>All three. They were having a party. >.>
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>All three. They were having a party.>>
The Battle of Sepultride VII was considered one of the largest blood baths in the past hundred years. The system was where the Tyranid fleet Leviathan met remnants of Abbadon's 13th Black Crusade. The Agriwold was caught in the middle of the titanic clash, in the middle of putting down it's own rebellions. A regiment of the Imperial Guard and a group of Adeptus Astartes were deployed.
You remember biting down your own feelings of terror as you urged your men forward. Watch as the swarm grew closer, as the Space Marines fell to a potent daemonhost. Shot ten of your own men who were touched by the Warp.
You can't remember much past that, and the Medicae remind you not to try.
>Of course, it was all those damned heretics fault to begin with. Whether they be Chaos cultists or Genestealer cultists, they're nothing but a blight on the Emperor's galaxy.
Because we totally need to roll Hereticus. Because they get the best hats and all the bitches.
edited 28th Mar '12 9:47:19 AM by Moerin
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
Your wish is my command.
The vox sitting on the table besides your bed, right next to the trench knife, buzzes. A familiar voice, lacking in emotion and full of the electronic hum that was typical of techpriests. The Magos, of course.
"Lady Commissar, the Inquisitor wishes to see you."
You rub the side of your head. What could the Inquisitor want now? It was barely four hours into first shift, most of the crew would still be sleeping at this time. You reach over and grab the small device.
"Give me a minute to get dressed."
The voice on the other end of the line manages to sound smug, despite the fact it was completely robotic.
"I will hold you to that, Lady Commissar."
With a sigh, you rise, stripping off the white undergarments you fell asleep in. You pause to look in the mirror, at the scar that makes up much of your torso. You don't remember how you got it, but you can guess. Someone probably tried to gut you with a chainsword. You then begin to get dressed.
First, underclothes, followed by black and grey BD Us. The red sash that denotes your Commissar status you tie with practiced ease, letting it hang from your hip. The black carapace breastplate is next, sliding easily on. Then comes your great coat, the heavy thing practically armor in itself, instilling fear in any Guardsman thinking traitorous thoughts. Slips of paper, ordained blessings of the God Emperor hanging from various places on the coat itself. A gift from the Adeptus Sororitas. Then comes, finally, the hat. Like the sash, it is the symbol of your devotion to the Emperor, and your mandate to uphold the moral of the men and women under your command, no matter what.
You grab the final pieces to you outfit. A chainsword, and your weapon of choice.
>What is your weapon of choice?
- Bolt Pistol
- Dueling Las Pistol
- Hell gun
- Write In
>Hand Flamer. Because when it really comes down to it, nothing beats the smell of roast heretics in the morning.
Hopefully I don't end up hijacking this completely. Would be nice if someone else posted, ahah, especially since if I'm at the helm this'll just end up turning into something silly and wacky, and I don't think that's what you're aiming for here.
Dreams of Revenge
>Boltpistol
You are a woman of the Emperor, and you are not going to half-ass anything you do (including summary executions). That, and all the cool Commissars are using these things nowadays. You don't want to be uncool, do you?
Locking you up on radar since '09
Bolt PISTOL!
>Bolt Pistol with inferno rounds, or whatever they're called nowadays. Y'know, the bolts that set things on fire.
![[up]](https://static.tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pub/smiles/arrow_up.png "[up]"){kind=icon}
Incendiary rounds.
> A second chainsword, as dual melee weapons is rare in this universe < 
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>Boltpistol. You are a woman of the Emperor, and are not going to half ass anything you do.
With the proper respect, you grab your bolt pistol, reciting a small oath to the machine spirit within. This weapon has saved your life more times then you can count. It's casing has a massive scar where it stopped an ork power axe from splitting you in two. The holy skull adorned on it's side had had to be reconsecrated after that particular incident. It has also been upgraded in various small ways over the years.
With your body and mind prepared, you exit your room. The gunmetal grey corridor greets you. Your boots make a comforting sound as you head to the Inquisitor's room.
The Inquisitor's room is empty besides the Inquisitor herself, the Magos, and the acolyte the Inquisitor picked up after the previous mission. You believe her name is Tavia.
You look over toward Inquisitor Havenfeld, shocked as ever by the youth of her face. Despite the fact she looks younger then you, you know she is actual nearing the end of her first century. The juvenate treatments are a disguise, just as much as any clothing.
No one expects the Inquisition, especially when she looks like a juvie.
"Ah, Commissar. Glad you could join us."
"Inquisitor." You say politely.
"I'm sure you have questions."
>What do you ask?
edited 28th Mar '12 2:51:58 PM by MaskedAndDangerous
> "What the hell did you wake me up for?" <
edited 28th Mar '12 2:55:51 PM by RevenVrake
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>"What the hell did you wake me up for?"
You've been working with the Inquisitor for a while now, almost 18 months now. So you know that she better have had a frakking good reason for interrupting your not-sleeping.
"Ma'am, why the Warp am I here?"
Havenfeld smirks, with a look that would not have looked out of place on the juvie she often pretended to be. It was a mischievous look, and your eyes narrowed. She then glances over to her apprentice.
"Tavia, would you make us some recaff? The Commissar looks about ready to start executing someone."
The actual juvie nods, quickly moving out of the room. It seems that shlepping for the master remains a time honored tradition, no matter which of the Emperor's blades you embrace. You then focus on the suddenly serious face of the Inquisitor. It's amazing how much older it makes her look.
"The reason I called you here is to talk to you in private. We'll be planetside soon, and there are details about the mission that you need to know."
She nodded to the old techpriest, who plugged the dataslate he was holding into the room's table. The aging holoprojectors lit up, revealing a planet. Numerous icons mark population centers. The Inquisitor looks at you expectantly.
"Sanctuary. What do you know about it?"
You think for a second. This is a test, of your own information gathering skills.
"Civilised world. A few Mechanis shrines, a schola, and one cathedral and several smaller missions make up our presence there. Most of the population lives in the center of the large landmasses. If I remember correctly, most of the population lives in either domed communities or orbital habitats. Heavy metal concentrations make the air toxic and the water suicide. It's only other notable aspect is the numerous mining operations in the twin asteroid belts that reside in on either side of the planet's orbit. Did I miss anything?"
The Inquisitor smiled proudly, shaking her head.
"Very good, Francine."
She stepped forward, clicking an icon on the planet. "Numerous cities have begun stirring in rebellion against the planetary governor. Already, PDF forces have been deployed and successfully put down four attempts to take the governor's palace. Then, a month ago, evidence began appearing that heretical forces were in play. It began with a few burnt down churches, burnt effigies, the usual frakheads doing what they do best. Then this."
The planet became a vid, security footage of the Sanctuary Cathedral, from a servitor. A small group of people, dressed in the tattered remains of clothing. One of them seems to be glowing. The glowing figure, definately the leader, made a gesture and the door exploded. The figure then looked up at the camera.
"A group of cultists attacked the Cathedral. Twenty dead, including the Cardinal. Which leads to us."
The Inquisitor looks at you. "We will be going undercover in the Capital city. You and Tavia will be posing as my handmaidens during the coarse of this assignment. Additionally, during the daylight hours, you will be assisting Gilliam investigate the Cardinal's death."
Ah. So it's going to be a good old fashion witch hunt. You ponder that for a moment, until you realise something.
>Questions?
>"Do I get to wear one of those cute, frilly maid outfits?"
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>"Do I get to wear one of those cute, frilly maid outfits?"
You look to the Inquisitor, remembering the last time that she posed as a socialite. Maintaining composure, you keep a small smile from your lips.
You are an Imperial Commissar first, slaying the enemies of the Imperium both within and without mercy or hesitation. You have fought through blood drenched battlefields on worlds throughout the sector.
However, you will admit that the dress provided to you was nice. Even if you would kill anyone (besides the Inquisitor, of course) who even thought about teasing you with it.
"And yes, before you ask, the dress is yours again." The Inquisitor says with a smirk on her face. Despite not being a psyker, the woman is way to good at knowing what you're thinking.
"The Magos even integrated the rigging you wore the last time."
Ah, good. That takes care of the question on where you're gonna put your boltpistol, trench knife, stubber pistols, and garrot. The chainsword will still be a problem, but you'll figure that one out when you get there.
Acolyte Tavia re-enters the room, two cups of warm recaff in her hands. She hands the Inquisitor one, and then you the other. You drink the sip, before nodding to the Inquisitor.
"Is that everything?"
The Inquisitor waves you off, promising to give you more details once she has them herself, planetside. You turn, recaff in hand, and turn back to the maze of corridors that makes up the Inquisitor's private yacht.
>Where do you go?
- The Firing Range. you need to practice with your stubbers
- The Mess hall. None of the Inquisitor's retinue besides the serfs should be up yet, but you're sure you can find something.
- The Poolroom. You could use a dive.
- Write In.
edited 29th Mar '12 4:17:08 PM by MaskedAndDangerous
> Squee with joy at getting to wear that cute outfit again! ^_^
>Head to the mess hall. One cannot serve the Emperor on an empty stomach, after all.
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
> Squee with joy at getting to wear that cute outfit again! ^_^
>Head to the mess hall. One cannot serve the Emperor on an empty stomach, after all
The mess hall is empty except for a pair of servitors tending to a massive bowl of whatever the Inquisitor is having made for dinner, their arms replaced with various cooking instruments. It was an odd sight when you first came aboard, but now it's business as usual. You grab a tray, and quickly collect your morning breakfest. You grab a seat...
and then begin a small dance of joy. Okay, a large dance of joy.
"Good news?"
You spin with speeds which would make the Astartes blush, your knife appearing in your hand as if by warpcraft. Your impromptu combat stance is interupted when you realise who it is snuck up on you.
"Emperor, girl, you are high strung this morning."
Gilliam Reynolds, former-Arbitrator and all around scumbag. A finer investigative mind couldn't be found on Holy Terra itself, but the way he uses his skills has always left a bad taste in your mouth. The Inquisitor only keeps him in her retinue due to his talents in sniffing out the seedy underbelly of any given area.
Mostly because he fits in more with the scum then he does with the rest of the human race. You think, before focusing back on the issue at hand.
"What do you want, Gilliam?"
The Ex-Arbite gives that smirk that has unlocked so many wine sellers, illegal fights, and expensive dresses, the roguish look that would have disarmed you if you hadn't been prepared for it. It seemed he's going to try to charm you.
"Aww, Frankie. Always so suspicious. Why can't it just be a coincidence that a man meets up with a beautiful woman at this early hour?"
You snort.
"I'll tell you when I see a man."
He holds his hands to his chest, as if shot with a stubber into the heart. If only.
"Frankie, my dear, we seem to have begun this all wrong. Let's start again."
You can practically feel the smugness radiating from his (if you're totally honest with yourself attractive) face as he says these words.
>Now what?
edited 31st Mar '12 5:05:29 PM by MaskedAndDangerous
> "...Only if you put on a maid outfit."
> Give him a look of utmost seriousness as you state this.
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>"...Only if you put on a maid outfit"
> Give him a look of utmost seriousness as you state this.
You consider either mocking him or giving him a look of withering contempt. After a small pause, you do both.
"Only if you put on a maid outfit." you say, in your best Commissar voice, the one that makes troopers drop to their knees and beg for mercy. Even Gilliam steps back in fear, before his mind catches up to what you said.
He bursts out laughing, the chuckles sounding more like a person being strangled then a chortle. "That can be arranged, Frankie, that can be arranged."
At this point, you sit down again and begin digging into your breakfest, before it goes completely cold. You are economical with the fork, inefficiency being the enemy of the Emperor. Soon, you are finished with your meal. You feel refreshed with something warm in your stomach, ready to tackle anything.
Of course, it still will be a day before the ship will make planetfall, so you have plenty of freetime.
>Where do you go now?
- About that swim...
- Pistol practice!
- Check in at the Armory. Perhaps the Magos's apprentice has arisen.
- Find out if that Sororitas is up yet. You owe her a rematch.
- Write In.
Dreams of Revenge
>Pistol practice
You cannot allow your skills to atrophy, least of all on an occasion as crucial and portentious as this. And anyway, it'd be plain embarrassing if you ended up missing a cultist and accidentally enforced squad discipline... using the most talented soldier who might otherwise have carried the day.
Assuming this goes well, then
>Give that Sororitas a good ol' Emperor approved rematch
You can totally take her!
Locking you up on radar since '09
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
>Pistol practice
Ignoring Gilliam's further attempts at infuriating one of the two people on the ship with the authority to shoot him, you exit the mess and head for the range. You pass a few of the Inquisitor's serfs on the way, taking a quick elevator ride to the third deck. A number of lockers line the side of the the room along with a servitor waiting for instructions. Shrugging off your greatcoat, you draw your boltpistol. Loading in a clip of training ammunition, you take your spot on the gun range. Time for a warm up.
You go over to the Servitor, and state your command code. In a static filled voice, it answers "Welcome Commissar. Activate prefered routine?" You give a nod, before cursing and then saying yes in a clear voice. Training Servo Skulls active
A number of small drones rise up from their charging pits, their eyes glowing red. Waiting for the command order, which you proceed to give.
"Begin"
The reinforced skulls begin moving in erratic patterns, slowly moving forward as they do so. You exhale, and squeeze the trigger of your bolt pistol.
dakka
The recoil is surprisingly light for the size of the round, due to the weight of the gun that fires it, but you still have to compensate for it. A skull is hit, it's countergrav disc disabled as it falls to the floor.
dakka dakka
Two more fall. The Mauler in your hand is lighter then the Garm that you wore during your regiment days, allowing you to hold it one handed for more then just a single magazine before your arm gets tired. Which is good, because more often then not, you needed that other hand to hold a chainsword.
dakka dakka dakka
You smell the propellent fill the air as more of the skulls fall. You smirk as you extend your arm fully, the final servo skull in your sights. Time seems to hover as it dodges to either the left or the right. You have a split second to choose.
dakka
"Routine Complete
You blow the smoke from your gun barrel and put it away. The servo skulls all move back to their repair bays. One is smoking, meaning that you hit something important when you shot it.
Oh well you think, before unloading the weapon. Placing the bolter on the table that seperates the range from the shooting line, you head over to your locker, quickly rattling off the combination. Inside lies a lasgun and a pair of stubbers. You quickly take up the small weapons, grabbing their regular ammunition. .45 caliber rounds, coated with teflon to assist piercing armor. Against modern infantry it was a joke, but against the average ganger or cultist? Especially if they weren't expecting it.
"Human simulation." You state clearly to the servitor.
"Armor level?"
"Flak."
A full training servitor rose from it's resting place. It was fully armored, but more importantly, covered with sensors. It was not calibrated to ignore any damage that wouldn't kill a person wearing a flak vest. That meant that headshots are the name of the game, which is what you would want to aim for anyway in a firefight.
The small guns in your hands only hold three bullets each before needing a reload, and were a lot less powerful then a bolter. However, they were concealable, and could be attached to a device that allowed them to pop into your hands with a flick of the wrist, which was important for undercover work, as you had found out the first time you had tried to draw a weapon in a dress. Not a pleasent experience, and rather embarrassing too.
"Begin."
You take aim and fire at the servitor.
dit
The sound is disappointing, and the recoil on the small weapon is marginal at best. However, you managed to hit your target.
"Begin."
The servitor begins doing evasive maneuvers, as close to human as the Magos could make them. You fire again.
dit
A miss. Or rather, a hit to wear the flak armor would be. You curse and fire again, this time from the left hand.
dit
This time the servitor collapses. You smirk and reload both weapons.
"Begin"
...
You continue this for about an hour, stopping only to reload the pintsized guns. You think you have a handle on them now, and that you could get a use out of them if a firefight occurred.
"Who knows, maybe the Inquisitor will be able to solve things peacefully?"
You laugh at your words. What were the odds of that?
Locking up both weapons, you grab your own bolt pistol and holster it, before taking up your greatcoat once more. Now... to find that Sororita. You take the elevator, and find her in the mess hall, calmly drinking some sort of hot liquid while reciting one of the Emperor's benedictions.
"You, me, sparring mat, now." You say, a look of eagerness on your face.
Sister Grace of the Order of the Martyred lady gives you a look, before a small smile on her face.
"Ah, commissar. I was wondering when you would come back for another beating."
You give her a look. She simply smiles and sips her tea, before turning to you.
"I'll be down in a minute. Must finish a prayer to the Emperor, for protection for those fool hardy souls who wish to exceed their reach."
You let out a small laugh, before heading back down to deck three, and this time head for the the sparring theater. In truth, it is an open area with a floor made of a stiff, soft material and a bunch of seat bolted down for a good view. You strip down to your white undershirt and pants, before putting on the barefingered gloves that protected your knuckles.
You were honestly surprised when you found the Sororita shared your interest in hand to hand fighting. Most prefered fencing, to practice their skills with an evicerator while in powered armor, but Sister Grace prefered the powerfist. Since then, you had a friendly rivalry with the Battle Sister, and practiced whenever you could with her.
Which was often.
——>
edited 3rd Apr '12 2:30:27 PM by MaskedAndDangerous
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
"So are you ready?" asks the Sororita, walking into the room while pulling on her own gloves. She is dressed in the skintight outfit every Sororita wears under their powered armor. It is black with red trimmings, and functions as a pseudo-Black Carapace, though lacking the sophistication of the Space Marine implant.
"Always." you say, taking a low combat stance. You favor mixed martial arts, quick strikes to the nose, forehead, legs, groin, and other vulnerable points of the human body. CQC doctrine is to take down a foe as quickly and efficiently as possible, because every second you're fighting an enemy, his buddy can shoot you in the back.
Grace takes her own combat stance, more a brawler then a fighter. Her hand to hand skills are optimised for fighting in power armor that can punch through concrete with ease. She's very direct in her fighting, but surprisingly dangerous. Muscles that could make an Ogryn jealous were part of that, but there was more. She never flinches, never gives ground. Her training with the sisters must have taught her that trick.
You circle each other in the ring, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
>Your plan?
- Play this defensive. Bide your time and use your superior reach to keep her off you till you have that one perfect strike.
- Keep her busy. Lots of quick, weak strikes, before hitting with the power.
- LEEEEROY JENKINS!!!
>The best defence is a good offence, therefore...
>LEEEEROY JENKINS!!!
Swashbuckler Extraordinaire
LEEEEROY JENKINS!!!
With a cry, you disregard any tactics besides surprise, and rush at the Sororita. Both arms forward, you deliver a strike to your opponent's stomach. There is an oof as your own momentum pushes the smaller woman back.
Of course, as a Sister of Battle, Grace has seen this tactic before, in countless cultists, orks, and even a few traitor marines. She allows herself to take the hit, and now you are in the reach of her devastating offense
Which you feel, hard, as a straight punch to your gut knocks you on your ass.
"Point"
You shake your head, wondering what you were thinking, trying such an aggressive tactic. Then you rise. You need to score two points without falling again to win this bout. You take up your combat stance again.
Plan?
- Attrition. Keep her busy on the defensive with jabs, before hitting heavy when she tries to get in close.
- Defensive. Let her come at you, and then suckerpunch her while she's on the offensive.
- Try charging again.
Anyone feel free to jump in and help our lovely commissar on her quest. Warning, this will be GRIMDARK
Flash
You wake up in a cold sweat, the nightmares of your past catching up with you. Battlefields, covered with the blood of your men. Your first kill, in that campaign nearly five years ago. There had been so much blood. You almost lost your composure, all the blood. And then that final battle with the regiment, all those bodies. Friends, lying dead at your feet. A gunship appearing, bright light...
Not rising from your bed, you reach to your dog tags and gaze at them. Lady-Commissar Francine Bellua, 117th Cadian Infantry. Not that it applied anymore. The regiment had been decimated. No, decimated implied only one in ten had been killed. The regiment had been utterly destroyed, the survivors integrated into other units. It existed as a line of data on a slate in the Munitorium, nothing more.
And one commissar who had been tapped by the inquisition, for having an astounding ability of not dying despite the whole world coming down around her.
>What were you dreaming about?
edited 27th Mar '12 9:42:02 PM by MaskedAndDangerous