[a / b / c / d / e / f / g / gif / h / hr / k / m / o / p / r / s / t / u / v / vg / w / wg] [i / ic] [r9k] [cm / hm / y] [3 / adv / an / cgl / ck / co / diy / fa / fit / hc / int / jp / lit / mlp / mu / n / po / pol / sci / soc / sp / tg / toy / trv / tv / vp / x] [rs] [status / ? / @] [Settings] [Home]
Settings   Home
/qst/ - Quests

File: image0-3.jpg (656 KB, 1280x720)
656 KB
656 KB JPG
You are a member of a penal regiment


Located in the Malek Sub-sector.

Osmarek in the Enorme system.

Is a quaint little planet, a bit bigger than all mighty Holy Terra and home to two moons and a rather large private station, the planet is your destination. In the same system, on the outer edges, lies a local navy base - this navy base recently sent a distress beacon. Resources stretched, the chaff of regiments in the sector has been weeded out into a singular large penal legion and penal planets are being emptied, anyone for even the smallest infractions in many cases finds themselves drafted.

A desperate force sent to try to contain (and most likely fail in all honesty, but at least slow down) what is clearly a foreign incursion by unconfirmed chaos forces.

You come out of the warp and days later to find yourself landing. You are herded on out of the cargo bays and onto a young hiveworld. Hive Bismarck stands before you.

And amongst thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, maybe even many more, you stare down at innumerable edifices, fortifications and sigils to dark gods.

You’re here far too late for this to be quick and easy.

>>Form up, ascertain the situation and explore the hive before you. An attack is likely inevitable and "command" is by and large commissars and disgraced commanders.
>You can be a heretic, consequences apply.
>You all start with some variation of las-fun or auto-gun or worse, you have either flak or no armor on, though it's appearence can vary.
>You cannot play spacemarines, though one chapter exists nearby and might become relevant.
>You may play comical characters as long as you can still be serious and are playing an actual character and not just a joke.
>Roll 1d20 for combat/1d100 for everything else

>This is likely going to be rough, since no idea what I'm really doing, but I'll try

Discord Link:https://discord.gg/cZD6yba

>Ave Imperator.
>Be Sergeant Maximus Ted
>Have truly glorious mustache
“Fall in squad! We’ve got to find the enemy to shoot them!”
File: big owwie.jpg (47 KB, 600x600)
47 KB
>look for commanding officer
>be prepared to die at any moment
>tfw all i did was sneeze on a ministorum priest who later died due to health complications
>tfw blamed
File: sergei.jpg (80 KB, 400x560)
80 KB
>be 2nd lieutenant Sergei Leonidovich Murakov
>expelled from the Vostroyan Firstborn for drinking too much (somehow) and being ridiculously hotheaded
>insists on commanding from the front and using the same amenities as rank-and-file guardsmen
>hates armchair commanders, loves the smell of mud and overheating lasrifles
>swears constantly
>decent mustache, but secretly jealous of Maximum Ted's mustache
>angry at trains, or anything resembling trains for that matter.
>If he ever hears that some chaos engines look like trains, he would probably have twelve aneurysms and bayonet charge a wall or something
>The disgraced and disgruntled nota would be sitting around scowling on a crate, throwing garbage at random penals as he looked over his diagnosticator and attempted to calculate the amount of steel nails it would take to pierce the power armor of Inquisitor Vaerlin Vandabry.

“You̢ ͞a̴ŕe̴ ̴al͘l̴ s͞c̀u͝m͡ ͢a͢nd I ͢ha̛v̕e a͟ ͝ǹe͞g͝a͜ti͝vȩ o͢piņi̧on͞ o̕f̴ ýou.”
>he gargles from his damaged vox unit
"Oh come on chap, you can't have a negative opinion of a man with a mustache!"
>Maximus Ted smiles widely and genuinely
>look for my commanding officer
> bound to die a horrible death at the hands of enemies or possibly allies.feels warm fuzzy feeling
FOR THE OTHER CUNTS DOWN THERE *stumbles off the table*
*under breath* kinda like me ol' mums family I suppose
> Be pvt. Icarrius
> Be here cause of one missed grain in a shipment, ONE
> Was just tossed out of a dropship with my autogun, and a flak vest

Can I roll to see how much life has kicked my teeth in thus far?
>a wild-eyed man squats next to the chirurgeon, occasional spurts of noxious coloured gas puffing from his rebreather
"Too much like *cough* fuckin' d-deja vu, if ya ask m-me."
>he twitches, wheezing slightly
“I ̨am l̕eàd̸ t͠o believe̴ ̛mousta̛che͞s ̨d̛o͠ i̡n͟ ͝f̸ac͞t͠ ma̷ke pe͟op͟le ͝móŕe̢ t̨r͠u̧st͘wor͘thy,̨ what͡ a ͡fás͞c͜įn͝ati͠ng o̢c̀c͠ur̷ren͟c̸e.”

̀“Wha͠t tr͝u͠s͜twơr̷th̕y̸ ̨a̛c̵ti̵óǹs d̛o̴ ͡yo̢u e͟nj̵o͞y p̴art̷aki̛n̢g͘ ̕in?͝”

“Í ̷a̡m nơt́ ̛a̸ ̧p̸r̕i̛va̵t̢e̷, b̡u͢t I ̡a͠g̶re̕e ̛ent̨i̵r̸el̸y,̢ c̨o̴nt̡inúe͘ dr̡onin̡g.͝“
It's a truly glorious mustache and the squad of, fairly inbred looking men and only faintly, perhaps even fuckable woman tow behind you, they mostly carry auto-guns unlike your esteemed self.

But, heading a bit further downhill, away from about everyone and towards what could obstensibly be called a frontline, stub-fire grows greater, screams cry out and all around, the somewhat ruined imperial outpost and the haphazard aegis lines and trenches, the faffing about of people clearly panicking and the fact that almost no one even seems to carry a las-gun doesn't exactly bare well.

>What is this man, with his magnificent stauch going to do about it, at the back of the line?

Crimes innumerable, terrible and all around, probably deserving of actually being here, the sneezing on a priest was just the icing on the cake.

>Roll 1d100 for finding some moron who actually looks in control, you know she exists, your pretty sure it's a she. She is a commissar most likely, so indeed you should be prepared to die!

A proud people, a man waylaid by something truly bullshit, 2nd lieutenant Sergei is a good man and undoubtedly, shows the Imperiums true assholery to it's best and brightest.

The stone ground before you is cold, it's a tepid 27 degrees out and you can see bits of vegetation even growing in between cracks, hear faint bits of water flowing, this ball of rock is nothing to Vostroya.

>What you going to do bigman?


>Roll 1d100 for finding the commander.

An incredibly akward applause comes forth, filled with nervous fear, a bit of terror, some blatant hatred and really, it seems like everyones in a fairly terrible mood.

Quite a downer.

>>You may.
Bigger is worse life or better life, asking cause you is da boss
Rolled 67 (1d100)

>man, i wish i was back on my home planet.
>i forgot the name of my home planet
>i really am a terrible person
>look for the commanding officer. whichever person is yelling the loudest
Rolled 10 (1d100)

>hopefully the commander is closeby
((Ill go bigger why not.))
>be Pvt.Peace
>lost my helmet on the drop ship
>just me and the m40 Autogun now
>look around for the Commanding Officer
>he's a Ruppert
“Come on men! In formation and be ready for orders from our commanders!”
>Waits in formation for orders
*nota bursts into a coughing fit*

“Gr- who is in charge here?”
>the soldier reluctantly trudges into line, lugging his voxset, twiddling a few dials absent-mindedly
"Right. M-Might as well *wheeze* get this over w-with."
Rolled 72 (1d100)

>pull out 22nd Firstborn Regiment lighter and a Astra-Militarum-approved cigar
>after taking a long draw from the cigar, get on the ground and press my ear against the stone, trying to hear the water flowing better
>hope that I don't hear a train or some shit like that
>looks around standing five foot behind the enthusiastic man
>"this is where were supposed tay bee aye?"
>leaning heavily on my M40 as i look at the chirurgeon
So who is highest ranked here? Ye? Huwhat is your rank, friend?
No clue buddy I'm still looking for the commander know where I can find him?

>this guy is already dying and we aren't fighting yet
“Alright men! It seems orders are not forthcoming! In situations like this, there are only three things to do: Believe in the Emperor, Believe in mustaches, and slay Heretics!”

>Points towards the sounds of battle

“Onwards men! To glory and fine facial hair!”

“Either here or six kilometers in the other direction but I do not care regardless and have already pinned the possible mistake on someone else.”

I am the Chirurgeon, I heal people.

No. If you have a limb that needs amputating, or a limb you want amputated, I perform this vital service.
>he waves for the moustachioed man to hold up, putting his vox handset to his ear
"Uhhh... Yeah, r-roger that. Over."
>he replaces the handset with a click
"Frontline command s-says *cough* head to the trenches ASAP. Guess that's out best guess."
>he jerks a thumb in the direction of a shitty dirt path leading towards the sound of gunfire
>i sigh and lean more against the autogun
"so staying ere it is, i ain't marching my appy ass six kilometers anywhere"
>looking about to the others around i smile and offer out a pack of LHO sticks
"anyones poison? Names Peace an ye are?"
>he takes a lho with a grateful nod, lighting it and sticking it into a port in his rebreather
"Thank y-ya kindly. Name's van Kleez, pleasure ta' make yer acquaintance an' all that. Where ya from, chief?"
It's a commisar, blond haired blue eye'd, carrying a bolter and a...power axe? Either way, huddled up against a plasteel wall of the entrance to the hive, buried into the rock-face, she's talking things over with what looks like an extremely ugly man.

He strikes you as Milita or there pdf is just the worst. A toned arm gestures towards you as you come closer and a weapon is idly fingered.

>"What do you want?"

((Roll 1d100))

You stand spick and span behind an aegis line, the firing seems to grow a bit more sporadic, perhaps the assault is letting up for now, the thick smoke coming from further ahead, down at the base of the mountain obscures any hope of knowing for sure without Vox or some kind of signal.

You mess with the Vox with a bit of a coughing fit, but your fiddling does manage to find several things.

>A strange music station, it hurts your head a little, sensual in style.
>The Garbled screams from what must be the planets Pdf is a constant on another channel, with some discussions about how the enemy was supposedly vast, swift and had a perchance for slicing up it's enemy's.
>Some kind of warning about a parasitic beast native to the planet infesting people and using corpses and injured guardsmen to breed?

>It's your choice which to listen to, to find out more.

You hear it, it's a kinda deep rush of water, something like a tunnel, you can faintly hear people, perhaps a sewer system out of the hive, the treads of servitors and mechanical clinks and shrieks and squeals of some Tech-priests that don't appear to be very brave.

Your feet take you down the hill, rocky crags tearing at your clothing, an incline horrifically steep, you lose your footing, it feels like something tripped you, but your tumbling down the rocky mountain either way.

>Roll 1d100
>I want to keep them thank you very much
Alright if I need of that I will get to you asap
Rolled 35 (1d100)

uh? wait? ya in command, laddie?
that's a fine mustache, but I don't think we *hic* are going by chain of mustaches here
not gonna repeat orders though, you're doing fine brother.
“Nota Chirurgeon.”

“I have killed lots of people.”

“You will, or die trying.”

>he immediately returns to his current business of waiting for the blonde commissar to tell him to do something, maybe even tell him to die
>the voxman's brow furrows as he tunes into the warning broadcast about the parasitic beasts
"F-Fuck, as if the *wheeze* irate locals weren't enough of an b-bugger."
"Armageddon born an raised, took an russ out fer a spin and it landed me here.. alon with a few other things"
>he laughed as he stuck a lho in his mouth and looked at nota
"i havent.. orcs and chaos aint people"
>he laughed
>i was never in the guard, just know they have officers. she's got the nicest looking clothing so she must be in charge.
"I...uh...was just wondering where we will be stationed....uh sir...uh ma'am."
"Aaagh! I have arrived!"
>I heft my paired guns, and lug my backpack of machinery
"Who is in need of a metallic phallus?"
>the light glints off of my skeletal metallic face
>my left eye, replaced with a glowing cyber-eye, scans all around me
>several robo-arms, jutting from my back, twitch in anticipation under my robes
>wheels around to look at the... tech priest speaking about metal dicks
"i saw eh sororitas about twenty kicks norf friend"
“How amusing, do you smoke or drink?”
“How would you rate your internal health?”
"No! I will only replace the penile parts of males! Also limbs!"
>I stare back at the man
"drink, smoke, fuck, do an occasional cut of stimm"
>he chuckles as he speaks
"internal health.... good as anyone born on armageddon"
>he chuckles
"Ahh, did a s-stint on Armageddon way b-back. Sure is, uh... *wheeze* Sure is a planet. An' it's their f-fault for leavin' 'em lyin' around l-like that, eh?"

"Leave his f-fuckin' kidneys alone *cough* you b-bastard. He needs 'em to f-fight."

>he gives the metal man a blank look, taking a drag on his lho
"Should be alright, I'll l-let ya know *wheeze* if I change my m-mind."
>looks nervously at the tech man, scooting closer to the other private
“Your organ grade has been decreased.”

“We shall have a moderate working relationship wherein you assist me in selling drugs throughout the regiment.”
>I scoot closer, scanning the man with my cyber-eye
“I see you have volunteered your organs as tribute, KLEEZ?”
>stares deadpan at the man
"only if i get a pick of the stimm and eh SLaught at comes through"
>turning with a regular smile now he laughs
"aye, and eh driver left eh keys in an all, wast too ard"
"and ye leave van kleez lone, need more boys at can fight.."
>he rested a hand on the privates shoulder
>trips, wires falling out of my pocket
>dammit I always do this when I meet new people
>>4022714 >>4022711 >>4022700 >>4022684 >>4022663 >>4022644
>get up
>clears throat
>slaps own face to amasec-induced drowsiness
>slaps face again


>sighs and looks at the tech priest moving closer
"whats yer name Cog boy, we dont got much tech goin but if ye can keep us runnin it would be preciated"
>wheels around on his boot and looks over everyone
"now how bout we go do us a service tae the emperor aye?"
>tightens bolts on my robo-arm, and test my grip on my autoguns
>72 percent accuracy

“I am in liiiine.”
“My position is flawless.?
The fall is unpleasant, cutting open your skin, bruising your face and all around leaving you winded.

You land on your ankle, your about midway down, on some sort of ledge, a cave's in front of you, while down below, a small campfire blooms.

They look human, they have las-gun's, no one you recognize. It'd be a climb, but the faint allure of a stream clearly flowing along, having long dug into the stone that is pockmarked and indented looks much more safe a place then entering the cave, but who knows.

The cave could be a resupply base, could lead into the hive, could just be a wild animals home.

>>What do you do?

Tuning into the creatures in many ways makes you wish you hadn't, listening to about four or so minutes of footage gets you the following facts.

>They are Quadrupeds. rather large, about as large as a motorcycle or small car. Possess razor sharp claws, that have demonstratedly harmed several vehicles and seemingly are rather resistant to standard ammunition.

Combine with a penchant for laying it's eggs inside someone's ribcage, as well as apparently having tendrils of some sort able to travel through solid stone and it's fairly obvious this is a warp tainted beast species.


Paired weaponry in hand, the hive door is open, their is a pathway to the front and a bit of blood covering a bit of the edge of the plateau your all on, you guess someone tripped.

>>Cyber man, whatcha going to do?

>"Go in the hive and help keep things under control or head down the path to the front, some tunnels down beneath the hive solider that need to be sealed off and cleared.

>We are facing....an infestation most foul, the dreaded Xeno's have arrived, carrying alongside their numerous malady's, the curse of chaos."


>The sky above you is a turgid color, softly shifting for a mere moment it grows a darker red color, the faint outline of something in the distance, far beyond the atmosphere almost writhing is obvious. The ground beneath your feet feels woobly, you feel too hot or two cold, perhaps several of you, if your looking at it for more then a minute or two, might think people around you are melting like wax.

Maybe you should be concerned?
"Look boss, we've b-been through this. *cough* Ya don't w-want my organs. They've b-been through the wars, moreso than *wheeze* the r-rest a' me."

>he chuckles again, an horrible rasping noise from the back of his throat
"Great r-respect for those S-Steel Legion lads, but *wheeze* they g-gotta keep a better track of their shit."
>he rummages through his coat and pulls out two small silver canisters
>he screws one into his rebreather with a hiss and slots the other one into an inhaler, which he passes to Peace
"I s-see you're a m-man of culture as well. Gamma Æ, inhalant form. Better for your veins, eheheheh *cough*"
>get in line next to the Chirurgeon, stopping momentarily to get some others into line before settling
>looks at the man shouting orders and looks him over, nodding to himself, slightly
>The emperor protects so let's wing it mother fucker
>I enter the cave with my lasgun at the ready
“It was a threat, not a request.”
“Though how you are still alive is a medical mystery I do intend to solve one day... mark my words, drug-puff.”

“You will like me and everything I do and say because of how incapable I am of making mistakes ever, and my overwhelming confidence.?
"sometimes ye just need that boost amiright, come here Private, good tae make friends and ye look capable"
>he shoves the faceless legionary next to him to make room for kleez
"we stick together we might just make a name for ourselves aye?"
File: a dud.jpg (26 KB, 500x500)
26 KB
Rolled 10 (1d100)

>we're all gonna die
"yes ma'am..uh sir. right away"
>he turns and prepares to head to the hive, looking around for any odd things happening since this feeling of uneasiness surrounds him
Rolled 21 (1d100)

>he grimaces at the news, before turning to address the unit
"Bad n-news, got some extra nasties to *cough* b-be aware of. Big, claws, can fuck up t-transports, lays eggs in s-stiffs. Keep an eye out."

"F-Faith in the Emprah and g-good ol' fashioned grit. Plus I c-clean my *cough* teeth t-twice a day. Think that's what d-does it."

"Doesn't s-sound like a half bad plan, eh?"
>although half his face is covered by the frankly excessively bulky rebreather, you get the impression he's grinning at you as he slots himself into line
>he grins and pats the man on the back as he slots into line, his heavy stubber hanging from its sling
"aye it dont, nae, just tae get this Rupert tae get us goin"
Rolled 16 (1d20)

"Fire upon the enemy men!"

>First rank second rank
File: Techpriest Bones.png (265 KB, 1269x1097)
265 KB
265 KB PNG
>step into line
>I don't even know what's going on
Overconfidence is what got me here in the first place, but I get ya.
Rolled 9 (1d100)

"Ohh fuck this."

"The entire regiments a mess, I ain't dying for you lot of assholes"




>starts humming a vostroyan tune no one recognizes while lads get in line
File: timothy-andrew-luciushs1.jpg (146 KB, 1920x1200)
146 KB
146 KB JPG
>falls into file behind the man who was humming the heavy stubber on his shoulder as he marched calling for the rest to fall in

"well? don't you want to die for the emperor?"
>turn to the man
>think for a minute
File: images (23).jpg (7 KB, 300x168)
7 KB
Rolled 8, 19, 14, 12, 3, 4, 16, 15, 12, 5 = 108 (10d20)



The sound of..something, the faintness of spark's, a mangled face, a gigantic robotic claw on it's back and a buzzsaw beside it. It looks rather old, decrypt, maybe even rotting just a tiny bit, it's charging you!

>Roll 1d20.

You flee the second you hear the boltgun being lightly raised on up, rushing through the plasteel door's, the floor beneath you is pockmarked, the air is of a noticably shitter quality, but the hall way is relatively simple, till you basically in your haste, fall down a giant hole in the middle of the floor, it appears the hive is built mainly downward.

>Roll to catch yourself.

Autoguns are pulled forth, your shot goes straight at something in the distance, you all finally notice something coming, as the line springs to life.

>>All at the Line.

The storm passes, things quiet, screaming lessens, for those who even could percieve that some people were indeed screaming.

And people have begun to fire, at lithe deformed creatures, wielding cruel blades, defaced with the symbols of the dark gods, pink and green are the main colors, a meangrie of vomit and elegance, combined with spindly almost human like, unnaturally tall figures.

In the back, a sharp *Crack* is resounding from enemy lines as they fire, what appear to be heavily ornamented technology.

Their forms are mutated, differwnt and varied, though they all seem strangely beautiful for one odd reason or another.
you are hiding behind a small rock, everyone but your fellow imperials can see you, you are very certain of this.

>>roll 1d20.
Rolled 14 (1d20)

"These creatures possess no mustaches! They mock the Emperor with their existence! Slay them for the Emperor!"

>Squad fires again

>Leroy quietly watches the sky from behind his sunglasses
>That does not look like a healthy set of clouds
>He adjusts the strap of his helmet, swallowing his fears and readying his autogun
>One problem at a time, buddy
>Just focus on the fightin' at hand, and we'll make through just fine
>He falls into formation, fidgeting for a second to straiten his uniform
>If I'm gonna die might as well look presentable to the Emperor for when I get there
>Hey, maybe they'd put a good note in my record, clear it even
>"Died honorably, and fashionably, in service to the Throne on Terra."
>When it dawns on him that he's been day dreaming he snaps back to attention
>Watching his exposed flank from the corner of his eye
>Just another dull march, not that different from the PDF


"Odds are I will, eventually, but I'd like postpone it. Win a few battles first, maybe earn a short stint of R&R if I can."
Rolled 20 (1d20)

>Start screaming and running!
Rolled 56 (1d100)


I bring you the word of our God emperor whatever you are.
Rolled 7 (1d20)

>turn to look at the enemy
>look down
>cyberdong is rock hard from memories of Mars
>raise autoguns
>engage bootleg targeting systems
>point my autoguns in the general direction of the enemy
>open fire, screeching in binary as I do
Rolled 13 (1d20)

>Nota ducks behind his omnipresent crate and takes a pot-shot at a random foe
>follows Murakov, looking bored and extremely excited at teh sounds of gunfire in teh distance

"its the fate of us all is to die, it is best arrive with no ammo and a ruined body"
>he almost cackled as he looked to the rest of the men
>his eyes scanning the surroundings eagerly
rolled 5 (1d20)

>with a smile he cocks the bolt of the heavy stubber back and then unleashes a stream of fire from his position
>after a moment picking the gun up and moving to a better position
Rolled 14 (1d20)

Wrong roll
Rolled 9 (1d20)

>He marches along behind the man toting the heavy stubber
>Half listening to the growing sound of battle

"Oh, I got nothin' agai-"

>As they reach the front he throws himself into the nearest cover
>Damn, that was a short march!
>Using his cover to help steady his aim
>He pleads to his weapon under his breath
"C'mon, baby, I been good to you. Time to get to work."
>He flicks off the safety, and squeezes the trigger
Rolled 78 (1d100)

>oh dear emperor
>this is how i die
>no, the emperor always protects the faithful
>desperately try to grab onto something, even try using my whip or spear or even my lasgun to bury it into some sort of holding.
>rips out another burst of stubber fire and makes his way to Brauns cover
"owdy friend, make sure tae pick yer targets an make em dead"
Rolled 9, 11, 12, 6, 17, 17, 9, 6, 1, 3, 11, 3, 1, 2, 12 = 120 (15d20)


Autogun bullets ripple around your foes, but your las-gun strikes true, shearing off an approaching Xeno's arm.

It's made it rather angry, almost leaping towards you.

>You are in Melee combat with Crone World Eldar, prove your valor.

Pvt. Sharp perhaps was blessed by the emperor and his own uncertainty about where to run. Making a commisar undoubtedly shed tears of joy, Pvt. Sharp truly having the biggest balls around, charges skinless, lavender skinned freaks and his wild screaming disorients and confuses them for a few moments for him to wildly beat them to death with the butt of his gun.

A shout echoes across the battlefield.


>You've just been promoted.

Perhaps your cyberdong was just too hard and too glorious for everyone, screaming binary, your machine spirits roar in joy and your autogun absolutely eviscerates a nearby cliff-face that some filthy xenos were climbing to ambush you.

Sadly no Xenos were harmed.

You fire, a las gun bolt piercing the head of what looks like some sort of human slave being forced forward.

He falls to the ground rather crispy and dead.

A nearby charging penal legionare takes multiple heavy stubber bolts to his chest by charging into the crossfire.

He was a rapist anyway.

You hit one, it appears to be screeching at you in some incomprehensible tongue.

An imperial aegis line's fragments smatter and implant in a traitor or two, as they come charging the lines, your not the best shot, but they appear to be at least sometimes hitting!

>>ALL except for one below it.

The enemy have crashed upon your lines, countless milita men find themselves being ripped apart alive, the screaming of people being turned to dust is quite alive in the air and now?

You've all been ordered to charge.

There are at least fifteen or thirty, no maybe sixty with a lot of humans....but their are a lot of you.


Not today.

Your whip grasps onto a piece of errant metal as you plummet, the smell of sewage, of excrement and the sounds of screaming is obvious, your own.

As you fling yourself, rolling and bouncing onto your feet into a tunnel, flowing with water, several techpriests are staring at you.

Well it appears you've got someone to help, as after a few moments?

>"Come on Meat, we must clear these tunnels for the Omnissiah, before they are inflitrated.

A monotone voice, a disdain but faint awe perhaps obvious, you have a job to do.
Rolled 14 (1d20)

>the soldier drops prone, fumbling his hotshot laspistol out of its holster and checking the cable before blasting at the advancing enemy
>laugh, feeling the approval of the machine spirits both grafted to and near me
>fire another volley
Rolled 22 (1d100)

The emperor sends his "greetings" through the lasgun.

>I scan the cave as I go deeper into it
Rolled 2 (1d20)

Rolled 74 (1d100)

"Ohh shit ohh fuck ohh shit ohh fuck"

>Just keep running wildly hopefully somewhere without anybody trying to kill me.
>seeing one of my comrades being cut down i fold back the bipod taking grip of the heavy stubber and preforming a walking fire advance to assist in teh charge
>a wide grin across his face
Rolled 2 (1d20)

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>After firing he quickly checks his weapon, ensuring the next round chambers properly
>Ducking into cover as a few round splash close by
>"Yeah I-"

>He's interrupted by the order to charge
>As he fixes his bayonet he glances to the gunner
>"Catch you on the other side, partner!"
>With that he bolts at the enemy
>Letting out the best warcry he can muster all the way
"Get some, fuckin' shitboots!"
>As he closes the distance he dumps his magazine
>Spraying wildly at the enemy lines
Rolled 8 (1d20)

>Nota screeches back in another incomprehensible tongue as he blindly fires in all dorections
File: geffle.png (180 KB, 592x554)
180 KB
180 KB PNG
>he clambers up
>day 1 of this engagement and already im covered in shit.
>red robes? ahh jeez I'm not prepared for dealing with the tech support.
>hopefully they dont pester me for something
"the tunnels....yeah. let's get going."
File: OQEbRwZ.jpg (85 KB, 1158x819)
85 KB
Private Van Kleez pulls forth his hotshot Las-pistol, burning it's way through an advancing xeno attempting to slip past the lines.

It collapses after a few moments, screeching, they seem rather emaciated creatures, fragments of any vitality they once had.

Click, Click.

>You must perform the sacred litany of reloading young tech-priest.

((I will be kind))

The las-gun slams the servitore in the head, leaving a circular shaped hole. Before you continue on forward, it leads downward's, the scent of the hive, the clenching of your throat, you come out into a sewer, with a few ration packs scattered about.

Actually look good.

Cpl. Sharp, truly the bravest warrior the Imperium has ever known. Dodges and weaves past confused enemy's and past equally confused militia into a nook, the side of a cliff-face and finds himself overlooking the battlefield.

Behind enemy lines, He stares at a creature, long and spindly, gleaming with some sort of energy, it's jaw dislocated, an excitable murmur of sorts as it almost casually directs the flow of the battle.

He has a good shot and that Eldar happened to roll a 1, before he gets a chance to fire, a las-gun strike, perhaps multiple hit its form.

The bipod breaks and the gun trembles, as you move forth, firing inaccurately and mowing down countless acquaintances and fellow penal legion members.

Thankfully no one important.

Rushing across the battlefield, he finds himself being one thing.

Sliced at and stabbed, in the side, perhaps by fellow bayonets, perhaps by the flick of an enemy, but its chaotic, it's a mess and your not sure what your hitting in this tide of body's anymore.

Corpses pile around you, mainly people screaming incomprehensibly to watch your fire, but nonetheless you feel accomplished and despite probably not hitting anything, you feel glad.

>>"Good good, perhaps in time that whip of yours might find itself in a proper bionic limb, the flesh is weak, metal is strong and dismemberment is inevitable."

>>Anyone at the line,

Their is a shift in the enemy lines, countless human slaves crushed and danced upon by countless terribly maintained boots, several of these spindly ugly things lay dead, whether winged or otherwise and they are fleeing back.


Feel free to continue under someone elses direction in thread if any wish! I shall be back tomorrow and any feed back here or in the discord shall be greatly appreciated!

Happy to be back!
>start chanting as I reload my guns
>they were hungry
>I love the machine spirits
>feel them click in happiness as I rack the bolts
>open fire on a large group of freaks
>the enemies here sure are ugly
Rolled 17 (1d20)

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>So this is the mechanicus. i think they mean well..........i hope
Rolled 16 (1d20)

>He grits his teeth
>It's too soon to go dying now, Emperor damn it all
>I'm sure there's somebody that can help patch me up if I make it
>Don't look down, Leroy, keep moving
>He lashes out with his bayonet
>The only way out is through the enemy!
>I ain't dead, yet!
Rolled 3 (1d20)

>these rations might be used for later or trading who knows
>I venture further into the sewers in hopes of reuniting with the rest of the troops and finally finding the stupid commander.
Like really the commander should wear a big hat or cape or something to make it easy to spot them
File: Red cloak.jpg (317 KB, 735x1000)
317 KB
317 KB JPG
>Meanwhile a huge figure in a weathered red cloak walks into the scene, about the size of an ogryn it drags along a makeshift cart with a worn out piano on it, from its neck there's a sign reading "Refferson, Ogryn pianist extraordinaire"
Rolled 5 (1d20)

>the soldier winces at the screech
>he snatches up his vox handset and attempts to radio command
"Penal to command, we're holding f-fast up here, where should w-we *cough* be headin', over?"
>he holds the handset between his ear and shoulder as he snaps another shot at the approaching creatures

>he looks at the figure across the battlefield and blinks hard
"S-Surely fuckin' not..."
>as I fight, my cyber eye sees something
>is that a piano
>what a rare trinket
>it has an odd machine spirit
>Little compartment on top of it pops reading "5 thrones per song"
>All the while he tries not to look at the direction the stuttering comes from
Rolled 12 (1d20)


>Cpl. Sharp, terrified for his life and the blatant insanity of the battlefield starts crying.
>He draws his las pistol and unloads the his entire magazine onto the creature.

"This whole regiment's retarded, why did we decided to start charging at a bunch of warp monsters without any sort of support!"
>he gives the corporal a look
"It's a p-penal regiment man, we *wheeze* ain't exactly meant to s-survive."
"I know that but nobody was smart enough to steal some sort of heavy weapon and duct tape it onto a truck? Somehow we have Admech and a hodge podge of weapons but the stubbers are just shooting our own people, even though they were mostly rapists, and the Ad mech, who's obviously aroused and possibly a Slaaneshi worshiper, is just shooting his empty gun at nothing."

"What are we even doing here, we're just shooting or charging at a bunch of warp monsters like a bunch of retards without any sort of objective aside from move forward, shoot and possibly try not to die?"

"This whole thing's a clusterfuck and I don't know what happened to that cute commissar."

"I'm gonna die a fucking virgin with you retards... and that's if I don't get ass raped by something either robotic, warpy or both!"
>he raises his eyebrows and shrugs
"In our d-defence, Peace over there h-has a *cough* heavy weapon of s-sorts, and I didn't see no truck back where we d-deployed. Rest of it, well, if w-we were smart or, uh, c-competent, we wouldn't be here. I just voxed for orders so *wheeze* hopefully we'll get SOMEthin' of that s-sort. And hey..."
>he claps the man on the shoulder
"...Ya won't d-die a virgin, ya already b-been fucked by the Guard."
>"In our d-defence, Peace over there h-has a *cough* heavy weapon of s-sorts..."

"Yeah... And he's shooting our own men. They could have made decent fodder."

>"I didn't see no truck back where we d-deployed"

"I'm sure anybody trying hard enough could have stolen a civvie truck"

>"Rest of it, well, if w-we were smart or, uh, c-competent, we wouldn't be here. I just voxed for orders so *wheeze* hopefully we'll get SOMEthin' of that s-sort."

"I'm not from this sub sector but this whole mess is getting people conscripted left and right... There HAS to some sort of competent, non insane soldiers that got drafted because they forgot to tie their shoelaces properly."

"I think it's just this platoon, this platoon is full of retards and we're all gonna die the retarded deaths we deserve."

>"...Ya won't d-die a virgin, ya already b-been fucked by the Guard."
"By that logic I wouldn't die a virgin because I was already fucked by Imperial Laws and The Inquisition... Lucky me."
>leaving one group to another a lone krieger joins the group
>his lasgun hanging from its sling as he just silently stares at each person, waving with a gloved hand
>his flak armor read his "name"
"B77906" on his shoulder pac was his (old) regiments number "958"
"Hey, d-didn't see you nickin' a h-heavy weapon or a *cough* truck. Maybe be the c-competent non insane s-soldier you wanna *wheeze* see in this platoon, eh Corporal?"

>he looks over his shoulder to see the Krieger
"Speaking of competent s-soldiers, these boys *cough* tend to be solid."
>he waves back
"Hey kraut, g-get stuck in, we got us a b-battle to survive!"
Spare a throne for a poor camp follower, oh brave soldier
I know what can up your spirits, a nice old song, only 5 thrones
>A voice comes booming from the cloaked creature, its voice sounding like an ogryn smoking five packs a day speaking from inside the bucket
"where are ya guys heading? I was heading umm..."
>the darkness in the sewer makes it difficult to see. his eyes have yet to adjust
"that way."
>he points in a random direction
"when i fell through the ceiling........mind if i uh....tag along?"
>first looking at the "ogryn" he shrugs and tosses him a few thrones
>then returning to those around him he acknowledges the private who'd referenced him
>nodding he patted his lasgun and the assortment of explosives on his belt
>there was a tag under his name
"rank, Grenadier "
>"Hey, d-didn't see you nickin' a h-heavy weapon or a *cough* truck. Maybe be the c-competent non insane s-soldier you wanna *wheeze* see in this platoon, eh Corporal?"
"Touche but to that I'd like to reply I got an officer riding my ass the moment I landed on this god forsaken planet and I only just got the chance to run. That aside fuck that last part."

"The moment this shit dies down I'm looting a bunch of rapists. Emperor willing if everybody's getting conscripted I at least hope this regiment has some Joy girls they press ganged. Hopefully I can exchange some loot for some services"

>I know what can up your spirits, a nice old song, only 5 thrones
"Do I LOOK like I'd have any money?"

>"Rank, Grenadier "
"That's not a rank you dumb nozzle that's a designation like chosen man or sharp shooter, even for Kriegs it isn't a rank. I don't know which commissar you shot for fucking your inbred clone sister but you're a penal now. All you're good for's taking a couple bullets which is what your entire stagnant people are good for anyway."
Yes, but this one will be on me, so what should I play?
>stares at the man blankly for a moment and shrugged and unslung his lasrifle
>looking past the man for something more interesting
"Alright, play Horus only has one ball. I'll do the vocals."

"Horus! Has only got one ball"
"Tzeentch are so ve-ry small"
"Khoo-rne small was he borne"
"And Nurgle has no balls at all!"

"Sing it with me now!"
>Refferson begins playing to the song, with thine changing slightly to each new verse while staying upbeat
As for Slaanesh lets not get into that mess!
File: 1576726017557.png (134 KB, 1653x949)
134 KB
134 KB PNG
Rolled 42 (1d100)

The ground below rumbles heavily and the chaos force seems to fall into retreat, many of your fellow penal legion acquaintances falling to covering fire, the enemy is on the run

>what do you do
>the more robotic of the technopriests turns momentarily
>a single cybereye studying you for a moment
"you may for now little ratling, though beware what lurks down here it does not doo good to the organics"
>he lifts his lasgun up to his shoulder, and trudges along
>continues in his search of the commander through the sewers of the hive


>nope the commander isn't named Gavin I just stopped caring.
>I spot a light near the end of the next intersection of the sewers

Well by the emperor light I think I found my platoon

The bayonet charge scatters the last of the creatures on the surface, and the survivors who are not cut down by laser and bullet scuttle back into tunnels and access vents behind enemy lines.

Soon the battlefield lies eerily quiet. The wide open road towards the hive stretches before you, culminating in 10-metre high plasteel doors which are now the only thing between the platoon and its destination.

The voxman's set crackles, and he flips the switch into loudspeaker mode. An unfamiliar voice, full of static, begins to speak:

"Malek Penal Legion, 2nd Company. This is Captain Harlech, I will be acting as your field commander until further notice. Provided my intel is accurate you should be advancing on the southwestern access to the underhive of Hive Bismarck. However, our readings indicate the heretics have severed power to the doors as a last-ditch effort to prorogue their reception of His Holy Vengeance. This leaves you with two choices: attempt to access the underhive through the sewers, or devise a method to penetrate the doors.

To this end, it has been reported that the enemy forces have been making use of a desecrated Hades Breaching Drill to assault our fortifications on the southern side of the hive. It is our estimation that a heretical encampment exists to shelter this mistreated contraption against the south wall of the hive. Provided you approach this foul settlement under cover of night, even your thrice-damned selves should be able to catch the heretics unawares and re-appropriate this Most Esteemed vehicle.

On the other hand, the sewers would likely provide the least physical opposition - however, the ancient underground networks closest to your position are labyrinthine, all mapping or blueprints long since lost. It would be critical to practice caution if this angle is approached - unforeseen adversaries may lurk in the depths, and the way to your destination will no doubt be fraught with myriad dangers.

Make your decision and report back as soon as possible. The sanctity of this Hive depends on it.

Ave Imperator."

The vox cuts out with a hiss.

>wat do?
>I listened to theloudspeaker message through the echoes in the sewers of the underhive

Well I'm fucked I'm already down here and all alone .I'll just keep on going and see where the hell I get either regroup with my unit or face the enemies of the emperor... fuck me
into the unknown!
>be sister hospitalier
>nowhere else to go after covent got blown off
>barely got time to grab her pack
>found herself tagging along a nearby penal legion

So far, nobody has thrown me out so i guess I can stay ?
How did he...matters not...alright think drill sounds nice, maybe will even be allowed to live in it...beats my previous living standards anyways
>be me
>ratling filth
>in the filth, up to my little knees in disgusting unmentionables
>these mechanicus red robes got more than two eyes, and at least 2 eyes on me.
>i cant run away now
>i cant steal anything either.
>curse this poor fortune of mine
>wherever these metal freaks take me, i hope i die quickly
>the voxman looks uneasy
"F-For what it's worth, my *cough* vote's on the drill. Fuckin' around uncharted t-tunnels sounds like a *wheeze* quick way to catch a lungful of shite. Puts us at one for sewers and two for drill."
>he glances around the other members of the platoon milling around
"Anyone else wanna chip in?"
Private Vineworth ready to serve !
>Be sister hospitalier
>everyone's busy, did something happen ? perhaps that military stuff the older sisters used to tell me about during training.
>tfw miss friends

She goes around, looking for the closest thing this area has of a medicatorium, hoping getting busy will clear her thoughts for a bit.
You continue through the blackness for what must be a good hundred metres, before your foot hits thin air where it expected solid ground.
>roll me a 1d100, 50+ to beat

You follow the techpriest down the tunnel, which seems to be sloping deeper and deeper into the earth. The faint glow from the priest's eyes light your way.

Suddenly, one of the ceiling panels crashes out. The techpriest screams in binary as *something* grabs your robotic companion and begins to drag him up.

>wat do?

You trek back to the trenches, and after not much looking you find a large tent with a crude red cross stencilled onto a board outside.

Entering, you see rows upon rows of bedrolls, mostly occupied by guardsmen in sorry states. The stench of death lingers in the air.

One of the medics turns to you with a look of relief:
"Emperor be praised, someone who knows what they're doing. Blessed sister, could you take a look at something for us? None of the lads here have seen anything like it."

He leads you to a bedroll, swatting aside the small crowd of medics crowded around it. On it lies an unconscious man with a grievous wound in his chest - the wound appears to have turned completely black.

The medic gestures to the patient:
"Take a look in the hole and tell us what you think."
Rolled 18 (1d20)

>Shoot my whip out to his leg and attempt to snag his leg to drag him down. though this might not work due to my small weight, I have the faith in the emperor.
File: tenor.gif (102 KB, 220x165)
102 KB
102 KB GIF
Rolled 6 (1d100)

>That feeling of fucked when you dont hit solid ground while walking
>be hospitalier
>Look around the tent
>By the Emperor, the stench !
>Loosing no time, she throws her pack down and picks up her medical kit, leaving the rest to be for now

Holly Emperor.... What happened to this poor soul ?

>she asked, putting on a sterilised glove in one hand and making some room around the guardsman for her tools with the other

He who thrones in terra, grant me the strenght...

>Taking one last breath, and screaming internally, she takes a better look at the wound, antiseptic and cottons in hands
Rolled 20 (1d20)

Your whip wraps around his leg and you throw all your weight into heaving against your unseen attacker. After a struggle you feel something give. With a horrible screech from above the techpriest drops to the floor, dented and sparking slightly but otherwise unharmed.

He looks at you, one of his eyepieces cracked:
"We need to leave. These sewers have been compromised."

The drop takes you by surprise, and you tumble over the edge.

Emperor be praised, the fall isn't far but you take it hard, landing face first in the foul muck - the wind is knocked out of you and you see stars for a second. As you lie in the dark trying to recover, you hear the sound of skittering in the darkness.

It sounds like it's getting closer.

You peer into the cavity, trying to avoid gagging from the stench of rot that seeps out. The wound is deep, and at the bottom you can make out something pulsating.

Looking closer, you see a mottled dark-green mass throbbing gently. However as you inspect it the surface bulges out and splits.

Something leaps out blindingly fast, launching itself straight at your face.



From the hive, you hear the distant rumble of what sounds like artillery.

Your suspicions are confirmed as the ground mere hundreds of metres away erupts, shaking the road underfoot and sending chunks of rockcrete scything overhead.

The vox speaker crackles again and you hear a now-familiar voice:
"Malek Penal Legion, 2nd Company. The heretics have assumed control of the hive defenses. Overground travel is now unviable. Proceed to the sewers immediately. The nearest entrance is 500m to your east. The Emperor Protects."

The vox crackles silent again. To your east you can make out a huge pipe protruding from the ground, the entrance covered by a rusted grille.

>wat do?
File: Dutch-stuck-in-mud.jpg (73 KB, 1446x804)
73 KB
Rolled 59 (1d100)

>Shit ... I am covered in shit ... AAHHHH ... the smell ...
>>As I hear a noise and it starts getting closer I do the only thing outside of trying to run covered in shit while winded.
>I cover myself fully in shit and try to stay hidden from whatever is coming towards me.
i run to the nearest entrance with haste !
Very well then
Let us leave

By the emperor !
>scream in horror at the horrifying green thing popping out that poor soul
>In my hurry to avoid the creature, i fall back, right next to my pack
>i rummage through the damn thing
>gotta be there... here it is !
>my trusty handheld flammer
>no time to think, i point and pull the trigger

Rolled 13 (1D20)
>Nota, that motherfucking piece of shit, had been going around stealing the assorted body parts of dead enemies, trailing a little behind the group before finally catching back up

“Wwwhhhat the fuck have you been doing while I was busy?”
>Red cloaked "ogryn" walks up to the pipe
Anyone has a blowtorch or something?
You cover yourself as best you can in the surrounding 'dirt'. Suppressing a gag, you lie a still as possible as the skittering gets closer and closer, eventually stopping mere inches from you. You hear the sound of sniffing, then a pause, then more scuttling, then more sniffing.

This continues for an agonisingly long time, before eventually you hear the sound of claws on metal and a loud clank. Then silence.

You squeeze the trigger and a gout of flame spews from your weapon, completely enveloping the patient and catching the hind leg of the creature, which lets out an ear-piercing squeal. Before you can draw a proper bead on the thing, it launches itself through the wall of the tent and disappears into the dusk.

The crowd of medics turn to you, aghast:
"What in the Emperor's name WAS that thing?"

Approaching the pipe, you get a closer look at the grille covering it - it's about eight feet in diameter, constructed of thick metal bars which must have once been sturdy enough to repel any but the most intrepid intruder, but appear to have rusted to the extent that a stiff breeze may cause the entire structure too collapse. It is apparent that nobody has been here in a very, VERY long time. Beyond the grille, the pipe stretches into inky blackness, from which a foul smell wafts.

>wat do?
>I ain't moving now ...probably can't even talk basic gothic.

>Dying covered in shit was not in the imperial guard brochure either
A long toned and powerful form, a faintly hunched back and a blond haired commisar pushing along the newest member of the penal legion, an insignia for sanctioned psykers attached to the rogue by the Commisar.

Truly the sub-sector was desperate, but Holly was just happy she was alive, a long metal pole in hand, a camping pole, supposedly called a "baton". A las-pistol clipped to her belt.

An aura of faint unease, the gleam of visibly shifting eye's, a toned lightly twitching maniacly smiling giant.

>>NEW Recruit.
>Let Miss Commander in charge, Commisar blondie lead me to wherever she expects me.
continue forward with the Mechanicus agents. I have no clue where they are going other than away from here. perhaps they know best. perhaps not.

"how do we get out of here? which way?"
>The mighty frame of the enhanced warrior barrels through the grille and charges onward
Alright, a rock should be enough...
Or that, that'll do...you see anything there!?

>Wait, is the thing gone ? yes, it seems gone.
>takes a deep breathe
>instantly regrets it
>the charred corpse of my previous patient lays inert before me, a testament to my botched attempt at saving him
>My only solace is that he probably was well beyond my abilities to help anyways
>but still , i should probably say a prayer...

Holly emperor, may you take to tormented soul within your kingdom for him to know eternel rest.

>I say, meaning every words
>hopefully this proves enough to grants the dead fellow peace in the afterlife.
>the flamer suddenly feels heavy in my hand
>i put it back in the bag and look at whomever hasn't ran away yet for help.

Could anyone help me move him elsewhere ? we... we still have the others to attempt to.

>I say, hoping i won't have to administer that type of medecine again.
File: images_47.jpg (9 KB, 190x265)
9 KB
A shadow cast over a sisters light. The stone, perhaps metal if they'd moved further into the sewers beneath sturdy boots, the faint sound of something cracking, a long pole, tapping the ground, a tall, tall woman, kneeling next to the dear sister.

A feeling of unease, from the way her mouth curved to the faint way her eye's seem to shift in color and her hair obscures her features. The insignia of a sanctioned psyker clear as day.

An unpleasent, tight and light, wirey lisp, as they twitch. Fingers worn, running over flak, a small thud of her own arm squeezing herself and the toned frame that lay underneath.

>>"Õooooooo-ah, sis-sisstà, soome asistanccce, yesssss-yaaas-yeeeeeeésss yes~"

A genuine curled up smile of bad cavity ridden teeth, the visible sight of twitching fingers moving to try to caress and feeel at the sisters face, the little excitable bite of a lip drawing her own blood, as the psykers teeth grind side to side over her own lip.

Before that voice comes forth again.

>Hallp, froooom onë sachh, as Holly?"

>By the emperor, If i keep calling his name, he's actually going to appear ! and I doubt he'll like being stirred off his eternal watch over the imperium for one such as me.
>then again, i doubt i could be blamed
>it's the first time i have ever seen a psyker in flesh and blood before, let alone a sanctionned one
>and I instantly regret it
>fighting the urge to instinctly slide back, i decide to take refuge my faith instead for the strengh I need to deal with this bullshit
>and so i take the hand coming my way and gently push it down, before walking toward the now definitively dead guardsman
>he suddenly seems a lot more attractive than what i just had to deal with

Yes, please pick up the other side.

>look at those poor medicaes

Where can we put him? i'd like to get back to work as soon as possible.

Delete Post: [File Only] Style:
[Disable Mobile View / Use Desktop Site]

[Enable Mobile View / Use Mobile Site]

All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective parties. Images uploaded are the responsibility of the Poster. Comments are owned by the Poster.