>>39197
>Futanari

>>39197
>Futa/Female
Damn Slaaneshi blessings.

>>39197
Hmmm...

>a female.
Just cause.

>>39197
Futanari is truly the ultimate choice.

>>39254
S e c o n d

Why can't we have normal females anymore!!

>>39298
We have plenty of normal females and normal males throughout quests everywhere anon. Ever see an active quest with a futanari MC?

>>39311
... What happens say I suggest a male with a slit?

>>39319
There is no place in 40k for Buck Angel

Male. Ignore the futa lovers.

Rolled 95 (1d100)

>>39197
man

>>39389
I dare you to ignore that magic roll

Of course you're a woman! What you're really surprised by is the fact that your face is almost completely covered in blood!

You try to take stock of your injuries, which you vaguely remember as being your original plan, and find that you're covered in small cuts and bruises, and that you've received a large gash a little past your hairline. You're thankful that your injuries are relatively minor, and that they've all mostly clotted by now. You can't determine much else about your appearance due to the mess, and have no time to clean up now - you have a nagging feeling that you need to get moving as quickly as possible, but you're not sure why.

You're alone in the cave, and only have your small mirror and a half ruined ID Tag. You stare blankly at the symbols for a moment, but eventually manage to decipher their meaning as knowledge of low gothic slowly begins to come back to you.

The ID tag reveals that your name is...

>Pick a name!

>>39417
Isabella

>>39417
fuck you, OP

We are:
Magna Ducissa Vorstin Erzherzog

>>39424
Seconded.

>>39417
Elaine

>>39461
Second

Hmm Isabella Elaine...Rogers.. Isabella Elaine Rogers.. Any disagree strongly?

>>39461
I like the sound of that

Elaine Isabella... something. You can't quite make out your surname. Saying your name out loud brings you some level of comfort, the familiarity of it providing a base to think from in this insane situation you've found yourself in.

On your ID tag the age reads: 2*. The second number has been ruined by the water, and you can't make out what it was. Maybe a three or an eight? Doesn't matter right now, you need to get moving, you know you probably need to leave the cave as soon as possible.

You're still not sure why. You leave the cave anyways, and reenter the now light drizzle outside.

>Look for gear that may have washed up.
>Head east.
>Head west.

>>39513
Look for gear.

>>39513
Look for gear, might help us find more clues too

>>39513
>>39520
And also further examine our body with the handmirror

Priority's point towards gear.

>>39527
ye

You figure that it would be best to learn more about yourself, and perhaps find some tools, and search for more gear along the nearby coast.

It doesn't take long to notice that a large amount of debris has washed ashore since you entered the cave, most of now caught in between the larger boulders strewn across the beach. Alarmingly it seems to be pieces of a lander of some sort, and some of it is on fire... were you in a lander? You know you fell, so that would make sense.

You scour the wreckage quickly and find a few things of interest.

>A familiar sheathed combat knife, waterlogged survival kit, and flare gun with three flares.
>A familiar holstered laspistol, slightly soaked dataslate, and a nifty aviator's cap.
>A familiar holstered stub automatic, two spare magazines, and a camouflaged flak poncho.

You can feel memories begin to come back as you approach these items.

>>39571
The first

No! We are clearly on a beach in front of a destroyed lander! Have you never stormed a beach! The third!

>>39571
Second one, melee isnt a good idea and we're no Catachan

>>39571
Camo poncho is a must have for any aspiring commando. Plus it's consistently effective at getting us not killed by every other thing that moves.

But its Stub Pistol, thats a shit tier Guard weapon

>>39578
One for 1.
>>39615
One for 2.
>>39608
>>39619
Two for 3.

Gonna give it another twenty minutes or so and then go with the highest.

>>39625
Better a tank with lots of chance to attack than a DPS who only has a possibly damaged dataslate.

2

>>39645
But the slate might have more details about us

Combat knife

>>39657
It very well might.

I can guarantee that none of the options are traps, and that all items listed in them will be useful in some way.

>>39657
Won't be important if we are dead.

>>39645
Plus we get a nifty Cap, we can be a sexy pilot chick

>>39662
We have a laspistol, anything that wont die from that will laugh at a Stub and our armour wont matter anyway

>>39669
Hmm fair enough. How many shots would we get out of it?

Rolled 5, 3, 3 = 11 (3d6)

>>39578
>>39659
Two for 1
>>39615
>>39655
Two for 2.
>>39608
>>39619
Two for 3.

Need a tie breaker in the next five minutes or we go with this die roll (Higher is better).

>>39674
One for one.

>>39670
Stub Auto is 12+1, Laspistol is 30 per charge pack. The laspistol's charge pack can be recharged in a few ways, such as fire, but the Stub Auto has a little more punch and you may be able to get special ammo.

>>39674
Two.

>>39681
I'll change my answer to two...

Guys. We're going to have to use some Ridley Scott alien tactics and avoid battlefields.

>>39687
Also I'm passing out. good night ladies and gentlemen.

>>39682
>>39687
Going with two, times pretty much up.

Don't worry 1 and 3 bros, plenty of stuff may come in time.

Writing now, could take awhile though, I'm pretty tired.

You find the remains of the cockpit lodged between two large grey boulders, and clamber into the wreckage while being careful to avoid jagged pieces of plasteel and broken glass. Inside the thing is a total ruin, the control panels are without power and destroyed. The co-pilot seat is drenched in blood, but there isn't a body, and the pilot seat is conspicuously missing. Did you eject?
Where you shot down? You have little time for such questions, and quickly rummage through the cockpit.

You find you trusty laspistol, well worn but rarely used in anger. It's rubber grip fits comfortably in your hand as you check the charge - thirty out of thirty shots left. Good, you know you'll need them. For some reason, still not really sure. Your best friend gave you this for your eighteenth birthday, although you can't remember his face or name which makes you a touch melancholy. Not the time for that though. You find your pilot's cap under the co-pilot seat, and retrieve the survival kit from a compartment under the flooring. Both are wet but still usable, and you put on your cap which lends a comfortable weight to your head. With the survival kit slung over your should you make your way out of the wreckage, memories of your past returning to you...

Next post will have the options.

Accidentally lost this post so I had to retype it, sorry for the delay.

>>39867
>Hive World: You had to grow up fast, and have lived even faster since. Your mother died in a hab collapse when you were four, and your father has been at the store for the last twenty years (or so your brothers claimed), and your older brother did his best to raise you. You hated hive life, and quickly found a job as a lighter pilot, but quickly came to hate that as well. You never found much comfort in the Emperor or the Omnissiah, but you do believe in most of the basic Imperial tenets. Seeking an escape from the endless soul crushing work cycle of a hive spaceport you signed up with the first rogue trader to visit your homeworld, and served her dynasty well for several years. Recently you were able to pay off your contract, and have joined a small mercenary company. You find it easy to make shady deals and new friends, or shady friends and new deals - doesn't make much of a difference. You've worked with Xenos in the past and wouldn't mind doing so again, but you are wary of them.

>Voidborn: Others merely adopted the flyer, you were born in it, molded by it, you didn't see the surface of a planet till you were nearly a woman. Picked from an extremely early age you were selected to be a pilot just like the rest of your family. Your dad was a pilot, his mom was a pilot, and both of grandparents were part of a navy bomber crew. You follow the machine-cult loosely, and have a great admiration for advanced technology. At age twenty you formed your own mercenary group with the help of a few other pilots, and traveled from system to system aboard chartist ships as a squadron for hire. You're a pure pilot, but not useless in a ground fight.

Part 1.

>>39871
>Death World: You killed your first man before you learned to count, and learned to count to keep track of your kills. Or at least you tell people that. You never knew who your biological family was, because you were raised by your tribe communally - no one knew their real parents. You're good with a knife, but better with a shotgun, and you learned to fly to get off that hellhole you grew up on. You're sure the spaceport didn't miss that lighter anyways, isn't like the ship crew noticed it. Mercenary work was a necessity to fuel your passion - fighting. You're not a psychopath, and you feel empathy and guilt, you just enjoy your work. You're not faithful at all, prayer never seemed to stop gigarachnid attacks. You're a pilot purely to get from place to place, and a force of nature once you can plant your feet on the ground.

>Schola Progenium: You were an orphan of the best and brightest of the Imperium, schooled by drill abbots and taught the basics of combat, theology, technology, and history. You could re-assemble a lasgun blindfolded before you were ten, and by all accounts you were a great student. Something went terribly wrong though, and at age sixteen you were injured badly in a live fire exercise. You awoke two months later on a voidship. You still have no idea how you got aboard it, or how you learned to fly but here you are! You've been working as a mercenary for the last six years, and get a steady stream of jobs from a mysterious contact you've never been able to fully ID. You're intelligent, deadly, and can find steady work, but the pays is a little lacking and you often feel like you're being used by some sort of shadowing organization.

Part 2.

>>39872
If anybody has a particular sort of home world not mentioned I'll consider doing a write up for it, I won't add more than two more though so that we can actually get voting done in a timely manner.

And just tidbit I forgot to work into the backgrounds: You're from and still currently in the Amanitus Sector, an area of space in the Ultima Segmentum, quite close to Tau space and the realm of Ultramar.

>>39921
Btw Option 2 had the Dataslate not the Kit but it doesnt matter too much

>>39938
You're correct, made the mistake while retyping. I should probably get some rest.

You have the data-slate instead of the survival kit, and it is currently operational and at 70% charge. You have not read it yet.
>>39867

>>39921
Can you type up something for an abhuman majority world or a fortress world?

>>39872
>Schola Progenium:

>>40710
Morning guys, also seconded

Morning everybody! Got some sleep and did a few errands, so hopefully quality of posts will improve.

>>40408
Fortress World is actually a pretty good idea, gonna avoid Abhuman stuff for now though because I want opinions on most things to form during play.

>Fortress World. You were born in a weapons manufactorum on the surface of an icy Fortress World near Tau space. The entire population of your home planet served in either the Imperial Guard, the Navy, or in manufactorums producing weapons and armor for the God Emperor's countless armies and armadas. You barely knew your family before they were taken from you by the tithe, shipped out to some front in the east to battle Tyranids. Your childhood was lonely, and you made few friends in basic training, but you did well in the rigid environment of the Fortress World and served the Emperor as a lander pilot, shuttling important officers to and from ships in orbit. You lived a simple and faithful life until very recently, when you were convinced by a smooth talking mercenary captain you were transporting to join his company. This was probably a mistake, considering the situation you're in, but there's no going back to your old life now. Your faith lends you great resilience, and you're competent in a fight but perform far better as part of a squad.

>>40767
>>40710
Two for Schola.

>>40996
Can we get an option for a paradise world?

>>41047
Sure thing! Noble or servant from a paradise world?

>>39921
>>40408
Can we be abhuman?

>>41093
How about Noble?

>>41110
No. The main character will be a normal human, although if you become good friends with an Abhuman character I'd consider running a thread or two from their perspective. Same goes for psykers and Xenos. It'll be awhile until we get to that sort of thing though.

>>41110
HERESY!! XD

>>41140
Huh my ID changed.. That normal?

>>41135
Sure thing, working on it now. This will be the last homeworld option.

>Paradise World: You were born into a wealthy noble family, one of only three to inhabit the garden world you called home as a child. Life was almost perfect there, with lush gardens, beautiful oceans and majestic mountain ranges - you wanted for nothing during your childhood, and received an excellent education; However as you entered your teenage years trouble began to stir in paradise - You were bored. Horribly, unimaginably bored. By the time you were sixteen you had scaled most of the mountains, sailed under and over the seas, ridden true Terran horses across vast plains, and been a part of more parties than you can recall. You did just about everything really, and while others found some comfort in routine and repetition you wished for something greater. Having just turned twenty and being quite a fool you threw away paradise for the chance of adventure, and until now haven't regretted it at all. Working as a pilot you've put skills you learned on your grav-speeder back home to good use, and you seem to possess an extraordinary luck - Perhaps your whole family is lucky, you did live on a paradise world after all!

>>39921
Voting for Death World.

>>41618
since both my gender and name were rejected, i'll just vote.

seconding

>>41326
Paradise world seems best for our little futa

>>41326
See: >>41728

>>41735
>>41735
It's probably how we got the dick in the first place, haha. Seconding

>>41728
>>41758
Nurgles blessings upon you, Nurgles blessings upon you all.

>>40710
>>40767
Two for schola.

>>41618
>>41660
Two for death world.

>>40408
One for fortress world?

>>41728
>>41735
>>41758
You are not a Futa. Feel free to recast your votes in the next twenty minutes, futa jokes are fine but please reaffirm your choice.

I'll tally up votes at the end of the next twenty minutes and roll if there is a tie. Things will move faster for a awhile from here.

>>41862
Fine then were just going to have to join Slaanesh voting for Paradise

>>41862
I'll vote fortress world but as long as we're not a fanatic to the Emprah I'm happy.

Screw it. Paradise.

Tallying votes. Voting is closed.

Rolled 2, 2, 3, 3 = 10 (4d10)

All sides have tied, rolling (higher is better).

Schola: 2
Fortress: 2
Death: 2
Paradise: 2

Rolled 3, 7 = 10 (2d10)

>>42055
Rolling again between Death and Paradise.

>>42065
Uh, dude. Did you forget >>41728 >>41735 >>41758 >>41884

You're lost in contemplation over your past as you leave the ruins of your lander's cockpit and reenter the storm outside. Over the low roar of the rainstorm you can just barely make out the sound of jet engines approaching from the east. The wreck of your lander provides good cover but can be spotted easily from the air, many parts of it are still on fire despite washing in from the ocean. The a bizarre blue sun is just barely beginning to peak between the dark black clouds overhead, and your realize that it must still be day.

You currently have: A laspistol, pocket mirror, aviator's cap, and data-slate.

>Hide in the wreckage.
>Make a run for the cave.
>Try to signal the approaching craft with your mirror, or maybe your laspistol?

>>42095
People had a chance to recast votes, see >>41862

>>42192
Cave

>>42192
Hide in the wreckage.

You sprint to the cave mouth in an attempt to get there before the craft passes overhead, your feet dig into the rocky ground painfully as you move as quickly as possible for the first time since the crash. You manage to maintain your footing on as you run for the cave, but do you make it in time? The noise of the craft's engine is growing louder by the second, you need to move!

Roll 4d6 to determine success. Dice which roll the same face are added and are how critical successes are determined.

The DC for this task is 4.

Rolled 5, 4, 1, 6 = 16 (4d6)

Big money big money no whammies stop!

Rolled 6, 1, 4, 1 = 12 (4d6)

>>42392

You pass into the cave in the nick of time, the unknown jet craft roaring by outside just as you enter. You're fairly sure you weren't spotted, but you can hear the craft circling back quickly and it sounds like its coming in to land. Whoever is piloting it is obviously interested in the wreckage, and you still have a nagging feeling that something very bad is happening. You ready your laspistol, and try to prepare yourself for whatever may come next.

The craft, a modified Arvus Lighter, is setting down on the beach. Two men in grey coveralls exit from the back as it touches down, and they're wielding handguns of some sort. Light crisscrosses over the wreckage as they begin searching through it, using their weapon torches to provide illumination.

You are roughly twenty meters away, with open rocky ground between you. The lander is facing away from you, and you can see into it past it's open ramp. You know they'll spot the cave soon but you're unseen for now.

>Approach and try to speak with them (write in).
>Approach while they're distracted and stay hidden (4d6 DC 6).
>Stay were you are.

Going to wait for at least three responses from now on.

>>42578
>Stay were you are.
Do we see any markings or other identifying marks?

Rolled 2, 2, 4, 6 = 14 (4d6)

>>42578
>>42652
This is for hidden approach.

>>42609
There are no indentifying symbols that you can see from the angle, but you can just make out that the craft is light blue instead of grey. Or maybe that's blue light from the sun? You can see that appliqué armor has been hastily bolted on, but other than that it appears to be a standard civilian craft.

>>42704
Does our armor match or no?

Okay, so maybe it'll just be hour intervals on weekdays for decisions, gonna go ahead and keep it moving.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You observe the lighter from the cover of the cave for a little over a minute, making sure that you haven't missed some sort of important identifying mark, and move silently across the beach towards it. The lighter's engines are idling, letting out a steady hum that fills the night. Overhead the rain has almost cleared, but the clouds are still thick and dark. Upon reaching the lander you assess the situation - the two men are still searching the wreckage and have not noticed you, and the passenger bay of the craft seems to be empty but the door to the cockpit is closed. You're alone and unnoticed, and can see the men more clearly now.

You take in their features, one after another and commit them to memory. You do not recognized them, and no memories stir in you.

The first is quite tall, with pale skin and close cropped dark black hair. His features look a little hollow but youthful, and you're sure he's voidborn.

The second is closer to what you'd consider average height, and has light brown skin as well as a well trimmed beard of much darker brown hair. He is bald and looks like he has a decade on the voidborn, but it is hard to tell in this light. You're unsure of his origins.

They seem to have noticed the cave and are heading towards it, crossing a stretch of beach with no cover.

>Enter the lander, check to see if the pilot is still there.
>Try to communicate from safety.
>Take your chances and attack. You don't recognize them and you've got a bad feeling. (4d6 DC 6)
>Stay hidden and wait for them to pass. (4d6 DC 4)

Combinations of options are welcome, as are reasonable write ins.

>>43333
The hull of your lander was red, and your tattered flight suit is black with grey accents.

Neither match their lander or clothing.

>>43692
HERESY!

>>43907
Calm down there inquisitor, its just colors.

>>43654
>Try to communicate from safety.
>Enter the lander, check to see if the pilot is still there

You enter the lander, stepping across it's plasteel floor as quietly as you can manage. Peering through a small armaglass viewing port you can see that the pilot, who appears to be a young woman, is reclining in her seat. You can only see the top the woman's head, which is a mess of curly blonder hair, and her legs which are resting atop the control panel in front of her. She seems relaxed and doesn't notice you. You can just barely hear loud music coming from her bulky vox headset, but the armored door muffles it to the point of being unrecognizable.

Outside the men are nearing the cave, and you decide that your best chance of survival is communication. Peering just out of the passenger bay, which provides great cover, you yell out to them.

"Hey! No need for weapons, I'm injured and need help! By the lighter!"

A bit blunt but it'll do for now.

The two men whirl around and train their weapon lights on the lander, one of them reaches to what must be a vox ear piece and speaks into it. You can't make out what he said. They lower their weapons and approach.

"We're coming over, we have medical supplies!", yells the older man, "I'm Hakim, and this is Jarid, we're just here to help!" He motions to the other man, and they both holster their weapons. They approach, obviously nervous about having been out maneuvered, and the older man calls out again, "Whats your name, miss? We saw the wreckage and stopped to help survivors. Are you from one of the ships?". He motions upwards with his hand for some reason when he asks that last question.

They seem suspicious, but peeking out quickly you see that this "Hakim" does actually have a small medicae kit on his waist. Considering they holstered their weapons it might be good to try and respond in good faith, or will you not take chances?

They haven't gotten a good look at you yet, and you could still open fire if things go bad.

>Leave cover and approach, but keep your laspistol drawn.
>Stay in cover, and negotiate from there (Write-in). You'll keep an eye on the pilot's door.

>>45671
>Leave cover and approach, but keep your laspistol drawn.
Let's be friendly, but cautious. We don't know who they are.

You choose to take a chance, and leave the cover of the passenger bay with your laspistol in the low ready position.

Jarid recoils slightly in fear as you step into the dim blue light and he gets a better look at you.

Hakim exclaims loudly upon getting a good look at you, "Emperor's fucking cock, you really weren't kidding about the injuries! We uh, we really don't mean any harm, can I have a look over them?", he approaches you slowly with his hand up and palms facing towards you a little under head level.

Jarid stays a bit behind him, face somehow even more pale than it previously was with fear.

Covered head to toe in a ragged flight suit, your face and hair soaked with blood, you're a terrifying image to behold. Your aviator cap, which is in far better condition than you are, is the only piece of clothing you have that isn't soaked in blood. Mostly, anyways, the inside of it is probably ruined now as well.

"You were the pilot, weren't you? What happened to your lander?", Hakim asks as he moves into the final few meters separating you.

>Let him look over your injuries.
>Tell the truth about your situation.
>Lie about your situation.
>Stay on edge, you've allowed them to close the distance and need to maintain any advantage you can get.
>Lower your guard, you're tired and injured. You need help and waving a gun around won't speed things up at all.

Mix and match! Please feel free to write in dialogue or other ideas if you have them.

>>46177
>Let him look over your injuries.
but
>Stay on edge, you've allowed them to close the distance and need to maintain any advantage you can get.
and
>Tell the truth about your situation.
i.e. we have no fucking idea what is going on. we may be suffering from dementia

Wracked with indecision you decide to trust Hakim to look over your injuries, but keep your laspistol in hand. Jarid keeps his distance. Hakim retrieves a small glow globe from his medicae kit and does his best to look examine your many injuries.

Watching over him suspiciously you finally begin speaking, awkwardly explaining the situation you've found yourself in, "I'm Elaine. I-i'm not sure what happened, but when I was piloting the lander there was an accident, or I was shot down, I'm not sure."

You try to remain calm as you recount your ordeal but find it challenging, the weight of it really starting to set in now, "I ejected I think, but I can't remember. I can't remember anything at all really."

You re-position yourself slightly as Hakim removes your aviator's cap, careful to keep your laspistol in a position were it couldn't be knocked aside.

"I think I've got some kind of amnesia, I can remember my name and a little about my past but I can't... I can't remember what my family looks like, or my friends. Where the hell am I?" You barely choke out these words as you feel tears gather and a horrible gut wrenching sadness hits you. A large part of you regrets ever leaving home.

"Well Elaine, to start with you're on the planet Chorovak, a hive planet, and you've definitely got a nasty concussion, and a couple dozen fairly serious gashes. Other than that you're looking pretty good for falling out of the sky without a parachute," Hakim smiles and tries to lighten the mood as you're obviously beginning to break down and are still holding a gun. "Memory loss isn't unheard of for this sort of injury, and your memories should come back with time, but you're going to need quite a few stitches pretty soon, and we should get some ice on the head wound - is it alright if I start patching you up?"

This will involve needles, gauze, and him working in places you can't see well. He could easily kill you in this sort of situation. Of course he probably could have already. Just how paranoid are you anyways? Is paranoia a symptom of amnesia? You're not sure but you still have a bad feeling about something.

>Let him patch you up.
>Let your guard down so he can work faster.
>Keep up your guard. (4d6 DC6 to maintain composure).
>Ask more questions.

Rolled 5, 6, 1, 4 = 16 (4d6)

>>46695
>Let him patch you up.
>Keep up your guard. (4d6 DC6 to maintain composure).
Rolling, but I think I'm the only anon posting.

>>46884
Good roll.

>>47242
thanks

Previous roll: 6! A success!

You stay on your guard for the next half hour as as Hakim patches you up, just barely holding yourself together. He doesn't push for information as he works, perhaps wary of your shaking hand gripping a laspistol, and you sit in awkward silence. The process is long and quite painful, you've refused to take medication for security reasons and by the end of the thirty minutes you're regretting doing so, some painkillers would be very much appreciated.

Jarid entered the lander at some point, you're not sure when, but no one has made any move to harm you. You still haven't met the pilot, but with the current lack of conversation it doesn't really matter much. You stay on guard, suspecting that they could just be playing the long game.

As Hakim is washing away the grime and dried blood from your hair and face you have some time to actually contemplate how you look, something you normally took great pride in - appearance was extremely important during your upbringing and you still value it, even if you have had to neglect it at times as part of your new adventuring lifestyle.

Please describe the following:

>Hair Color and Style.
>Eye Color
>Skin Color
>Height
>Build

dice+4d6
>let him patch you up
>let your guard down

>>47643
Dice goes in the options field, newfriend. Welcome to the quest. Things are moving along a crawl currently because its a weekday.

Body should be toned. We are going to play a soldier/survivor after all. As for the rest, I already chose the gender.

>>47707
Going to need a little more of a description than toned and female.

I suppose we could default to a Ripley look alike if all else fails?

>>47813
Well, I just don't want ta make all the choices.

Ripley as default? Why not.

>>47640
Toned body.
Bald or short black hair.
Hazel eyes.
Dark plain skin.
5'6 in height.

>>47813
Or ripley look, I guess. Either way, we gotta look gud.

>>47640
>Hair Color and Style.
Wavy midlength black hair
>Eye Color
Hazel
>Skin Color
normally light skinned but right now the is somewhat of a tan with tanktop tanlines
>Height
tall for a woman but normal sized when compared to men
>Build
Thin with hints of former athleticism diminished by sitting in a pilots seat for a while.

>>47640


>Hair Color and Style: Black, straight
>Eye Color: Amber
>Skin Color: Pale
>Height: 6 feet
>Build: Thin with enormous tits

>>47988
I'll second this guy's. We have enough white chicks playing the serious action girl role.

>>47640
Wavy Black Hair
Brown
White
Tall for a woman but average compared to man
Toned

File: Elaine Isabella Quest.png (41 KB, 817x935)

41 KB PNG

"...And that should be the last of it, Elaine. Looks like there really was a person under all that blood!", Hakim states somewhat jovially as he finishes stitching up your last wound, "Jarid, get her one of those thermal blankets, and something to eat!". Jarid moves through the lighter with a practiced pace, quickly retrieving the items Hakim asked for before handing them over to him. The fact that Jarid doesn't talk much is weirding you out a little.

Hakim offers the blanket and a small ration block to you. Your stomach grumbles, but the pain across the rest of your body greatly overshadows the pangs of hunger you feel. You accept them in silence, the warmth of the blanket bringing you comfort and a needed respite from the chill coastal air, the ration block is... food. At least they're trying. You take a tentative bite, and after assessing you haven't been poisoned you continue eating - it tastes terrible, but that's exactly what you'd expect from survival food.

"There, not so bad now is it? We're going to take you back to our station nearby, is that alright with you Elaine?", Hakim asks, crouching next to you. Sitting on the passenger seat nearest to the exit ramp you consider the offer, they seem trustworthy enough and the sense of impending doom you felt earlier is beginning to slowly fade as your memories come back. You let your guard down slightly, and holster your laspistol, reassuring yourself that you can get to it in time if the need arises. Outside the storm has completely stopped, revealing the planet's blue sun as the clouds dissipate.

>Ask more questions. (Write-In)
>Go along with them.
>Ask to be left here.

This'll be all for tonight everybody, I'll continue in the morning! Thanks for participating so far, from here on out I'll be including statistics updates and even some artwork on occasion!

>>48320

>Ask more questions. (Write-In)

Wait, I don't even know planet I'm on. At least give me a few details..or a map, something?

>>48486
And just who are you people? ((Forgot the logical last question))

Ask Hakim who he is and apologize for being jumpy.

>>48320
>Go along with them.

You consider going along with them but decide that it would be best to ask some questions first, as hospitable as they've been its good to know more about a situation before blindly trusting people. You've calmed down a fair bit and begin, deciding that an apology would be best to start with. "Hakim,", you start,"s-sorry for, uhm, pointing a gun at your for the last half hour. I'm just so confused right now... Who are you, exactly?".

Okay, so maybe that wasn't the most elegant apology, or a great segue into questioning but it'll have to do. You remember vaguely that you used to speak more formally than this, maybe that head injury screwed up more than your memory?

Hakim, now sitting across from you in the passenger bay, nods as you speak seemingly accepting the apology and then begins in turn, "I'm part of a specialized search and rescue outfit, a small branch of the Sectorless Soldiers mercenary company, and Jarid and Emily here," he motions to the younger man and the cockpit door,"are as well. We're out here looking for survivors as potential recruits, and this being a warzone and all we haven't had any problems with that - You're exactly the sort of person the Boss would want on board with us. If you're interested we've definitely got some positions available."

You're in the middle of drinking some re-caf Jarid gave you as Hakim explains all of this, you find the absurdity of the situation almost comical and barely avoid coughing while stifling laughter as you drink - You got shot down, lost your memory, and then people show up offering you a job because you didn't die? You can't remember how you thought this day would go, but you sure as hell were't expecting this. Hakim's cadence and tone seem like that of someone who has explained this many, many times though - you decide to go along with it, believing for now at least that he's telling the truth. You don't recognize the company name, and the fact that you're in a warzone is a bit shocking but makes sense.

Eventually you just give Hakim a simple nod after having thought it over. You really need to get off this beach, and this seems like the best way to do so currently. Jarid knocks on the pilot's door twice and the passenger bay exit ramp raises back up into position sealing the lighter, which then promptly takes off. You're handed a bulky vox headset to wear while in flight, so you can talk over the noise, and put it on.

...But why are they recruiting survivors, some sort of superstition? You vaguely remember hearing about groups doing things like this, but it was always just an Amasec Hall rumor really, nobody actually believed it. You think. Maybe they did actually, you never spent much time drinking so it isn't like you really talked about it much.

You're left with many questions, but you're busy eating the hastily prepared meal they've given you. Maybe you should just relax for now so you can calm down some more.

>Ask more questions. (Write in)
>Travel in quiet.

>>48486
You know that you're on the Hive planet Chorovak (and not near a Hive since you can't see the massive stratosphere scraping spires anywhere), in the Veris Sub-sector of the Amanitus Sector, a region of space in the Ultima Segmentum bordering the Tau Empire and the Realm of Ultramar.

Hakim said the planet name and type earlier and you already knew all that other stuff, its just been a bit spread out through the quest.

>>51797
I think ask if they have a med bay on your station, then travel in silence.
>>51805
My bad. Please don't call a commissioner.

>ask more about the warzone. Who is the skirmish between? Do they know which side you were on?

>>51797
>Travel in quiet.

Talking has worked for you so far, and you've got a few important questions that you need answers for before you can even consider resting. You look up from your re-caf thermos, which is almost empty, and continue your line of questioning from earlier, you voice crackling over the lighter's internal vox-link.

"So if I'm in some sort of warzone, who exactly is fighting and do you know if I was on either side? I can vaguely remember heading back somewhere after finishing a job, but its all still sort of a blur.", you ask quietly. You wince a little in pain as you finish off the re-caf, even just moving your arm to drink hurts.

Hakim shifts in his seat slightly and begins explaining the situation, "The war here's a real Emperor blighted mess, Elaine. Started out as an Ork invasion a little over a decade ago, with roks dropping from the sky and all the rest that you'd expect of the greenskins, but that got mostly put down by the defense force a year or so ago. We set up shop planet side earlier this year, since there's still enough skirmishes to give us a steady recruitment stream, but things have gotten... complicated, in the last week."

He pauses briefly and then continues, "From what we've been able to gather it looks like around half of the Planetary Defense Force turned traitor just as a Tau invasion force arrived in system, and we've been working under the assumption that they're allied with em'. It's a right old four way mess, and as of about an hour ago it looks like the System fleet lost the battle in orbit, and judging by that new blue sun overhead they lost pretty badly. From the size of your lander wreckage I'd wager that's were you were heading to, probably some ship in orbit that got knocked out before you got back to it."

(Part 1/2)

Fuck, you hadn't even considered that the blue 'sun' overhead might have been a plasma engine explosion. Makes sense though, and somehow you know it'll fade in another few hours. Probably that nobleborn education. Did you fall all the way from the upper atmosphere? No, that's a retarded idea, probably just had a damaged engine and bailed out. Things are happening on a scale much larger than you're used to, so you decide to focus on short term instead.

"The situation sounds pretty fucked," you state bleakly, "but you've got a medbay at the station of yours, right? Do you think it'll be safe with all this going on?"

Hakim grunts in agreement with your first statement and addresses your questions, "Yes on both accounts, for now at least. We've got it tucked away in a cove about an hours flight from here, keeps it real hidden from orbital scans. Its going to a busy week Elaine, you should probably get some rest while we're heading there - you're gonna have a lot people to meet."

You drift off to sleep, and awake an hour later as the lighter touches down.

Travelling to the medical bay is a blur of people and metal hallways, and after a short shower you change into a comfortable green jumper they provide you with. It feels good to wear fresh clothes, and you even managed to save your hair from total ruin. At the end of all of this you find yourself exhausted but laying on a quite comfortable bed. The room is a essentially large plasteel rectangle, with an automatic double door on the far end. Bright white lights shine on your from the spotless ceiling, and you're seperated from what you assume are other beds by a sliding green curtain. Various medical machines flank you on both sides, as well as a small nightstand which your laspistol and datalslate rest on. A speaker in the ceiling is playing some familiar music at a low volume (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GbevQH1B9ic), you enjoy the sound of it. A empty chair sits facing your bed, probably for the staff to sit in when they question you.

>Enjoy the music and drift off to sleep.
>See if anybody nearby will talk, you need to learn more.
>Read your dataslate.

(Part 2/2)

>>53212
>Enjoy the music and drift off to sleep.
Rest is good

>>53212
We can read later, rest is welcome right now.

You're tired. Really, really tired. Falling asleep isn't so much a choice as it is an inevitability, and the familiar pop rock tune sets you at ease...

You drift to sleep, and dream of a half remembered past.

>It is a bad dream, of war and killing. Interceptors and missiles streak across a blood red sky under the light of a dying star. The end came to a planet, and you fought there as it fell, one of the last pilots to escape the carnage alive. If you choose this dream you will remember more of your history as a mercenary and combat capabilities, for both the air and the ground.

>It is a good dream, of your family and friends. Laughter fills the air and you enjoy a summer party under the warm sun of your home planet. This is where you had your first kiss, with a boy from one of the other noble families. You also learned a valuable lesson about how politics works in the Imperium as you were scolded by your father for doing so. If you choose this dream you will remember more about your family and old friends, but little else. It is a comforting respite in this harsh and unforgiving galaxy, and perhaps you'll find friends as easily now as you did back then.

>It is a true nightmare, of a strange xenos beast hunting you through a voidship. It's eyeless face and tooth filled maw haunt you vision, and it stalks you through the shadows and ship vents. You were one of a handful of survivors of this incident, and were questioned by a strange man with a giant "I" symbol afterwards about how you survived. If you choose this dream you will regain some of your stealth abilities, as well as some memories that had been blocked out even before your injuries.

>>54000
Let's go with the first one.

>>54000
Forgot to add, please roll 5d6 along with these choices to determine how much you remember.

Rolled 6, 6, 4, 3, 1 = 20 (5d6)

>>54000
>>54027

Rolled 5, 5, 4, 2, 6 = 22 (5d6)

>>54000
>It is a true nightmare, of a strange xenos beast hunting you through a voidship. It's eyeless face and tooth filled maw haunt you vision, and it stalks you through the shadows and ship vents. You were one of a handful of survivors of this incident, and were questioned by a strange man with a giant "I" symbol afterwards about how you survived. If you choose this dream you will regain some of your stealth abilities, as well as some memories that had been blocked out even before your injuries.

Operator Operating status

>>54030
If votes are tied the highest remembrance roll will also pick the dream we go with.

Just sort of winging these voting mechanics as I'm going along, hopefully they aren't too obtuse. Whenever a proper second thread is made I'll have a more ironed out system.

Remembrance Roll: 12! A great success.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

You dream a terrible dream, of war and killing. The details are hazy and unclear and as you drift from memory to memory a story begins to unfold.

You fought for a Rogue Trader of the Alaric dynasty, as part of a bomber squadron tasked with the destruction of xenos colonies on a world he wished to build upon. You were paid well, and served with the Crimson Foxes, a mercenary group that had always worked closely with the Alarics.

Heavy and bright red rain spatters across the armaglass cockpit of your bomber as you soar between dark black cloud banks, the sky looking more like some kind of hellish churning ocean of blood than a proper atmosphere. Above you a stark crimson sun shines upon the dying world you battle above, a dying star coupled with a dying planet. The bomber shakes as your release your payload, and almost a dozen tonnes of fission bombs plummet towards their waiting victims. Far below you fiery mushrooms blossom within colony complexes, and the lives of thousands of xenos are extinguished in the blink of an eye.

The shrill shriek of a detected missile lock fills your hearing, and you climb hard to evade, buffeting against the hurricane force winds of this foul world as you ascend - flares and chaff surround your vessel like a halo of fire and scattering light. You see the missile rush past you on your right side, the thin tail of smoke left behind it is the only evidence of the weapon which almost took your life.

You check the instrumentation and the tail cameras reveal the source of the attack - an orphaned fighter, badly damaged and leaking a black trail of fuel is slowly fading into the distance, clouds obscuring him every few seconds as you both rocket higher. His wingmen were shot down by your fighter escort, and he has no hope of surviving in these winds in such a state. His left wing fails first, ripping from the body of the craft, and the rest disintegrates into just so many pieces of metal in short order.

...Your mind's eye drifts to a new memory, one of fighting aboard your employer's voidship - You're part of a team cleaning up the last remaining survivor's of the Xenos world's defence forces, they boarded the frigate in a desperate last attempt to save their world.

It's a near soundless blur of grav-impellers and shotgun fire, tight zero gravity engagements in decks devoid of grav-plating and oxygen. The only noise you hear is your own breathing, the static of your damaged vox-unit, and the sound of your own tightly gripped combat shotgun which travels up and through your armored voidsuit. The xenos were poorly equiped, wielding primitive cutting tools and poor imitations of lasweaponry - even in zero gravity they're easy prey, and your steady hand and skilled maneuvering with your grav-impeller makes short work of them.

...The dream fades, and you awaken slowly.

(Part 1/2) Choices next.

A small clock on your nightstand informs you that it is quite early in the morning, the seventh hour of the thirty terran hour days Chorovak experiences. You must have slept through what was left of yesterday and the entire night, it was barely midday when you had arrived. You're in much less pain now, and feel rested. Through the green curtain to your right you can hear someone muttering in their sleep in a male voice, and the light rustling of bed sheets. You stifle a small giggle as it sounds like they're enjoying their dream a little too much, and consider what to do from here.

>Read your dataslate.
>Explore the base.
>Find some food and drink.
>Look for somebody to talk to, you want to learn more.
>Stay in bed, surely they'll have somebody bring you food and converse with you then.

(Part 2/2)

>>55206
>Find some food and drink.
>>Look for somebody to talk to, you want to learn more.

We can do both at the same time, the defac is a great place to get rumors and information

>>55206
>Read your dataslate.
I'd like to find out more about our more immediate past.

>>55493
Data slate. This seems more important at the moment.

You're hungry for more information as well as some actual food, the last thing you ate was that damned ration bar. Getting out of bed quietly you gather up your data-slate and head out of the room, careful not to disturb the other patients. The automatic doors part with an audible swoosh as you exit, and you find yourself back in the metal maze of a base you've been brought to.

Orange, black, and white. You've been seeing these colors throughout the base as you wander through it. Seems that these "Sectorless Soldiers" have got a nice color scheme. Using the signs you find across the base (which are bit of a novelty for you, as you're used to unlabeled labyrinthine voidships) you manage to eventually find your way to the mess-hall, which is actually quite a bit smaller than you expected - there are only a dozen rectangular tables big enough to seat around six, and the attached kitchen is small and currently without staff. Only two other people are there, both enjoying meals that they must have made themselves.

Being the terrible cook that you are you decide to just make a simple soup, which takes only a few minutes to prepare, and get ready for a nice meal and reading session. You sit down...

>With the blonde haired young woman who is currently eating a sandwich. She's looking at something on a dataslate as well, seems you'll fit in just fine. You never got a good look at Emily, the pilot of the lighter that rescued you, but this might be her.

>With the clean shaven man in light carapace armor, who is currently enjoying some soup. His helmet rests nearby on the table, and he looks to be in his late twenties or early thirties, and while his pale skin is unwrinkled he has a worn look to him. He seems to be tired, but he eyes you as you look around the room.

>Alone. You just want to read, not have a meet and greet. You can talk with these people after you're done.


---------------------------------

Sorry for the delay everybody, watched person of interest and lost the fucking post for the second time this quest.

>>56188
>With the blonde haired young woman who is currently eating a sandwich. She's looking at something on a dataslate as well, seems you'll fit in just fine. You never got a good look at Emily, the pilot of the lighter that rescued you, but this might be her.

Might as well sit with the other pilot, assuming that is indeed who she is.

>>56188
>With the blonde haired young woman who is currently eating a sandwich. She's looking at something on a dataslate as well, seems you'll fit in just fine. You never got a good look at Emily, the pilot of the lighter that rescued you, but this might be her.

You haven't gotten a chance to thank Emily, so you take a chance and sit across from the blonde haired woman. She doesn't look up from her data-slate, and you sit in silence for a moment.

"You're Emily, right?", you finally ask.

She jumps a little at the question and looks up, her wide blue eyes looking over you quickly - she pulls a small set of wireless vox-beads from her ears, which you can faintly hear music playing from and answers, "The very same. So you're the new girl we picked up? Sleep well?".

You think about the dream you had, which was quite unpleasant, but lie to keep the conversation moving smoothly, "Uh, yeah, I feel a lot better I guess. I never got the chance to thank you for getting me out of there.".

"Anytime, Elaine?", it obviously took her a moment to remember your name and the statement sounded more like a question, "You haven't gone through orientation yet, have you?".

"...Should I have?", you ask quizzically. You power up your data-slate, which boots quickly.

"Probably not, usually new arrivals are too injured to wander around though so it's a little weird. I'm uh, of course glad to see you're doing so well though, I just - I didn't really phrase that well. It's good to meet you, Elaine.", she's obviously a bit flustered, you notice the bags under her eyes and it becomes clear that she must be running only on re-caf and willpower.

"I got what you meant, and it's good to meet you too Emily. What're you reading?", you try to move the conversation on before things get awkward.

"After action reports mostly, and I'm setting up a couple of flight plans for tomorrow," she glances at her chrono, "ooor maybe they're for today. Shit. Uh, How about you?", she says while motioning to your own now active data-slate.

"Not sure really,", you answer honestly, "hopefully something that'll jog my memory though, I'm pretty sick of just feeling my way through things. The amnesia is really screwing with me.".

"Well, I hope it helps, but I've actually got to go right now,", she states while glancing at her chrono again and begins gathering her things in a bit of a rush, "We should trade stories sometime though, if you've got any good ones.". She winces almost immediately after saying this, "Oh crap, sorry, amnesia and all. I've really got to go though, we should talk sometime!", she finishes gathering her things and leaves the mess-hall quickly.

You barely get to say farewell before she's gone, and you're left a little concerned over whether or not she should be flying while that tired but you know these people have got to be pretty busy with the four-way war going on.

(Next post will be data-slate info)

You spend the next hour eating and browsing through your data-slate, which is absolutely packed with information. It isn't a journal unfortunately, but you had obviously been using it for some note taking and entertainment. Pictures of people you recognize as your family, friends, and co-workers fill the slate's memory crypts, and you even find an employment history - it looks like you were working on a resume of some sort but never got to finish it. Oh, and it has your last name and age! And your birthday!

Age: 25
Birth date: 2250999.M41
Birthday: April 3rd (Terran)

You're part of the Delasante family, the third daughter of Duke Rhaban Delasante and your mother Duchess Maria Delasante (formerly Lady Maria Laventho), you were born on the Paradise world of Sunset which resides in the Considium sub-sector of the Amanitus sector.

You look almost exactly like your mother, and your father spoiled you greatly as you were his youngest. Your parents had been married for over a century by the time of your birth and both frequently underwent rejuvenat treatments - your father is almost two centuries old and your mother is only a few decades younger.

You have two sisters, Elizabeth (the oldest), and Sophia. Sophia was a whore, and you hate her. You liked Elizabeth but she wasn't ever really around, being half a century older than you she had already married some lord in another system and rarely visited.

Your fourteen brothers (Listed from olderst to youngest: Abelard, Balder, Eadgar, Martin, Timothy, Jericho, Tor, Almir, Sargis, Brutus, Nehemiah, Hendrik, Archibald, and Erik.) were protective of you, and being closer to your age they were around for most of your childhood before marrying off world, serving in the Navy and Guard, or setting out on adventures much like your own. Abelard stayed on world to continue the family, and last you heard he was engaged to that bitch Ferosa from the Zotikos family, much like your sister she was also a whore.

You're pretty sure a fair portion of the servants that attended you were actually related to you, bastards of your father, but you never felt bold enough to ask him directly, but there were of course many rumors. Your best friend, Samuel, was one of these servants and you were actually quite fond of him, but romance never really came to you very well and it would have been seven sorts of improper to legitimize a bastard. And you're not a fan of incest, despite your sister Sophia's constant urgings.

You have extended family on a few dozen worlds, but mostly on the Hive world of Anthraxis. You're pretty sure one of your distant cousins got a Warrant of Trade through some scheme, but you've never actually met her. Does that make you a part of the Dynasty?

Your work history goes as follows: Freelance pilot, Alaric Dynasty, Anthraxin Spiderhounds (merc group), Alaric Dynasty again, Hawks of Przemys (merc group).
You don't have contact information for any of them. Probably didn't expect to get amnesia.

While memories are coming back to you it still feels more like you're reading about somebody else, and many of the pictures are only faintly recognized. You're finished for now though, and after looking around realize that a few more people have entered the mess-hall. They're all wearing some sort of weird black and orange carapace armor and for some reason they've got balaclavas on even though they're at base and eating. What a bunch of weirdos. ...The balaclavas do look sort of cool though, you've got to admit.

>Eat more food, that old servant woman back home always said you were too small. And that soup was pretty good.
>Find some place to shower, and another set of clothes.
>Talk to the balaclava wearing guys, they seem interesting.
>Search the base, maybe you can find this "Orientation" you were supposed to get.
>Write-In

>>57016
>Find some place to shower, and another set of clothes.
Once we're clean we can see about finding the "Orientation."

>>57054
Seconded. ("And I wasn't to small! She was to big!")

Using the signs posted throughout the base and half remembered directions from the day before you eventually manage to find the base's quarter-master, who actually already had a few extra sets of clothes waiting for you. Alongside a few sets of civilian clothes which fit alright, you're also given a dark blue and black flight suit, and some sort of green and black battle dress uniform similar to what you've seen some PDFs wear. The BDU has a distinctly professional look to it, and seems to be of high quality construction. Obviously they're expecting you to stick around, which you find a little weird. You ask the quarter-master, a friendly older gentleman named Jean, for a map of the base. He's happy to provide you with one and after a few minor tech-rites you have a map stored in the info-crypt of your data-slate. Handy.

With the map provided by the quartermaster you then find the same shower area you used last night, and after a bit of washing up you change into the BDU you were provided - everybody else you've seen around base has been wearing it, and it actually fits you the best out of all the clothing provided. They must have gotten your measurements sometime yesterday, but your arrival at the base is a half remembered mess and you can't recall anything of the sort happening. A question for some other time, perhaps. You store your other clothes back in the medical bay near your bed, and carry on exploring the base while looking for this "Orientation" area.

Annoyingly the map doesn't list a location for "Orientation", or anything that's even close. Eventually you bump into a few of the base guards, and after a bit explaining your situation they help you out and point you in the right direction. The right direction leads to a room ominously labelled "Interrogation Chamber 3", and you stop next to the large plasteel door leading into it. A small sign above the entrance lists it as being currently unoccupied.

>Unlock the door and enter. The guards said you'd need to wait for a bit and told you to not close the door.
>Get your laspistol and come back. You aren't really sure how it'll help but its comforting to have a weapon.
>Find somebody nearby and confirm that this is the right place.
>Write-In.

>Get your laspistol and come back. You aren't really sure how it'll help but its comforting to have a weapon.
>Find somebody nearby and confirm that this is the right place.

It's part of my uniform after all.

You return to the medical bay and retrieve your laspistol from the nightstand, holstering it in the black thigh rig your uniform came with instead of it's original hip holster. Examining how you look in a nearby wall mounted dressing mirror reveals that you actually look pretty good. Damn good, in fact. Between your sidearm, injuries that are just extensive enough to look impressive but not be debilitating, and the tailored uniform you look like the very image of a hardened professional mercenary. You probably shouldn't tell people that you're just a bored noblewoman and not particularly hardened, it'd really ruin the image you're trying to build.

You feel much better about your questionable life choices, and after confirming the "Orientation" location with another set of guards you head back to Interrogation Chamber 3 and find that the door is open. Inside a set of plasteel folding chairs sit on opposite sides of a small metal table, one of the chairs is occupied by a tall dark skinned man who looks to be on the far side of forty years old. The man is wearing a uniform similar to your own, with the exception of his red beret, and looks up as you enter the room and sit down.

>You'll be asking the questions here! You're thankful for their hospitality but want to know what the fuck is going on. (Write-In questions).

>Sit back and let him speak, it would be rude to interrupt him. You've been treated well so far and owe them a considerable debt.

>A mix of the two. (Write-in).

>A mix of the two. (Write-in).

If he doesn't address it we will ask who we would be fighting.

Going to call the thread here, weekdays just don't produce enough traffic to really keep this going at a reasonable pace.

>>58277
>>58451
We'll continue from here next time.

Thanks for all the posts everybody, Soldier of Misfortune will continue sometime this Friday or Saturday with a new thread!

>>58942

Sounds good, thanks for running man

>>58942
Sweet.

>>58277
>>Sit back and let him speak, it would be rude to interrupt him. You've been treated well so far and owe them a considerable debt.

>Will wait op

>>58277
>Sit back and let him speak, it would be rude to interrupt him. You've been treated well so far and owe them a considerable debt.

>>58277
Let him speak.