning to calm, her body starting to relax. Exhaling slowly she opened her eyes, once again returning to the dataslate. The name of the Regiment was even missing, it was simply detailed as Light Infantry, which should prove interesting for her first posting. While it lacked information about the regiment, it contained more about the situation on the planet slowly coming into Verenas view from the port opposite her. Cassell was the small capital planet of a border system within the Ultima Segmentum. Passing through, a Rogue Trader vessel had spotted a small Tau fleet stationed their. Upon investigation he had found the Tau Empire had begun annexation of the system as it rested on the edge of their rapidly growing sphere of expansion. The Rogue Trader using his astropaths had sent word of these happenings, and a small fleet detachment had been dispatched to the system in response. There had been very little conflict so far, only a few firefights and nothing on a large scale, the tension was high between both sides as they found themselves at a standpoint as the Tau attempted diplomacy with the Imperiums representatives. Verena watched Cassell approaching through the reinforced viewport, getting bigger and bigger until it filled the entirity of the small hole. The Arvus began to shake, the viewport glowing bright orange, as the pilot announced they were entering the atmosphere. The Commissar squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles white as she held the acceleration cradle tight, its solid frame stopping her from being thrown about. Frak, frak, frak, frak, she cursed again and again to herself. In the back of the mind, she knew that she was going to have to get used to this, get over this fear if she was to be respected, if she was to be remembered as doing great things. We are making our descent Commissar the pilot informed, with Verena breathing a sigh of relief as she opened her eyes. They were going down on the dark side of the planet, the night sky turning to soft grey as they passed through the cloud cover and then dark again as they broke from it. She could make out the bright lights of the capital city below her which held her destination, the huge space port the Guard had overtaken as their headquarters, housing several regiments in the prefab buildings that had been erected. The Arvus began to bank slightly, lining up for its landing as Verena watched the ground begin to get closer, seeming to rise up too quickly to meet her, eyes focused on a landing pad marked with flourescent lights. Then, they touched down gently with only the slightest shake, and the Commissar let out a breath she didnt realise she had been holding. She quickly pushed against the cradle, raising it to free herself from her constraints, standing from the hard seat which snapped back up to folded. There you are Commissar, I hope you enjoyed the flight. Was there a tone of amusement to his voice? She wasnt sure. Yes, thank you she replied tersely, her heeled boots which added a few needed inches to her height ringing on the metal deck as she moved to retrieve her kit from a storage crate. I think youll your guys to the two oclock of the ramp. Verena didnt bother to reply, did the damn Navy even know more than her? A scowl on her face she made her way past the stored supplied crates just as the lower ramp descended, a blast of cold air filling the cargo hold as the world gently swirled white outside. It was the beginning of the Cassellian winter, but Verena was prepared. Alongside the customary Commissars garb, she had slipped on a pair of fine black fur glvoes, pulling a scarf up over the lower half of her face, and stepped out into the snow as it fell in the night. It was cold, but not exceptionally so for the Commissar. Verena had memories of a much colder, much harsher, much whiter land before she was sent to one of the many worlds of the Schola Progenium. Her greatcoat drawn tight around her with its collar up, her hat angled down low over her face, she set off to find her regiment in the direction the pilot had said. It didnt take her long, after making a few inquiries with men on guard duty who were all too happy to help the Commissar, she stood outside the Officers billet of the regiment she was to be attached to, whoever they were. Pushing her way inside, she was greeted with warmth, shutting the door and the cold out behind her as she lightly kicked the snow from her boots, her cap and shoulders holding a light dusting. The room was sparse, a few chairs and a desk. Clearly a waiting room. A guardsman sat at the desk, his feet upon the wooden surface idly flicking through a holo slate. Verena approached him, waiting to look up. She set her kitbag on the floor. He still didnt look up from the slate. Clearing her throat softly, she waited, and after a moment the guardsman finally dragged his eyes away from whatever was so important. She had to resist from smiling as a look of shocked surprise began to spread across his features as he took in the sight of her, the greatcoat, the cap. She reached up to pull the scarfe from over her mouth and nose as the guardsman scrambled to his feet, snapping of a sharp salute. Verena simply replied with a slight inclination of her head. Tell whoever is in command here that Commissar Tyber has arrived. I do not want to be kept waiting. Before he could make to leave, she reached across the desk, taking up the forgotten holoslate. She was greeted with an image of a large breasted woman wearing nothing but combat boots. This is contraband. The Commissar said plainly, looking up at the man who held an uncertain expression. Do not let me catch you with this again. She held the slate out to him, but withdrew her harm at the last moment just as he went to reach for it. Especially when you are on duty, understood? she added sternly before letting him take it from her gloved hand. Be on your way. The guardsman snapped another salute, muttered a yes Commissar, thank you Commissar, before he scurried off about his task. Verena turned from the desk, clasping her hands behind her back, allowing herself to smile only when she was certain he was out of sight. Well done Rena, she congratulated herself, straightening her cap, very well handled. Her thoughts sounded almost exactly like the her Schola instructors. Click to expand... The 13th Draconian had been part of the rapid response force which had first landed on Cassel, two weeks after the xenos threat had been reported. Fresh from participating in the bloody Imperial victory in the nearby Vespasian system, their battlegroup was the nearest and also recently experienced with the Tau threat. So far there were approximately three thousand Guardsmen landed to participate in the conflict, including several different regiments, of whom around three hundred represented the Draconian attachment. The last few weeks had been spent in a tense standoff. Several early engagements had erupted around the main flashpoint of the conflict, Cassell's key hive city, Valeria, but as of yet the conflict had a much lower attrition rate than their previous engagement. Diplomacy was being conducted somewhere high up the ranks, but seemed to be getting nowhere. Little of that concerned Captain Marcus Blake, commander of the Third Company. He had his own worries, all of those that came with being in charge of a unit numbering around 100 guardmen, split into three platoons with combat support units and his own personal staff attached. His regiment were classed Light Infantry, trained and experienced in scouting, infiltration and guerilla warfare. They were an idiosyncratic group, at times difficult to manage, but they were also hardened by two separate active deployments since their founding five years previously, interspersed with peacekeeping duties. Just returned from exploratory patrols to the West of Hive Valeria, the men had been in the field for three days with minimal rest, and as they returned to base camp Captain Blake ordered his platoon commanders Lieutenants Fitzwilliam, Crane and Marlowe, to get them fed, rested, resupplied and then billeted, before a debrief of all platoon officers in his command tent. One of the aides informed him that a Commissar was here, and immediately Marcus remembered that they had been due for a replacement to arrive this week. He dismissed the staffer and made his way through the camp towards his command post through the rows of stone grey tents. Draconians were a tough and often hostile people, hailing from Draco, a Death World on the edge of the Segmentum Obscurus. At some point bombarded with nuclear weapons, much of the planet was dangerously irradiated, and the skies were perpetually darkened. Covered in hostile woodland and the odd derilict city, its people were pale and wiry, suspicious and difficult to trust, though intensely loyal to one another, united by shared hardship. The woodlands were dark and dangerous places, populated by mutated predators and worse, and humanity clustered around small villages and towns, tiny points of light amidst the darkness. Blake himself, like all of the officers, was one of the aristocratic class, hailing from the one functioning hive, Dormer. Draconians were feudal by nature and generally loyal to their masters, and in return the nobility always made sure to temper their privilege by sharing in the difficulties of their homeworld. Children born into the aristocratic families of Dormer were trained to undergo extended hunts in the wilderness, after the most exotic of mutated animals, in order to complete their rite of passage into adulthood. Marcus swept up the flap of the command tent and continued inside within one stride, with no salute immediately forthcoming. He saw the new Commissar standing there and kept moving, dropping his pack next to the table before turning to recognise her presence with an inclination of his head in her direction and a brief smile. Captain Marcus Blake, commanding officer of the third company, 13th Draconian, Light Infantry, at your service ma'am. I take it you're our new hangman then? he asked, using he guard slang for a commissar jovially. He began to remove outer layers of his field kit and progressively became more recognisable as a person. Without the pack and assault vest, his figure seemed light and wiry, muscular but not overly built, and without the weight he stood tall at well over six foot. Lean and pale, his physique and gait exhausted as he was, betrayed a certain hidden strength and force of endurance, hardened and tested over long conflicts. His hair was dark and eyes blue, like almost all Draconians, and his complexion was darkened by several days stubble from living in the field, along with a fair amount of dirt mixed with camouflage paint. Sorry for all the rush, we've been on patrol for the last few days and only just got back, hopefully you weren't waiting long? he asked, going about his post-deployment routine as he talked. Power sword and bolt pistol both came off of his belt and cast onto the table to be dealt with later, though thankfully neither had seen any action on their last patrol. Unconcerned by her presence, his field jacket and then shirt also came off, revealing a muscular yet scarred torso beneath as he bent over the wash basin and ran water over his face and hair, cleaning off some of the grime which he had collected before turning to face her and drying off. Have you had an intelligence briefing yet, or any information on our unit? he asked, for the first time fully focussing on her. To be honest she seemed a bit short, and possibly a bit female, to be a commissar. Not that he was one to judge, Blake was a sensible officer, and understood that the Schola didn't produce people incapable of leading, but he knew that his men weren't going to take her presence too kindly.