Sergeant Black of the First Assault Squad, Blue Company, 114th Catachan ("Devilspawn"), walked through the bustling ruins of Helltown, Armageddon Secundus. Over his head, shadowy green blocked out the dead-grey skies of the hiveworld. He liked it here -- maybe not as challenging an environment as home, but as tough and deadly an opponent as he could ever wish to face.

Around him, the open-air fortress teemed with activity. Here, a Departmento Munitorum team was setting new tank traps; there, a PDF heavy stubber team was siting its heavy weapon. The air reeked with a mixture of natural scents and pollution. Some was the oil and rusting-metal smell of the Imperial fortifications, but over all, the stinking charnel small of burning ork corpses tinged the moisture-soaked air.

Black strolled over toward the mess tent, looking for his men. As he stepped through the ragged tent-flap, he found a mixture of hardened men in green fatigues, and the more snooty, well turned out guardsmen of a Mordian regiment. Their crisp blue uniforms clashed with the drab green of the tent and the rest of its occupants, among whom were his own men...

OOC: OK, guys, here's the deal. In this game, a GM does NOT set the scene -- the players do that. I am not going to be the only person describing the camp, the bunkers, the food, the NPCs -- because you're going to help. When you post, describe not only your own character's appearance and reactions but also his environment and the NPCs around him.

RE the setting, think of this as the bar we would all meet in at the start of a classic fantasy campaign, but if you want a stained table or you want to haggle with the cook over your food -- YOU do it. DO NOT leave this out -- I emphasize that it's a vital element of this game. I repeat -- the GM does not set the scene. If we don't describe what's going on, no one will do it for us. We are all, in a sense, our own GMs. Yes, you can let someone else do all the work, but that deprives you of the chance to put your own stamp on a part of the story!

For the moment, let's go easy. For your first post, describe the scene, build on other players' descriptions, and have your character take it easy. For example: I have just said the tent is green, ragged, and contains both Catachans and Mordians. I have not however described the tables or the food -- that's left for you, if you like. Perhaps there is a Commissar lurking in the corner whom I haven't mentioned. Or you can elaborate on the condition of the tent and how rain comes through the holes, or on the Mordians and how they stare at you with hooded eyes, sneering at your table manners. (Don't start fighting quite yet, though.) And remember, be realistic. Your character is not Superman and cannot solve all his fellow character's problems in one post for them.

And finally, remember to interact, particularly with each other but also with NPCs (and, when we get to them, the Orks).

This post has been edited by JenBurdoo on Apr 11 2007, 05:48 AM

The Mordians were gathered together in their own corner, mostly with their backs to the rest of the tent. Low-voiced, derogatory comments could occasionally be heard from their direction. They had, predictably, taken the only table without stains.

Samuel Chester slouched in a camp chair in the far corner, his hefty boots propped up on the table, gnawing meditatively on a piece of jerky. Water dripped slowly onto the table, inches from his feet. He raised his hand in a two-fingered salute when he saw Black come in.

"Mornin, Sarge. Lookin fer somebody?"

Splenden wiped the moisture that formed on his goggles onto his shirt and cracked his neck before looking at the Mordians. They were a pompous bunch, and Splenden wanted to introduce them to his fist. He had been in the tent, with his squad, for the better part of an hour and it was getting stuffy with the Mordians. He was ready to get out and the appearance of the sergeant was a good sign.

"We gettin' outta this piece o' shit tent, Sarge? I'm sick of it." Splenden yelled, "God damn Mordians smell like ass..." At that a couple Mordians turned their heads, but didn't say or do anything else.

Never actually sitting in the chair that rested to his left, Splenden began to rock it back and forth - it creaked loudly on its metal fasteners. Splenden drew a breath of air, and wiped his brow - it was stuffy in the tent even though it was riddled with holes and openings. It seemed as if the green tent didn't let any cooler air in, and just baked the occupants till they couldn't take it anymore.

Kamaf looked over at the Mordians. The atmosphere of the little table of the could not be more different from the Catachans surronding them. The Mordians ate like robots, ignoring the raucous taunts of the Catachans. The Catachans were loud, food was flying everywhere and boasting and challanges were flung around the group. There was a border of empty tables closest to the Mordians, seperating the 2 groups physically. As the Sergeant entered the room, Kamaf joined the raucous greeting from the Catachans. This was soon silenced as a Commissar followed a short time after. The Mordians stood and saluted the Commissar. The silence was punctured by a snigger from within the Catachan ranks as they sat impassively, eying the Commissar and looking askance at their Sergeant. Kamaf stood. The eyes of his fellow Catachans were on him, wondering why this fool had broken ranks for the Commissar. Kamaf made to salute but then stretched, picked up his bowl, turned his back on the Commissar and walked up to the foodbar. Laughter greeted this teasing act and the Catachans resumed eating and yelling. The Mordians also sat down. Even Black had a smile tugging at his lips and the Commissar was talking to him abut discipline in the unit. Kamaf got some more of the junk that they called food and went back to the table he was seated at. He was greeted by much back slapping as he sat. Now he just better hope Black didn't hang him out to dry with the Commissar. He'd been annoying the Sergeant lately.

OOC: Damn you, Siggy.

Black smiled briefly at Kamaf's public rejection, and sipped muddied caffeine from his chipped cup as he hunched on a creaky wooden stool. Then he muttered a curse as the Commissar turned in his direction. He risked a stern glance at Kamaf, who winked at him and waved.

*Damn punk.*

The Commissar was fairly young and white-faced. Unlike most of the men in here, even the Mordians, he had not yet earned the Ork-Hunter's badge, a metal ork-skull pin that indicated his experience or skill fighting in the depths of Armageddon's jungles.

*Garritrooper,* Black thought, but then rapidly schooled his face as the Commissar approached.

"Is that your man over there?" The commissar pointed. He at least had the experience not to tower over Black or act furious.

"Uh... no?" Another sip of caffeine.

"Come off it, sergeant, I wasn't born yesterday. I want him given a warning."

"You ain't gonna shoot him?"

"No."

"Wait a sec, then."

Black stood up, strode across the tent, seized Kamaf by the back of the collar, jerked him to his feet, and frog-marched the younger trooper back to the Commissar with a wide grin on his face.

"Have at it. An' 'Lucky', be nice."

He grinned at the startled trooper, then walked to the table, took Kamaf's seat, and started eating Kamaf's dinner.

OOC: This goes a touch farther in the plot than I usually consider wise. I just didn't want to miss the comedic potential, but normally I would have let Siggy have his own reaction to the sergeant's attempt to grapple with him. Since he has only just posted, however, and Black as the sergeant is probably bigger and tougher, I felt it wasn't a stretch to do something for another character. You too can write other PC's reactions, but use extreme caution. Notice I said Kamaf was only startled, and not, say, "shaking with fear." I don't know his character well enough to know if he would go that far. Also, never injure another character; let the player decide for himself when his character has been hurt or killed.

Annoying historical note: A garritrooper is a soldier who is "too far forward to shave, and too far back t'git shot." -- Bill Mauldin

This post has been edited by JenBurdoo on Apr 12 2007, 04:15 PM

Moen was sitting a bit off from the Catachans, his hat pulled downed, his sunglasses on. To all observers it seemed he was sleeping. When the Sergeant came in he sat up and tipped his hat in salute but he didn’t join in with the raucous greeting of the other Catachans. When the Commissar arrived he leaned back and put his boots on the table, slumping back into a sleeping position. He lowered his hat back over his eyes and snickered slightly at Kamaf’s slight towards the Commissar.

OOC: Sorry, I came down with something when everyone else decided to post, so I decided I’d play a bit of catch up. It’s not much, it’s the best I can do with this damned cold.

Kamaf was surprised when Black grabbed him. He didn't attempt to fight as he had seen the Sergeant in action and didn't want to be on the receiving end of one of his punches. Black forced him up to see the Commissar and took Kamaf's place, leaving him alone with the Commissar.

"Have at it. An' 'Lucky', be nice," were his parting comments. Kamaf was surprised but not alarmed. Obviously Black wouldn't let him be shot for something like that. Kamaf turned and yelled back to the Sergeant

"I'll just be a minute, Sarge. Hope you gunna pay for my meal that you're eating."

He turned to the Commissar. This speciman was pale and looked youthful. Kamaf smiled inwardly. This man would last 3 seconds on Catachan. Schooling his face, Kamaf prepared himself for what might come. The atmosphere was a littler quieter than normal. Everyone had one ear on the pairs conversation.
"What'd you want....sir"
The Commissar looked him up and down, "What was the point of the little display just before?" His tone was calm and even.
"I was hungry," came the unconcerned reply
"Since you are so concerned with your stomach, you can help with the unloading of the food at this camp for the next 2 months. Maybe this will teach some discipline in this unit." The last comment was directed at the Sergeant and the rest of the room.
"Sure," Kamaf replied, in a bored tone.
"What's your name, private."
"Jarth." At this answer, Black choked on Kamaf's food.
"See you at 1800 this evening to help with the first unpacking"
"Yeah, sure"
The Commissar nodded slightly and Kamaf walked away. Kamaf had no intention of helping with the unpacking. Only a Mordian would do such a thing. The false name and a few dabs of camoflage paint would protect him from the inexperienced officer.

Markus grinned, and shook his head while playing with a lighter that he had, had since he was a boy, he would ignite it and douse it.

Markus called out to the Sergeant, "Hey Sarge, when are we leaving, I wanna torch some greenskins"

(thats all for now cause its late, my next post will be a bit bigger)

Chester's mouth crooked into a smile as he watched Kamaf cheerfully lying to the Commissar. Only his mouth moved; the smile never touched his eyes.

A passing Mordian stopped, frowning at Kamaf. He opened his mouth, pointing across the room at the insolent trooper.

"That trooper's name isn't Jarth, it's. . ."

WHAM.

The Mordian hit the ground hard, his food splattering across the floor, table and his uniform. Chester, standing right where the Mordian had been a split second ago, looked at him with mock surprise.

"Sorry, fella, didn't see ya there. Guess the glare off all yer shiny buttons musta blinded me. . ."

The fallen Mordian's face purpled with rage.

(OOC: I think we should have the fight now! And Chester seemed the obvious person to start it.)

Black licked his lips as he finished off Kamaf's grox stew. The cooking wasn't as bad as he had expected. He looked around at the table, spotting familiar faces. Splenden and Markus enthusiastically demanded to know what mission they would be going on next; Black just grinned. "It's a good'un, boys. Jest finish yer dinner an' I'll tell you."

Moen, the quiet sniper, was napping in a corner. He didn't look too hungry. Retters ate quietly, but his long hair and coarse look was causing Mordians to glare at him.

A hand fell on Black's shoulder. He looked up to see Kamaf and started to smile when to his left, he heard the unmistakable smack of a body slamming to the floor.

Chester. Of course it was Chester. When Black turned, he noticed that the Mordian, and his comrades, were eying the tent-flap. The Commissar's cloak was just disappearing through it. There was silence for a long five seconds.

Then the Mordian lunged athletically to his feet and grappled with Chester. This, of course, was the signal for all the chairs in the tent to go clattering away from the tables as every man, Catachan and Mordian, immediately stampeded to see the action... and started getting in each others' way. Kamaf, trying to sit down, was inadvertently tripped by a Mordian. An angry look entered his eyes as he slammed his hand on the table and flipped a plate of gruel into the Mordian's face.

*Here we go again,* though Sergeant Black as he stood up and watched his men instinctively pick their targets...

OOC: Fight! Just don't kill anyone, and don't arbitrarily declare the result of anyone else's actions. You can mention others or, better yet, give them threads to pick up on, but don't write someone else into a corner. When you give someone else something to do (as I just did with Chester and Kamaf) leave it open-ended.

This post has been edited by JenBurdoo on Apr 16 2007, 01:02 AM

Markus saw the fight starting and figured since he had nothing better to do he'd join in.

Markus got up and tackled one of the Mordians, and then headbutted him.

The Mordian lunged forward with a yell, grabbing Chester's arms in a fairly good attempt at a half-nelson. However, he failed to consider that fact that Chester easily outweighed him by fifty pounds.

The light of agonized realization dawned in his eyes as Chester, grinning ferociously, punched his knee straight up into the Mordian's groin. One big hand circled around the man's neck as the other seized his shirt, and then the Mordian was flying, slamming down on a nearby table with enough force to send every dish spinning away. Chester followed quickly, wrenching the unsecured table aside and lunging forward, into a knot of food-spattered blue uniforms. Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see the whole room erupting in chaos as the outraged Mordians began to bludgeon everyone in green. Markus had one down on the ground, Kamaf looked to be beating another up with a plate of gruel. . . bedlam and curses filled the air.

Chester was still smiling as his first punch landed with a crack, sending one Mordian reeling away. He hadn't had this much fun in days.

Specialist Moen snapped his eyes open at the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Of course, he thought as Chester started yet another fight.

Standing up he calmly pushed his chair in and walked up to the nearest Mordian. The man was watching the fight and not paying attention to his surroundings, big mistake. Moen tapped the man on the shoulder and as he turned he got a good look at a Catachan fist. The Mordian roared in anger and threw himself at Moen who calmly stepped aside and tripped the man. Moen gave the man a kick to the gut and moved on.

Another Mordian saw what Moen did to his comrade and came up to fight him. They started trading blows, the Mordian was tougher but Moen was quick. The Mordian landed a viscous hook to Moen’s jaw and followed it with an uppercut. Moen recovered quickly and sent a flurry of blows to the Mordian’s stomach. The Mordian grunted and grabbed at Moen, putting him in a headlock. Glancing around Moen saw that Markus was in a position to help, and hoped that he would notice him.

The Mordian who had copped the gruel in the face was still wiping it out of his eyes as Kamaf seized a chair and hit him over the head with it. The Mordian went down faster than a offworlder with the Grats virus. Discarding the broken remains of the chair, Kamaf looked around. Moen seemed to be in a bit of trouble but Markus was quite close to him. Chester was fighting quite happily wit ha ring of Mordians around him. Kamaf grinned and seized another plate of gruel, chucking the contents over a Mordians uniform. The trooper stopped in shock and Kamaf finished him off with a plate to the head. Kamaf worked his way methodically to the foodbar where the cook was watching the fight with the air of one who's seen it all before.
"What you going to do with the grox afterward mate? Chuck it to the dogs?" asked Kamaf as he filled his bowl and considered the pot of stew.
"Are you kidding? They won't eat this shit. We leave it in the jungle and hope the greenskins eat it." replied the cook, with some interest.
"So you won't mind if I borrow the rest of it?" enquired Kamaf innocently as the fight raged on in the background.
"Nah, it'd spare me some time in fact," answered the cook, uncaringly.
"Cheers," Kamaf grinned. He lifted the pot off the bench and set it down. If one thing was more likely to piss the Mordians off more than getting beaten by Catachans, it was the thought of getting their precious unifomrs dirty. Kamaf grabbed a passing Catachan, unable to see their face.
"Hey mate, give us a hand with the pot. Chuck it over those Mordians in the middle round Chester."

Markus looked up and saw that Moen could use some support, he quickly headbutted the Mordian again knocking him unconsicous.

He got up and moved over to Moen's position, he came up behind the Mordian and decked the man in the head from behind, then as the man let go of Moen, he turned to face Markus. Markus knowing he had to react quickly put one hand on the Mordian's shoulder and brought his stomach to meet with Markus's knee, he looked up and grinned at Moen.

"Well that was fun" Markus said to Moen.