[OW] Mountainbreakers (IC)

[Mazer Rackham]

++ THE RPG NOOK, IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE CABAL OF DEAD INK, MOJAKE PUBLICATIONS, AND MAZER RACKHAM PRESS, PRESENT: ++

 

++ AN ONLY WAR CAMPAIGN ++

 

+ THE MOUNTAINBREAKERS +

+ PROLOGUE +

+ THE GRAVEYARDS OF KULTH +

Incipe:

This is just a quick snap of prologue to move the game on until Mojake has the time and space to return. Obviously this is his game, I'm just the one in the drivers' compartment for the moment, so Throne help you all, because it's my jib to try and demoralise you into begging me to stop the pain. However, beating will continue until Squad Morale is restored.

 

Setting:

You are advised to apprise yourself of the absolute state of Kulth. It's a charnel pit. Be most aware that Kulth tastes of ash. Everything is tainted or tormented by it, as everything has been burned and repeatedly blown up for the past 83 years. It was once as pretty and glorious as Mirador, but now it's a hole, a rather deep one filled with churning and disgustingly pungent effluvium.

 

Welcome to Kulth.

 

Objectives:

Low intensity, but RP-rich interactions, or as much as we can achieve, maybe even a small fight. I'm not prepared to go into great detail over maps, I'm not autopiloting, and if you do something daft, please fully expect to get your head blown off. No punches will be pulled, and whatever you choose to do is your choice, so if you get your intestines rearranged to be externally mounted on your chin, don't blame me for allowing you to pogo-stick through Saboteur Ork Boss Splodey McBoomsnagga's favourite 'Doomblasta  Deff to Gits' Mine Field^TM.

 

Situation:

You've just landed at Fort Drusus, it is the premier Imperial Bastion on this world, and sees more turnover in squaddies than mattresses in Miss Licky Primrose's Shack of Negotiable Boot-knocking. Start your posts with arrival, either with the Squad (Section, if you prefer - bonus points will be given) and making muster. You will have been given orders to go to Bastion Aleph, one of the many mustering stations for new arrivals. Feel free to dawdle, there are lots of folks milling about, try to find your Regimental Comrades and staffers. Your ever-so-helpful, and thoroughly charming Garrison Sergeant-Major Henrik Jekyll will be along to give you further directions in a few short kicks of the arse.

 

Business/Housekeeping:

Questions in the OOC before your boots hit the ground.

Remember: GM Voice (and only the GM voice) is: Orange

All OOC in any IC post should be: Green.

 

Well? What the bloody hell are you slack-jawed, knock-kneed, scum-slurping, malcontents and doggerel-gobbling lazy bastards doing? Move like you've got a purpose - or that purpose WILL BE CORPSE STARCH!

 

(Looks around for a volunteer for press-ups. Copious press-ups).

 

[Trokair]

Por

 

‘Throne’ he thought, best not to say that, the Commissar would not like to hear such language, or at least such tone. They had been trudging through the camp for a while now. Disembarking from the great metal landers had been the usual organised mess.

 

As he had stood there, in the soft flaky ground, and trying to get his bearings while a number of tracked boxes rumbled past, churning up a smog beyond the normal engine belch, an Officer with a clipboard had started shouting. Jarrow explained and showed their assignment slip while Por stood to attention, best to when the Officer was shouting.

 

Some barked directions later and they were on their way.

 

“Bastion Alef” ... “aleth” ... “alev” ... He tired to sound it out quietly, but not getting a repeat of what the officer had said, perhaps a case of officer accent again. Jarrow had explained accents, the way different people from different places said the same words while sounding completely, well different. Por was no good with it, what was the point?

 

The directions where entirely useless as far as Por could tell, they had had to stop and ask for direction several times, but too little avail. He hoped that Jarrow would make more sense of the replies.

 

Por had seen many a staging ground before. Here the landers ferried the troops to a flat Ferrocrete structure, half sunken amongst the ashen dunes that lurked ready to pounce at its edges. The mustering camps were then spread across several slopes further up into more rocky terrain, To spiky for the landers. It thus was some hours since they disembarked when they arrived at C Company Fifth Platoon second Squad’s Tent.

 

“Looking for a Sergeant Cer-van-tes,” Por sounded out the name with care, “Trooper Pridbor and Jarrow ...” Por trailed off looking to his right and left, then stepped back a bit so he could look back the way they had just come.

 

Turning back to Little Men that were gathered in front of second squad’s tent, Por restarted. 

 

“Trooper Por reporting for Duty, Trooper Jarrow will be here in a moment, maybe he has gone to find the quartermaster.”

Edited 1 hour ago by Trokair