The 4th fleet has exited metaspace on the edge of the Tibe binary star system.


               Primary (Tibe A)
Type G6 V Yellow Main Sequence
Radius 7.38 x 105 km   (1.06 x sol)
Mass 1.96 x 1030 kg   (0.98 x sol)
Temperature 5300 K
Luminosity 4.72 x 1026 W   (1.23 x sol)


I
Type Rock Planet
Orbital Radius 6.81 x 107 km   (0.45 AU)
Period 2.71 x 103 hours   (0.31 earth years)
Gravity 12.33 m/s2   (1.26 x earth)
Notes Heavy radiation, large moon


Zori
Type Terrestrial World
Orbital Radius 1.26 x 108 km   (0.84 AU)
Period 6.78 x 103 hours   (0.78 earth years)
Physics Standard iron/silicate
Gravity 7.78 m/s2   (0.80 x earth)
Hydrosphere 0 % water, 0 % ice
Atmosphere Thin reducing
Civilization Colony
Notes Planetary rings


Liu-Bei
Type Terrestrial World
Orbital Radius 1.86 x 108 km   (1.24 AU)
Period 1.22 x 104 hours   (1.40 earth years)
Physics Small ocean
Gravity 3.83 m/s2   (0.39 x earth)
Hydrosphere 91 % water, 51 % ice
Atmosphere Thin toxic
Biosphere Prokaryotic microbes
Civilization Colony
Notes Heavy volcanism, wreckage of a crashed starship


IV
Type Jovian Planet
Orbital Radius 2.85 x 108 km   (1.90 AU)
Period 2.32 x 104 hours   (2.65 earth years)
Gravity 17.14 m/s2   (1.75 x earth)
Notes 11 small moons


Distant Companion (Tibe B)
Type K8 V Orange Main Sequence
Distance 1.34 x 109 km   (8.97 AU)
Radius 6.43 x 105 km   (0.92 x sol)
Mass 1.72 x 1030 kg   (0.87 x sol)
Temperature 3600 K
Luminosity 1.00 x 1026 W   (0.26 x sol)
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:05, Wed 30 July 2014.

The drop transport, INS-Forgehammer, is abuzz with activity across every deck. Alarms, announcements, the thunder of armored boots on the duraplate decks, hurried conversation and barked orders fill the recycled air. Knight Kennet Ulthan stands at the head of an entire regiment of the 9th Gareshi Drop infantry in the staging hanger. 5,000 trained warriors from Garesh, 5,000 soldiers devoted to the Gorumskagat. The Terrarch in command of the entire regiment stood off to the side, watching impassively as his subordinate delivered the briefing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the Tibe system. In a few hours, the 4th Fleet will maneuver around Tibe IV and sling ourselves into orbit around the planet Zori. The world is, by all accounts, a barren empty world, devoid of natural life or water. However, on the surface near the equatorial line, there is a large outpost and supply depot that has been set up by the Unified Brotherhood as a forward staging and logistics center for their invasion corridor." He thumbed an activation key and a holographic display popped up above the entire assembly, detailing all the data on the world you were about to invade.

-Physics
Type Standard iron/silicate
Radius 5529.41 km   (0.87 x earth)
Surface Area 3.84 x 108 km2
Land Area 3.88 x 108 km2   (2.61 x earth)
Mass 3.58 x 1024 kg   (0.60 x earth)
Density 5.06 g/cm3   (0.92 x earth)
Composition 42.9% iron, 33.2% oxygen, 23.3% silicon, 0.7% other elements

-Gravimetry
Gravity 7.78 m/s2   (0.80 x earth)
Escape Velocity 9.28 km/s

-Rotation
Period 51.11 hours
Axis Tilt 41.72 °

-Hydrosphere
Water 0 %
Ice 0 %

-Atmosphere
Type Thin reducing
Pressure 72.61 kPa   (0.72 x earth)
Composition 71.7% argon, 20.0% hydrogen, 8.3% ammonia, trace other gases

-Climate
Type Standard
Min Temp 206 K   (-66 °C)
Avg Temp 299 K   (25 °C)
Max Temp 381 K   (108 °C)

-Special Features Planetary rings

"Ugly, isn't she? We will make the insertion with our Thunderhead Grav Pods. Our scans have indicated that they are not finished deploying their base and lack total air defenses. Initial casualties are expected to be light, but we have no further information about what to expect at the facility. Estimates of up to two battalion strength enemy garrisons, but the actual strength is unknown. Once the LZ is secure, we will begin flying in the armor and heavy support to secure the compound. Air support and bombardment will not be available for this action as High Command wishes to capture the facility relatively intact. We believe the enemy is unaware of our knowledge regarding this base and has not had time to adequately defend it, this, combined with the element of surprise will give us the edge for victory." He pauses, licking his lips anxiously "One more thing before I turn you over to Chaplain Primus Hargrieve, despite what House Aesgar has asked, we are under strict orders to adhere to the Total War doctrine. That means taking prisoners when possible, not executing them on the spot."

Turning to you, he steps down from the platform and hands you the Regimental Blade, the sacred symbol of the 4th Gareshi Drop Infantry, an old battered weapon from the time before the unification. Before battle, it is tradition for a Warsworn priest to issue a blessing to the regiment with the old weapons from their past.

Primus Hargrieve accepted the regiment's blade, taking her first step up along the platform.  As was laid down centuries ago, she did not stand apart from the regiment during the briefing, being a Gorumite was not a question of favor in the eyes of the Gareshi's chief deity but rather dedication to him.  As she made the short walk up the stage, she heard the first bassy thud of armored boots hammering the decks and fists beating breast plates.  The racket was tremendous, but by the third beat, the heavy drumming of the gathered warriors had unified, the hard steady pace invoking the heartbeat of battle.  Dizzy smiled under her death's mask, it had been a long time before she'd heard the call to battle so strong.  She stood at the head of the column and listened for a few moments, listening, visibly stomping in time with them.  She thrust both hands skyward, the sheathed ceremonial blade gripped tight in one hand, and she roared with a voice that demanded to be heard over the din of thousands.

"WARRIORS OF THE NINTH GARESHI DROP INFANTRY!" she addressing the gathered warriors, her voice amplified by the rig in her armor though by ancient tradition she didn't connect it to the berth's sound system, requiring her to shout to be heard, "WILL.  YOU.  FIGHT!?"

The response that returned to her was deafening.  Warriors shouted, roared, and howled their assent as one, striving to be heard over one another, and through it all the beat of fists and hard boots continued to shake the air.  It was an old opening, the Gareshi believed that battle was a privilege and an honor after all, those who were injured or had lost their nerve were unwelcome on the field of glory.  Of course, after weeks cooped up in a ship, the 9th were hungry for their next test, if there were even a single dissenting voice she'd have been surprised.

"THEN PRESENT TO ME THE PRIMUSES OF YOUR REGIMENT!" she called, gesturing in front of her with the regimental blade.  As one, they strode forward, each step timed with the thunderous drumming of the assembled.  Dizzy worked the fasteners of one armored gauntlet and pulled it free, showing the scarred expanse of her left forearm, unsheathing the regimental blade which had tasted the blade for dozens, perhaps hundreds of holy warriors before her, pausing in front of the first of the assembled.  The Regimental Blade parted the thick scar tissue along the back of her arm as Dizzy pressed it to her arm just hard enough to begin a flow of blood, drawing her thumb across the wound as she intoned the ancient, though simple, prayer to her god on the eve of battle.

"GOD OF WAR, I CALL THEE." she said, pressing her thumb to the brow of the warrior in front of her, proud but young.  Her words echoed back to her from the assembly as she drew a rough crescent, a blessing for accuity.

"MY WEAPON AT MY SIDE." again the words reverberated among the halls, most Gareshi had been drilled in this prayer when they were children wrestling in the dirt.  For this one, she drew the line across his brow, and then down in a short line along his nose, the broad cross representing strength and support.

"I SEEK A LIFE OF HONOR." she intoned, a line over each eye warding one from fear and pain, though the stoic face that gazed impassively through her didn't seem the sort to break easily.

"FREE FROM ALL FALSE PRIDE." and on down the line she went, a sigil of safe return drawn as a delta drawn up from the eyes.

"I WILL STRIDE TO BATTLE." she started the second verse with a series of six dots in even spacing for fellowship.

"WITH A BOLD AND MIGHTY HAIL." a long line traced under the eyes this time

"COVER ME WITH DEATH."  she marked the cheek bones here with short slashing strokes, a third line drawn down the center of the forehead.

"IF I SHOULD EVER FAIL."  Finally, she reached the end of the line, drawing a sharply angled "seven" along her own eye, the symbol of the Vikari which she had taken towards wearing in recent years.  Turning sharply on her heel, she hopped up the stairs back onto the platform and turned to address the crowd again, raising the naked blade high into the air, still glistening with her blood.

"GLORY!" she cried, "GLORY!" came the return.

"MAJESTY!" she pumped her arm, "MAJESTY!" was bellowed back at her by the crowds.

"UNITY!" the blade cut through the air again as she raised it high, "UNITY!" was the response all at once.

"HAIL!" when next she raised the blade, her voice and the crowds sounded off at once.

"HAIL!" she let herself be swept up in the energy of it, riding aloft on the battlelust of 5,000 Gareshi in a way that made her spine tingle.

"HAIL!"  and she hopped down from platform, her brief moment in the spotlight no longer necessary as she released them from the bonds of ritual.  She wiped the Regimental Blade clean of her blood, not wanting the blood to rust and pit the ceremonial item as she resheathed it, passing it back to the Knight before she re-sealed her wound and clamped her gauntlet back into place.

Still the men howled with anticipation, though the drumming of feet was now the even pace of soldiers moving to their stations as the coordinates for their drop insertions were being passed out to squad sergeants and the shape of the coming battle began to show on the holographic globe that still loomed above them all.

Five Thousand of the Indari Hegemony's finest lined up to board the Thunderhead Grav Pods. Gareshi warriors, born and bred, this marked the first time they had been sent up against the Unified Brotherhood and they weren't just eager, they were bloodthirsty. Each one of them, tall and coldly beautiful in their Aesgar painted Combat Armor, the brand new model. Half the weight of the old Skyplate, with total coverage, environmental seals and modular O2 packs to compensate for the harsh environment on Zoni. Armed with the latest multispectrum laser rifles, special issue Gareshi war swords, and, as a special surprise from High Command, each company had been allowed to slaughter a Aesgarian calf and mark their armor in the blood of sacrifice to Gorum. You could say a lot about the way the Indari did business, but they certainly understood the needs of the Gareshi.

They boarded hundreds of ten-man drop cells with stealth shielding, minimal armor plating, grav-terminii and retrothrusters, they rely heavily on speed and numbers to survive AA fire. The 9th Gareshi Drop regiment were well trained and experienced in this type of deployment, and Indari analysts found that on the whole, an average Gareshi soldier preferred this method of deployment to any other 87.4% of the time.

You fastened yourself into to pod harnesses, pinning your torso, arms, legs and head in place with layers of shock-gel, intended to protect you from the incredible stress of orbital insertion. Your HUD displays the status of your squad and with a few keystrokes, it would inform you of the status of your whole platoon. All sixty men and women under your command. 9th Gareshi Drop Infantry, 2nd Company, 1st Platoon. Knight Ulthan's pulse pumped along at a steady pace, an older man, his service record showed extensive duty and though he was slowing in his age, he was still a decent warrior and a respectable commander. The rest of your squad showed good vitals, just the normal adrenaline and rush of combat

This was the worst part though, the silence, the darkness, the waiting. Not being able to see or hear what was happening. Outside, the 4th Fleet was engaging the defenders in orbit around Zoni, but there was no way to know what was happening, no way to tell who was winning. Knowing at any moment a torpedo or particle beam could tear the troop transport into pieces, killing thousands of Gareshi warriors trapped in their drop pods... it was enough to give anyone a cold sweat and a case of temporary anxiety...

The light comes on in the pod.

RED

15 seconds...

You can count your heartbeats, feel your pulse in your throat.

YELLOW

10 seconds.

The ship shudders, and your heart skips a few beats.

5 seconds.

Everyone's pulse is racing. It's fear, it's adrenalin, it's the lust for battle, to do what you were trained to do. What you were born to do.

GREEN

There's a loud KA-CHUNK, a tremor and you're in free fall, the artificial gravity of the transport gone as you plummet nearly 50,000 kilometers to the hard surface below.

The company wide comm channel clicks on, you're not sure who it is, but someone is singing an old Gareshi war-hymn. Dozens of voices join, then hundreds.

We come to die!
We come to die!
Our blades will fall!
Our blades will fall!
Upon their necks!
Upon their necks!
So swear we all!
So swear we all!

We are the sons and daughters of Gorum!
We pledge our lives forever, to final setting of the sun!
We are the children of war, the chosen ones of battle!
We will fight and we will die, but not until we're done!

We come to die!
We come to die!
Our blades will fall!
Our blades will fall!
Upon their necks!
Upon their necks!
So swear we all!
So swear we all!

The hours while the 4th Fleet maneuvered into position were spent in a heady mix of companionable cheer and eager nerves.  Dizzy was jostled this way and that as others of her kind punched her armored shoulder to catch her attention, whether to congratulate her on a particularly stirring invocation of Gorum, or to ask for a more personal blessing before the battle was properly joined.  Tokens were traded here and there as warriors swore to each other to return and celebrate together.  But amid this camaraderie, there was also work to be done.

The initial scans of the planet's surface came back providing the armorers with the color pallet to fabricate an appropriate camouflage pattern for the barren world.  The coordination to get each of 5,000 men's armor hastily recolored for the battle ahead was  no small matter.  So, of course, no sooner were they done than the crew revealed the sacrifices to the Lord in Iron, prompting a new rush of prayers as Dizzy had to rush from one calf to another to ensure the proper rites were observed so as not to offend their patron, and the warriors clamored to christen their new armor with blood to whet its appetite for the battle ahead.  Impromptu sigils and clan crests appeared, though full hand prints were far from absent

For her part, Dizzy's armor was as camouflaged as the rest, though the custom formed helmet, left shoulder and right kneepad retained their death's grin as they were painted a shade of dull yellow not unlike bone rather than their usual bleached white.  Her unit designation was stenciled onto her left breast, and the simpler right shoulder read "Deathspitter" under the icon of a skull with a serpent crawling out of it's open jaw and bearing its fangs.  Of course, Dizzy had never really seen a snake before, but she was assured it was an appropriate totem for the callsign, and she couldn't help but appreciate the appearance of it.

When the yellow lights indicated that they were entering the initial combat range, the Gareshi became surprisingly organized in short orders, the calls of the Proven splitting the morass of infantry into small squads and mounting them up into the vaguely egg-shaped Grav Pods, ten soldiers pressing their backs into the recessed chambers in the trunk of the pod before the door folded down to encase them fully in impact-resistant gel.  Before she sealed up the final chamber of her own pod, Dizzy hammered a fist to her chest in salute to Knight Ulthan with a bit of a grin underneath her helmet.

"Don't worry, Sir.  I'll try to save a few for you." she said, ducking her head as she pulled the panel down after her.  The two of them were taking different pods to the surface to increase the odds of a command element making it through whatever anti-air defense the Brotherhood could scramble between their fleet being detected and the Grav Pods landing.  Sure enough, when she checked Ulthan's pod on her display, his vitals were steady, practically at rest.  Just another day at the office for the old warhorse.

In the prolonged darkness, Dizzy couldn't help but wonder to herself.  Why Zori?  Liu-Bei was in the same system, neither system had a breathable atmosphere, but Liu-Bei had a lighter gravity making it easier to get materials back offworld   It also had access to an ocean's worth of free hydrogen   Was the volcanic activity more severe than she was thinking?  Were they looking to set up refineries for the iron and silicate, maybe to support the Horsemen?  Well, she supposed, if any of the Brotherhood soldiers surrendered she could simply ask them.

The light turned red over her head, and Dizzy grinned, though the impact resistant gel kept her from trying to shift to a more comfortable position as it pressed down on her.  She activated the comms in pod as the light switched to amber, the trajectory of their approach appearing on the screen in front of her.

"Bite the pillow, boys!  We're going in deep!" she laughed as the pod was ejected from the main body of the ship.  The grav-drive kicked in and the matte egg began it's sharp decline into the atmosphere.  Someone in the company struck up an old battle hymn, and Dizzy's voice was among the first to join in with the verse.  With her life wholly in the hands of Gorum for the descent, declaring loudly that you were being delivered to battle seemed the best way to ensure that he'd get where you were heading.

The retro-thrusters flared to life at a low altitude, a streak of exhaust rising up into the sky before the lightly armored pod smashed into the dirt below.  Explosive bolts fired in sequence blasting the canopies of the recessed chambers free as Dizzy pushed herself into a run, pushing out into the bright cloudless yellow sky of Zori, sweeping the area with her mag-rifle.

"Deathspitter is dirtside!" she reported into the comm, "All elements, Hail and Kill!" she said, ordering weapons free and a status update as soon as the six squads that made up the 1rst Platoon disembarked from their own pods.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:20, Sat 02 Aug 2014.

Your boots hit dirt and it felt good. Something about surviving tens of thousands of kilometers of barely controlled drop was supremely exhilarating. The thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline, maybe just your brain screaming with joy that you were still alive. 1st platoon poured forth, itching for a fight. Somewhere, to north and south, 2nd and 3rd platoon were landing right now too, encircling the western edge of the Brotherhood installation.

The impact from the pods kicked up a storm of dust, obscuring vision, clogging atmofilters, but most importantly crippling laser weapons. Mission clock showed less than ten standard minutes before the first laser beams lanced into the dust cloud and choked on the heavy particulates filling the air. From the perspective of the base, it must look as if hundreds and thousands of ghosts were marching on the walls with a sandstorm at their back.

The rising and falling pitch of mag rifles discharging begin to fill the air. Six inch long rods of steel ribbed tungsten hurled towards the perimeter defenses. You caught a flash of bright red armor just over a small barrier wall and put a round through it. No way to confirm if you hit or not. Just keep moving. Lasers beams started to fill the air and were quickly joined with the sound of automatic stubbers. Some rifles, at least two heavy gun emplacements.

There, up on the towers. More red armor, standing out against the off-white prefab structures. You take another shot, lining it up and squeezing the trigger as a red helmet bobs into view. You are rewarded with the soft kick of the mag-rifle against your helmet and a brilliant mist of blood as the flechette round sends him to the underworld.

Your assault is stalling. The two machine gun towers are pinning your platoon and you've already got six causalities. Medics have already been dispatched to treat those who can be saved. You put few couple of rounds through the thin material of the tower, but you're unsure if anyone of them hit until the nest finally goes silent. There's still the other tower to worry about and the sentries around the walls which keep up the pressure.

Someone shouts "INCOMING!!!" over the comm, and you have just enough time to hit the deck, pulling down one of your squadmates as a massive mortar round detonates no less than 6 meters away on the other side of the rock you're using for cover. Moments later, dirt and rock come raining down on your position, clattering all harmlessly over your armor.

Dizzy stayed prone for a moment, sand and grit rolling over the optics of her helmet as she shifted her weight.  Her ears were ringing, but the armor hand done it's job.  She slapped the back of the helmet of the man she'd dragged down with her when she'd dove for cover, a dissonant joviality in her voice as she rose to a crouching position.

"We're having some fun now, eh?" she said, rising to a kneeling position and firing another magnetically accelerated slug down range in the direction of the machinegun still belching fire down at her platoon.  The Warriors were getting bogged down, trying to find cover from the heavy rounds raining down on their assault ... if the defenders pinned them down out here the benefit of their fortifications would let them make up the difference in numbers.  She keyed up her mike.

"Proven Skjorn.  Thump the left tower." she said, tapping one of the two heavy support squads she had access to.  She'd have preferred to save the rocket for any armored vehicles the Brotherhood might have gotten planetside, but she had to tackle problems as they appeared.

"Proven Tulius, you still have a full squad and you're in position." she said, checking her HUD, "Form up with my squad.  Once the rocket hits, we'll advance to the left and use cables to ascend.  Make sure your contact points on the wall are secure before you start climbing."

"Squads Akon, Malar, Nitan, and Skjor will suppress the defenders on the wall and cover our advance.  Once Squads Hargrieve and Tulius have breached the defenses, squads Malar and Skjor  will follow.  Akon and Nitan will bring up the rear." she wished she'd had a squad of Assault Troops in powered armor to call on, some charges to the wall would've been easier to deploy, but instead she had to gamble on the hard climb.  At least she'd have a better position when it paid off, she left nearly twice as many squads as they had defenders to suppress the wall, even with the casualties it should be sufficient.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:46, Sat 02 Aug 2014.

A few tense moments passed under fire as Skjorn got his support squad into position, laid down covering fire and got a clear shot at the tower. It was textbook perfect, the variable yield charge had been set for two-stage penetration and burst and the Warrior with the launcher had hit he tower dead on in the seam between main support strut and the platform. The main charge went off directly beneath the machine gun crew, sending pieces of flesh and shattered crimson armor high into the dusty atmosphere, the tower itself nothing more than a blackened wreck. Another mortar round impacted about 100m too far out in the open and Tulius made his move.

The assault squad's leader lead an inspiring staggered advance, covering his attack with fusillades of focused mag-fire and plasma bursts. Fragmentation grenades went off one after the other, a steady string of explosives keeping the wall defenders down and disoriented. "Take their skulls! Give them unto Gorum!" They cried as they ascended the walls, monoblades at the ready.

From your position, there was a few disorganized lasblasts lancing into the sky, a flash or two of unknown origin and a crimson armored body without a head was hurled over the wall, wrapped in the Unified Brotherhood banner. Tulius appeared at the wall with the severed bare head of one defender, holding it high for the whole company to see. "Primus, we have taken the wall, all the defenders lie slain in offering to Gorum. What are your orders?"

Tulius always did have a gift for inspiring displays, Dizzy thought to herself as she ejected the empty magazine of mag-spikes from her rifle and slapped a new one into position.  She'd been right behind him up the wall, of course.  She'd used the Assault Squad's heavier armor to weather the enemy's defensive fire during the climb, but once the defensive line had broken under the pressure she'd thrown herself over the wall right behind them, her and her Warriors sweeping the other way along the wall to ensure Tulius's squad's rear was defended.

Her boot crunched on gravel that the planetary winds had blown up and onto the defensive wall at some point in the past (or was it the impact of their drop pods?), her death's head helmet surveying the other side of the wall as she got a feel for the battle's progress.  There was a temptation to surge for the anti-air defenses, to clear the way for close air support from the fleet, a rushed grasp for glory.  As a Primus though, she had to consider the whole of the battle ... and, indeed, the implications for the battles to come.

"We hold this position until the rest of the platoon gathers." she said clearly, "Then, we move to secure the outer compound.  We've the numbers, we'll grind these dogs down and let them drink deeply of despair." she said, raising the rifle to her shoulder again.  The Fleet wanted prisoners, if they could press them into surrendering they'd have their pick of the top brass.  Besides, flanking the base defenders from the inside would both allow the rest of the advance force to proceed more easily, and allow them to set up a forward base to secure the wounded.  Without knowing how many worlds' worth of soldiers the Brotherhood could bring to bear, every Warrior was needed.

The old Knight was right beside you, almost beat you up the wall, but he wasn't as hale and fit as you. Squad Tulius begin helping the rest of the platoon over the wall and the word came through commnet. Two other platoons had made it into the compound. The defenders had fallen back into the main structure.

Overhead, an enormous dish rotated slowly and a dozen AA cannons rested silently in their turrets, waiting for something to target.

"Alright, boys and girls, it's time to move out. We're leading the breaching. We're going in through the southwest side!"

The grizzled Veteran kicked a crimson helmet into the ruddy dirt and made for the southwest clearing.

It seemed like the assault planet side was progressing smoothly so far.  Seeing Knight Ulthan making his way to the head of the platoon, Dizzy smoothly stepped aside, touching the control stud along the jaw of her helmet as she brought up the biomonitor displays for her platoon, quickly assessing their fighting strength as their CO relayed the orders from command.

"You heard the man, form up!" she called, raising a fist high to assemble the Warriors in her charge.  Once she was sure that everyone was picking up from their defensive post, she returned to her squad and fell in line.  She felt a little better for having climbed the wall, Tulius's Assault Squad still had their breaching charges which should provide them with the openning they'd need.

"Alright you dogs, remember to check your fire, Command wants bondsmen." she called over the radio, "Anyone not in combat armor, you treat like a raven-haired beauty with fine hips, just expect the soldiers they've got left to defend them as fiercely as their own."

"Only the man who disciplines himself strictly can stand for long the terrific pace of modern war." - Mackenzie King




An NCO never rests. A few months ago, your drop on Zori was a great success by any standard. Minimal casualties for the 'Flying Fourth'

Once the internal walls were breached, the Gareshi infantry swept from room to room, corridor to corridor. Stun grenades, rifle butts and shock batons easily overwhelmed and captured both the defenders and key personnel. All told, over a hundred prisoners were captured and returned to orbit for processing and interrogation. It was a lot of paperwork, but a great deal of honor and recognition came with such successful operations.

The past month has been exo-suit training exercises IVA and EVA. You and your entire Platoon are being trained for some sort of Zero-G operation, but everyone has been tight-lipped about what it is.

Now you stand on the bridge of the flagship INS-Manticore with a brand new shining Executioner's Sword medal on your dress uniform. Old Man Ulthan had put you up for the commendation for your brutally efficient storming of the facility on Zori.

All around the CIC, ensigns and officers bustle and hurry to and from their stations, checking read outs, communicating with each other and other ships in the flight.

Before you, Novarch Merik Avanus and his aides as well as Knight Ulthan.

Finally, the Novarch looks you in the eyes. "At ease, Sergeant."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:31, Mon 08 June 2015.

The Black Winter stretched ever onward.  Throughout the expanse of the Hedgemony, Warriors roamed the cold and pitiless wastes of the void, shouting defiance at their doom, warming themselves in the fires of battle, and taking what they wished from the fallen.  For centuries, the military doctrine of Serntiaari had been build upon perfecting the art of the raid.  Lightning assaults on fortified positions, stealthy intrusions beyond perimeters, always spurred on by the knowledge that failure meant either a noble death on the battlefield or a slow demise to hunger and Grenth's cold embraced.  The forces were larger, each Platoon boasted a clan's worth of Warriors, and piercing the black in the titanic longships of the Hedgemony's navy lacked some of the ardor of a long march supported by specially bred cavalry, but the Gareshi raised up their voices to their Lord of Iron and killed in his name again and again throughout the stars.

Dizzy could not be more pleased.  Maintaining discipline in the aftermath of a successful raid was always a challenge, particularly with so few to be mourned, but Dizzy made the effort.  A voidship was no place for a few hundred rowdy Warriors to be left to their own devices.  She organized the tattooing of those who'd survived the battle unscarred but wished to commemorate it all the same.  She hadn't indulged, herself.  The battle of Zori had been well executed, but falling on the unprepared en masse and overwhelming them ... it lacked the challenge of what she'd experienced among the Rangers.  She was certain this war still had foes far more worthy of boasting over to come.

Then the orders came down to begin drilling the men on IVA and EVA maneuvers, and she had the distraction for her men that she'd wanted.  She was Warsworn, her body given over to Gorum, it was her privilege to serve as an example of what their God demanded of all his followers.  So, on the evening of the day she'd gathered the men together in an unused vehicle bay of the ship.  She asked who among them had experience fighting in space, boarding enemy ships and engaging the enemy in those claustrophobic conditions.  More men had raised their hands than she'd expected, members of mercenary war bands from before the Black Winter had drawn them into more traditional service.  Others, she was reasonably certain, had been pirates before the call to battle had gone out.  She did not judge them for it, they were here now, and their experience would be valuable.

Then, began the boasting.  She let the men go first, three of them spoke the same story, interjecting over Proven Albrun's tale where they saw fit, of taking control of a space station commercial dock so that their vessel could properly disgorge it's full compliment of soldiers.  Another man, Primus Skjor, had been part of a failed fleet action in the past.  When salvagers had come to pick at the battlefield, he'd been marooned on an escape pod and had seen stealing aboard their vessel as his surest path to survival.  It had been awkward and amateurish, he hadn't been the only survivor to try and some lacking the proper training had only exited their life pods to be lost in the void, but they'd managed.  Proven Karten spoke in a low voice of having boarded a half dozen vessels, in non-specific terms, and what it was like.  When each of them had gone, Dizzy had stood in front of her men, and told them that she'd learned EVA and IVA maneuvars from a voidwalker while serving in the Rangers.  That got their attention, and once she had that, she took pleasure in relaying to them the boarding of the Ticonderoga, a battleship filled with soldiers, not opportunistic thugs or green security personnel.

Glories such as these, she promised, would tumble from the lips of all the 9th Drop Infantry soon.  Their next enemy was in space, Gorum had granted them an opportunity to prove that the Gareshi were finer warriors than House Indaris's Marines, but they would need to be prepared before she could let them off the leash.  In the morning, their training would begin, overseen by a Warsworn and the blooded veterans of their own platoon, and then she returned them to their duties with dreams of honor and glory still to come.

-- -- --

The INS-Manticore was the largest ship that Dizzy had had the questionable pleasure of boarding to date.  It had to be, as naval officers bustled about their business in the wider halls, and communications officers monitored reports from every other ship in the fleet.  Dizzy did her best to seem impassive and cold, as she normally did when associating with The Brass, her mismatched eyes casually examining the efficiency of movement with which each man attended his post.  She could only really understand the most rudimentary of sensor logs, after all, so there was little more she could glean from basic observation.

"Sir." she acknowledged the Novarch's command, broadening her stance slightly and clasping her hands behind her back.  For the moment, little else was needed from her, when face to face with a Novarch a Primus's role was to listen, not question.  The fact that Ulthan stood with Avanus rather than herself rankled slightly ... but the man had put her up for honors, she doubted the old warhorse was going to slip a blade between her ribs now.

The Novarch is in battle dress on the bridge. A matte black armor-skin covers his body with cut sheets of Class V flexi-plate. Much of his visible skin beneath his armor is augmented. Not every Novarch takes things so seriously, but some of them, like Merik Avanus, wears combat armor and is armed at all times during a campaign.

"Knight Ulthan speaks very highly of you, Sergeant."

He is a tall man and well muscled. Rumor has it in the barracks that he is Voidborn and his cybernetics are correcting for some sort of growth complication growing up in zero-gravity.

You might call him handsome if it were not for his cold eyes and heavy modification. You have no doubt you are looking at a killer. This doesn't surprise you too much, much like the Gareshi, the Indari have the very reasonable practice of promoting from the grunts to command positions. Most men or women at a rank as high as Novarch have seen extensive combat and usually have the scars to prove it.

"That medal belongs on you, Sergeant." He notes while studying your decorations. "Keep it up."

He keeps calling you Sergeant, which isn't the correct Indaris Astral forces designation for a Proven Warrior, but it IS the word the Gareshi use informally for that rank. Officially, you're not supposed to get caught using the wrong term, but it seems a Novarch is given some freedom aboard his own ship. Another sensible practice, by Gareshi way of thinking. The ranking officer on a starship should be sovereign on his vessel.

He begins to ask you questions, allowing you to answer and then moving on to another question, almost gauging your reactions.

"How do you like your unit, Sergeant Hargieve?"

"What do you think of the operation so far?"

And finally,

"Do you know why you're here?"

“I am Warsworn, Sir.  My honors belong only to Gorum.”  Dizzy said, keeping her head held high and her voice level, “Though I appreciate the opportunity to model them for your men.” She added, the corner of her lip tugging at her scar in the barest hint of a smirk.  In truth, she’d have preferred to be garbed in a manner more like the Novarch himself, however, an enlisted soldier being brought up to see the Novarch demanded a certain degree of protocol.  The dress uniform was pressed and straight, well-tailored to fit her broad shoulders and solid physique without seeming tight or bunching in unseemly places.  One of the benefits of working in a Gareshi unit was that the quartermasters were used to the people’s measurements.  She hadn’t worn her jacket open upon the Shackleton entirely for ventilation purposes.

The Novarch didn’t strike her as a bad sort.  Positions of command had a way of robbing Warriors of their physical fitness, but he was still tall, trim, and hard.  The augmentations didn’t seem to bother her, despite her dogmatic distrust of droids cybernetic prosthesis was quickly accepted among the Garesh as both a way to get wounded Warriors back in fighting shape and as a particularly distinctive manner of scar.  His terse, direct manner of speech reminded her of some of the older Priests where she’d been raised … the ones who were better known for their work in the field than their sermons.  He’d have fit in comfortably on Serntiaari, she wagered, which helped explain why her men were so well provided for.

She blinked slightly when he asked her how she liked the unit.  She hadn’t particularly expected that … her “likes” had never much entered into the equation when it came to her duty.  She supposed he was looking for a troop level perspective of how things were progressing.

“The 9th Gareshi Drop are fine Warriors, Sir.” She said with a  nod, “They’re a zealous bunch, motivated to prove Serntiaari’s value to the Hegemony.  Morale is high after the victory at Zori, though I suspect they’re a bit overconfident.  I’ve been using competition with other Hegemony forces to keep them sharp and on point though.”  She shifted her weight slightly, “Tending to the spiritual well-being of the unit has been reaffirming.  Though, honestly, when I’d joined the Astrals I was hoping for more opportunities to spread my faith.”

“It’s difficult to gauge the effectiveness of our operations at my level, Sir.” She answered the second question, “Victories are, of course, welcome.  The strategies of the 4th Fleet seem efficacious; our actions have yet to be interrupted by ortillery.  Without knowing the scale of the Unified Brotherhood, separating a successful strike from a border skirmish is … difficult.” She took a deep breath, “Toasaa weighs on me.  It wasn’t our failing, but the loss of food is a death knell out on the ice.” She opened and closed her fists behind her back, knowing she was about to overstep her authority a bit, “The Church is in touch with most of the noteworthy independent Gareshi Merclords.  I sent a recommendation up the chain to issue Letters of Marque to some of them to hit the Brotherhood’s supply lines.  It might give us an idea where their supply bases beyond our territory are located, facilitating some raiding of our own.  To date, I’ve yet to receive more than an automated response.”

“No, Sir.  It’s not my place to know the minds of Novarchs, it’s my duty to execute their will.” She answered to the final question, straightening up slightly, “My first guess is that the orders for the zero-G operations the 9th has been training for has finally come down … normally I would receive that briefing from Knight Ulrich, however.  That suggests either that the Knight has other duties, or that this is a joint operation with another group and the Knight is functioning as a liaison, meaning I need the full briefing to effectively  lead the troops.”

“I would be remiss, however, to discount the possibility of reassignment.  My oaths specify that service to Aesgar and the Hegemony are second only to my service to Gorum.  If the Gorumite Church has taken an operation in this region, I may’ve been tapped for team, in which case this is a debrief to smooth the transition.”
This message was last edited by the player at 19:28, Sun 14 June 2015.

"I'll be direct with you, Sergeant." His expression doesn't change much, you notice. You wonder if it's all the syntheskin or if he's just that good at concealing his emotions.

"I've asked you here because Knight Ulthan is has put in a request for you to transfer to the Hetairoi Immortals. Not just you, but your entire platoon. High Command has asked that we finally try integrating the Gareshi into our Immortals program."

The Hetairoi Immortals, as you know, are legendary warriors amongst the entire Hegemony. Up until now, they were composed entirely of Indari soldiers recruited from the Crownworlds only. Many of them were lower nobility or from famous lineages and all were sent to Sernidmir, known to many as Planet Hel. An arid wasteland with an thin atmosphere, slightly higher gravity than normal and covered in active volcanoes.

Hetairoi Immortals are personally granted their commission by the Prince himself and although the Gareshi like to talk down about them, it's a fact that Immortals are the reason Gareshi was conquered in the first place. Rumors are that they venerate all the war gods: Kares, Gorum and Vauln.


"We want you to lead the first all Gareshi Hetairoi unit. Consider it a trial run to see how you handle the training and operate as special forces." His mouth twitches into a small smile. "I understand if you have reservations, but you should know the Gorumite temple Elders have finally agreed to this. We're allowing you to bring your platoon, but we can't guarantee they'll all pass." He stops smiling "We're at a point in the campaign where we can afford to have you spend a few weeks undergoing retraining. We need more operatives to handle a growing array of special assignments we're coming across."

"All that being said, you are free to refuse the assignment and continue on with the 9th. And," the Novarch added "You don't have to decide right now. Sleep on it."

This message was last edited by the player at 04:13, Sun 26 Mar 2017.

There was a sharp intake of air when the Novarch revealed the purpose of this meeting, her eyes popping wide for a moment before she shook her head sharply to regain her composure.  She couldn't say that joining the Immortals had been a coveted assignment for her.  In point of fact, she hadn't given it much thought because so far as she knew it was completely off the table.  Having it placed in front of her was like being struck upon the head by Gorum's own fist.

"A night's sleep won't be neccessary."  Dizzy said, recovering quickly, "I'm humbled to be selected for this role, and I accept the post gladly."  She seized upon the opportunity with the same instinctive ferocity she'd go for an exposed throat in a trench.

There really wasn't a question of whether or not Dizzy was going to take this opportunity.  It was too good for the Gareshi, too good for the church, and if her name came up at the front of the list she wasn't going to let her people try to make due with the second-best choice.  She reminded herself that this was not victory yet, this was an opportunity, she had to strive to claim it.  If she succeeded though, aside from proving that her people were second to none, it was guaranteed access to the most challenging adversaries and difficult tasks the Hegemony had to issue.

She could practically hear the iron-clad trod of her god in her ears.

"How much time do I have until a transport is mustered?  I can put the question to the men upon my return, perhaps give them that night of sleep.  Those who turn down the opportunity can be used to refresh casualties in other units when we leave."

With a knowing glance to Knight Ulthan, Novarch Avanus seems quite satisfied. "Well. That seems settled. Knight, I trust you'll handle the necessary paperwork."

"Aye. I'll finally be rid of you and your lot." He grins in a fatherly sort of way.

The Novarch considers something and speaks "No doubt you'll want to speak to your men as soon as you can. You're dismissed now to pass on the information. Expect a transport ship within the week. Gods willing, you'll be back on this bridge in less than a month." The Novarch and the Knight Clenched their first to their chest.

"Oh, and Knight" He emphasized the new title "If you'd like, we can see about getting that eye replaced with something a little more befitting your new station."

"Ha!  You'll sleep well for the first three days, Ulthan, but then you'll miss the energy of it all."  Dizzy offered him a smile, "Take it from someone who's been there."

"Thank you, Sir." she responded to the Novarch, punching a clenched fist to her chest to return the salute of her superiors, "I'll need to appoint a new XO for the unit as well.  I have a few candidates in mind, but I'd like to confer with them before I finalize a decision."

"Mn?" she'd raised her heel and had been about to turn when the Novarch mentioned her eye.  She blinked once, as though she were trying to decipher his meaning for a moment, though a moment later a smile spread across her lips.

"That's very generous sir, but I'll have to decline.  Pigmentation aside, the eye is perfectly functional.  I've grown a little attached to it." she said, pressing the tip of her thumb to her brow over the right eye for a moment, then drawing the same sharp-angled "7" along the eye that she did when invoking Gorum for the men.  The sign of the Vikari, she doubted that Ulthan recognized the significance, but if Novarch Avanus insisted on using the apellation Sergeant it was possible he knew enough of Gareshi culture to catch the reference.

She still remembered when she lost her old eye ... it was the same day that the other Warsworn had started calling her Dizzy.  She was one the winter march, earning her bones with more than a dozen other black clad adolescents.  The Vescathi had gotten their hands on artillery and one of the shells had landed close enough to blast her off her feet on approach to their outer defenses.  Full of adrenaline and the need to prove herself, she shook it off and got back to her feet ... and proceeded to run the wrong way entirely.  Some of the men called out to her, but her ears were ringing too loudly to make it out, until the staccato flash of muzzle flares along the wall told her she was moving towards the defenses out in the open.  The driving snow and her own weaving steps were likely the only thing that saved her, the vest took a couple of rounds as she tried to reverse her momentum, laying down suppressive fire as she tried to get back to cover.  As she turned, one round caught her helmet, turning her head and sending red hot fragments of lead into the soft flesh of her eye and cheek.  Her Sergeant said he knew she wasn't dead when she fell because she'd cursed the whoreson who'd bled her, the man crawled through a snow drift to grab ahold of her jacket and get her crawling back to proper cover.

She'd finished out the rest of the campaign with an eyepatch, but she earned her bones.  The church, of course, had access to the medical technology that House Aesgar had brought after taking Serntiaari, but the men operating it were still somewhat inexperienced.  Her replacement eye had been gray, but it wasn't long after it had been implanted that she'd started having the brief flashes of insight, like she could see Death's specter lurking in the corner of her eye.  Like the day her mother died.  It seemed to her that the Vikari had spared her that day, but that didn't mean that they hadn't touched her.  And now she used that eye when sighting down the scope of her sniper rifle, picking the moment of men's death in her own way.

"If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave, Novarch.  I'm sure you have more vital functions to address than passing out historic commissions." she said with a crooked smirk.

"Knight, you're dismissed. One more thing before you go: you and your entire platoon take these next few days off duty. You're on leave until your transport arrives to take you to Camp Akhiles. That's an order." He returns your salute with just the hint of a smile he seems to share with Syr Ulthan.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:32, Thu 02 July 2015.

Dizzy sat by herself in the passenger area of the shuttle that was ferrying a mix of warriors and petty officers between the Manticore and the ship her platoon was stationed on, letting the sound of incidental conversation wash over her.  Quietly, she looked at something held in the palm of her hand, a pin from her uniform.  A short, crimson double-edged blade not unlike the one that was currently strapped to her hip, a border of black metal catching on the bright overhead light.  The Blade of the Warsworn … she’d worn it since the day she’d left Serntiaari.  It was a badge of office, though what it meant to her officers always seemed to shift depending on their own point of origin.  There had been some who expected her to be some manner of super soldier, others who’d thought of her as an ineffectual spiritualist who’d been surprised by her prowess, and even a few who’d been suspicious of her “divided loyalties”.  For Dizzy, it was a reminder of debts incurred, of oaths sworn.  She closed her hand around the pin, making a fist, feeling the edges pricking at the skin of her palm as she gripped it tightly.

She closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the headrest.  She’d been young when her house had fallen.  She couldn’t remember it clearly anymore, it was a dizzying mix of sense memories.  Gunsmoke, blood, fire and shadow, the sensation of a dark fur cape wrapped around her, of tiny hands gripping spare magazines, running to do what she could as older men and child-rearing women scrambled to man the wall.  These were the things that “Hargrieve” meant to her, more than the clearer memories of her father and mother from before that winter.  In the aftermath, her mother had died, and her father had returned from the long winter strapped to his shield.  There were no uncles, aunts, or cousins who would take her into their homes, she was abandoned.

Until Gorum’s mailed hand took hers.  Well, in truth, it was Warsworn Varkin, but to her young mind the man clan in black full armor with a gray pelt wrapped around his shoulders may as well have been Gorum himself, his helmet black as night with a narrow red visor, six small skulls worked into the clasp of his cloak and another skull worked into his left pauldron.  She’d been scared, of course, she’d heard stories of what the Warsworn were like.  Through pain and diligence, however, she learned to master her fears, and then master herself.  When she’d first put on the black, it was transformative.  They were grim, but the Warsworn were her brothers and sisters, the Church her Clan.  Though their days were consumed with the taking of life, when she walked among the citizenry she sometimes felt that it was only the Warsworn who truly understood how precious those lives were.  All were orphans, and still they acted, knowing that every muzzle flash flash stole another father, mother, or brother from the world.  This was the tithe of Gorum, lives the currency of his faith, but in knowing that life was short and brutal the Gareshi strived harder and lived more fully than a dozen peaceful worlds where the chief clergy genuflected endlessly in submission to creators and knowledge bearers.

Now she was knighted.  She’d taken the post without hesitation, but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t some pang of regret.  The Church survived in the political turmoil of Serntiaari because it was a neutral agency, supporting whatever power would pay them their tithes in materials and lives.  A Knight was recognized as a minor member of the Hegemony’s nobility, from the classical perspective she would be serving her people as both a Warband Leader and Clanhead from this point onward.  In the Immortals, she would still serve Gorum with all her life…but she could no longer maintain her fealty to The Church as well.  If the church elders had agreed, then they had weighed the loss of a Warsworn acceptable when weighed against allowing the formation of a group of Gareshi Immortals.  Though, she would miss the comradery.

She opened her fist and looked into her palm, where blood had welled up in her grip from where the pin had pierced her flesh.  It was time for a new oath, she supposed.

“I am Knight Hargrieve, an Immortal in service of the Indari Hegemony.
I am the mailed fist of Gorum, the commander of the first Serntiaari Immortals.
I am the head of the reclaimed Clan Hargrieve, proof that faith in the Gorumskagat transcends death.”

She paused a moment, making the sign of the Vikari over her gray eye one more time in blood.

“I Will Fight.”

There was a slight bump as the shuttle came to a rest at their destination.  She kept the bleeding hand closed in a fist as she stood up from her seat, falling in line with the rest of the passengers, sharing a hard look with a few who saw the thin red mark on her face, though no words were exchanged.  The deck was a mess of flight hands directing traffic as mechanics moved from vessel to vessel to make their checks.  Standing by the receiving area, Dizzy picked out two Warriors wearing the Astral colors lurking in an doorway off the main thoroughfares.  A woman with pale ash blonde hair shaved into an undercut that gathered into a ponytail in the back, and a young man who sported a scruffy shadow of a beard whose nose had been broken in two places.  She recognized them, members of her own platoon, young and curious they liked to keep an ear to the ground.  More than a few times, it lead to the platoon being able to unofficially requisition things that command wouldn’t have been keen to know they’d had.  Seeing their XO step off a shuttle with a battle mark on her face was certain to start the rumor mill going…better to head that off at the pass.

“Greta, Harkin!” she called, her voice snapping to be heard over the din of the hangar.  Harkin’s body shifted in such a way that suggested he was thinking of slipping away, but Greta punched him in the shoulder and pushed him towards the decorated priestess.  Which was for the best, she didn’t particularly want to discipline anyone on the heels of this news.

“Here, Primus.” Greta said, Harkin mirroring her salute as they met her halfway.

“Spread the word, I want the platoon assembled in briefing room four in half an hour.  We have our marching orders.” She didn’t bother to correct the woman regarding her rank just yet.  There would be time for that when she announced it to the whole unit.

“Aye, sir!” they said, each turning on a heel and running in a separate direction.  Dizzy watched them go for a moment, before picking up her pace and striding into the corridors of the ship herself.  There were a few balls she wanted to get rolling before the briefing herself.

Name: Sernidmir (Planet Hel)
Function: Military Academy
Government: Indari Military High Command
Planet Type: Terrestrial
Terrain: Plateau
Gravity: Standard
Atmosphere: Type II (breath mask suggested)
Length of Day:  23 standard hours
Length of Year:  120 local days
Hydrosphere: Dry
Temperature: Warm
Population: 100-200 million
Starport: Orbital Docking Stations
Tech Level: 4

Sernidmir, also known as Hel, is the location of the Hegemony special forces training, primarily for the Immortals units as well as anyone with hostile environment or special forces training, though the Immortals receive the full extent of it with other units only dealing with partial courses.

Close to the star, Sernidmir is a harsh and hot world, with a hostile atmosphere that is unbreathable without an apparatus to assist. Not enough nitrogen, not enough oxygen, too much carbon dioxide. Wracked with radiation, it is a lethal place to live and no one stays here for long.

Modern medical facilities are the only thing which can deal with radiological damage at this extent. Thus, planet Hel has recovery zones with standardized gravity, atmosphere and top of the line medical facilities to repair the damage caused by just living here.

Camp Edward is the primary training ground for special forces and those who require additional training to meet their requirements for whatever role they've been tapped for.

Shivari, OSI agents, Immortals and other special forces often make their way through this planet during their careers as required.

It is a challenging world, most training programs require weeks spent in minimal living conditions, struggling against the weather and the environment itself. Starving, thirsting, burning alive in the heat of the desert, wishing they had any material or resource to keep them going. Any slip up, any mistake is a wash-out grade. No one who was aware and on top of their game would make a mistake with this much on the line and only the best of the best graduate. Many of those who fail, simply die. It's not the goal of the program; medical support is provided, but it's impossible to prevent every death. Those lives lost are mourned, but from those ashes the greatest fighting force in the galaxy has been raised. Those who have cheated death, have faced impossible odds, who have pushed themselves to the limit. They are the true Masters of War. The Immortals.

To leave the Warsworn, that's the next question: And the answer is a matter of context and blood. It's not enough to simply renounce the Warsworn. That alone would mean your own death. You have to offer up your own blood in battle against a Warsworn Thane, defeat them and offer your own blood on the ground before witnesses. In ancient times, you had to kill the Thane to leave the service of Gorum, but now it is merely enough to fight them until they submit to your skill as a superior warrior. The blood offering can either be from the blade of the Thane, or a cut drawn yourself during the battle. Immediately after this, you must run the Gauntlet of Gorum. Tired, and possibly wounded from your fight with the Thane, you will be struck repeatedly as you pass the Gauntlet. To succeed you must not fall. To stumble is to be expected, but if you fall to the ground, the members of the Gauntlet will beat you unconscious and dump your body somewhere in public for all to see your shame. It is not unheard of for men and women to die from the Gauntlet, and such a thing is considered extremely shameful.

To arrange this, you must contact a Skald. It should be enough to simply find one within your own battalion, and unnecessary to search the entire fleet and all attached units.

Agatha Manreaper and Jun One-Eye both would be suitable for your needs. Both have fierce reputations and no one would question your bravery for going through their gauntlet or facing their Thanes.

Another order of business is to locate someone of house Aesgar to complete the knighting ceremonies. It occurs to you that you once knew an Aesgar, Arik, under your command on the Shackleton, though you have no idea what became of him when he returned to the Hegemony, or indeed if he even survived his wounds.

As the image of Sernidimir spun lazily across the monitor on her desk, Dizzy was busily unpinning the various medals from her uniform top.  Each was laid carefully in turn in a small box of sanctified iron with a velvet interior, less a display than a protective case that could survive rough transport.  Etched along the forward facing was her name and HID, underscored by a handful of runes which represented a handful of rites she wished to be observed at her wake.  She’d always thought that her commendations would go back to the church when the trials of her faith finally called her to Gorum’s ranks, a record of her deeds for the Warsworn who’d follow in her footsteps.  She supposed she’d need to invest in a new case at some point, something with a tempered glass window.  A restored clan needed its pride, needed to prove its place among the peerage, or it could hardly be called a clan at all.

“What a fine anvil…” she murmured to herself, shrugging out of the jacket of her dress uniform and hanging it from the back of her door as she began scanning the details of the planet they called Hel.  It was an imposing crucible to be sure, but there was an old saying among the Gareshi:  “Make war on stone, and it will crumble.  Make war on Man, and he grows stronger”.  Trials like this reforged men, cleansed them of impurities, and tempered them against harsher tests still to come.  No doubt, some would come face to face with their limitations, but even those who failed would take away valuable lessons.  Not that Dizzy allowed herself to entertain the notion of her own failure.

Of course, as she queued up the Sernidimir information to send to briefing room four so she could use it while addressing the platoon, the sword-shaped pin sitting outside of the iron box, still stained red from where it had cut into her palm, reminded her that she had other personal matters to address as well.  She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the other veterans she knew were active in the fleet.  She needed a recognized authority, and someone with a service record at least comparable to her own.  She had obligations of faith to fulfill, after all, shirking the weight of her oaths would only cheapen the value of her word.

Finally, she settled on Jun One-Eye, though it was a narrow selection over Agatha Manreaper.  Simply put, Jun’s deed name was rooted in an injury received, much as Dizzy’s own.  There was no getting around it, a deed name colored the perception of those who knew you only by your reputation.  They had to strive harder for recognition, and many of them retained a greater measure of humility than their compatriots who had grander names.  She trusted a Skald like that to act properly, rather than blow the ritual off as beneath them, or overstack the gauntlet just to shame another warrior.  Using the stilted phrasing that characterized speaking about these awkward matters via a public venue, she sent a message to Jun’s terminal requesting to meet with her at his earliest convenience regarding a matter of faith.

The last order of business was a bit more straight-forward.  She’d expected her superiors to arrange the knighting ceremony, but it was true that she was allowed to request a noble scion to officiate the event.  Curiosity, more than anything, had her typing in a request to human resources regarding the career of Arik Aesgar.  She’d always thought him promising, fearlessly engaging a Shivari in single combat, and even after ignoring doctor’s orders to join the security patrol of their ship while he was still, by all rights, too weak for active duty.  Hopefully in the intervening years his skills had grown to match his courage.

Glancing at the time, though, it seemed that the time she’d stipulated for the briefing was nearly upon her.  After a few moments to finish changing back into her duty uniform, she locked the terminal, took the monoblade she was never far from, and began her own trek towards the briefing.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:00, Thu 27 Aug 2015.

Before too long, you receive a response from the Hegemony Mail Service.

Both your messages were sent via Relay to their destination.
1. Jun One-Eye onboard the Starstrider within the fleet.
2. Arik Aesgar's message is now on-board a courier ship en route back to the core worlds before filtering through the Relay. Estimate time of delivery: 340 hours. Earliest possible response: 690 hours. Your knighting ceremony could wait, and you do a few mental calculations base on where Sernidimir is compared to Skyreach, where he likely was at this point. You suspect you'll hear back in more like 400 hours.

Jun One-Eye responds to you in merely a standard hour. His message is brief: "Meet me aboard the Starstrider in four hours. Come alone and prepared. Man må hyle med de ulve man er i blandt."

He closes with an obscure dialect of the Gareshi tongue.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:56, Tue 01 Sept 2015.

The time moved by slowly.  Or, perhaps, her mind simply moved too quickly.  Thinking forward, thinking back, often times simply letting her mind twist without direction like a stuck hithak.  Her head was packed with wool, it felt like she was drowning, or bleeding out her life’s blood in the numbing snow again.  Maybe that was how it should feel … she was cleaving off a part of herself this day.  A core part.  Something she took pride in, something she turned to in moments of weakness.

She’d relayed her orders to the platoon.  She’d dressed them up with talk of honor, battles, and glory to come; with the knowledge that their names would be emblazoned upon the banner of the 1rst Gareshi Immortals that would one day be laid in the Vault of Heroes inside the holy mountain.  She told them they had four days to prepare themselves, and that those who did not believe themselves equal to the task had that time to approach her for a transfer.  There would be no shame in it, one had to be aware of their limitations, and dying in a training exercise would bar one from Gorum’s halls.  Still, she cautioned, an opportunity like this would likely never again appear in their lives.  Tulius, Skjorn, and Nitan she expected to see in two days for interviews, a new XO would have to be chosen, and they were the most promising candidates she had.

She’d pushed the interview off for two days, because she’d need time to recover.  From this.

Aboard the Starstrider now, Dizzy paced restlessly as she waited for the appointed time.  She’d stripped away her uniform down to the waist, a white chest wrap the only thing granting her modesty as she did her best impression of a caged tiger.  The muscles of her frame stretched and shifted with each motion, calling attention to the latticework of ragged scars that had been carved and burned into her over years of combat experience (and a few drunken misadventures, she had to admit).  Tattoos in bold black ink showed starkly against her pale skin, one worked into a band around her right bicep that displayed the mark of the Astral Rangers flanked by a pair of silhouettes in the shape aerial drones.  Radiating out from around it were a series of interlocking triangles, like teeth, each representing a confirmed kill from the First Damaran Crusade.  She’d taken that conflict personally, on a level.  Peeking out from the waistband of her pants and following the curve of her hips was the stylized shape of a hissing snake, a reminder of the Battle of Serpent’s pass where she’d earned the call sign Deathspitter but her armor had held strong.  A pair of axes, hafts parallel but blades pointed in opposite directions marked the passing of an old friend.  The skin was still puckered and pink where one of the invaders had collapsed her lung, though the surgical marks had faded with time.

She might have been showing more skin than the Indari found comfortable, but she was far from bare.  She was wearing her accomplishments openly, a banner that couldn’t be taken from her no matter what followed.  She wore the traditional Gareshi monoblade at her hip, the longer Skana left in her office for the first time in months.  There was no armor for this fight, the purpose of it was to bleed, after all.  Another scar … a severing.

 She slapped her palms to her face, the sharp sting snapping her out of her cyclic thinking for a moment.  The fight would help, her instincts would kick in and things would start making sense again.  She just had to endure the waiting a little longer.  Recapture some of the patience she felt from behind her rifle’s scope.  She forced herself to lean against a wall, crossing her arms across her chest and closing her eyes, listening for sounds of Jun’s Thanes gathering somewhere on the deck, steadying her breathing.

Idly, one hand untucked from the opposite arm, her fingers grasping the dog tags hanging around her neck.  More accurate, she was feeling the familiar edges of the Blade of the Warsworn she’d grown so accustomed to over the years.  She’d be returning it soon … but, its closeness helped now.