Collaborative Story, 2nd Edition, Help me out here!

[iamspartacus]

Retters smiled good naturedly at the Mordian he had been grappling with, patting him on the head and smiling at the commisar to show his good will,
causing the blood to boil beneath the deep bite marks of the enraged man.
"I'll go get some antiseptic for those good buddy." He said cheerily, and quietly exited out the back way of the tent. He had no intentions of cleaning up a mess,
let the orderly Mordians do it best.

[BeRzErKeR]

Chester stood back up, grinning scarily. His lip was bleeding, and his right eye was swelling shut; just after he threw the chair, he'd been tackled from behind. But the fight had been completely worth it.

Retters casually sneaked out the back way, which seemed like a good idea to Chester. He was heading that direction too, when a blue-sleeved, brass-buttoned arm caught his shoulder. Caught his shoulder surprisingly hard, actually.

" Soldier, I could have sworn the good Commissar just gave us, including you, an order. . ."

Chester glanced over his shoulder. Just his luck; a corporal. Meaning he was, in the open at least, unassailable.

"Uh, yessir. Jus' lemme git my. . ."

"I have a better idea, Specialist Chester. Why don't you go get a bucket and a rag from the kitchen, there, and start cleaning up that stew, hmm?"

Chester cursed silently.

"Yessir."

[Siggy]

Kamf edged his way towards the cook as calm broke out. "Need some help getting that stuff out of here?" inquired Kamaf. The cook seemed to be struggling with some of the cooking implements and pots.
"Ok," replied the cook, "Grab another guy and take that load over there into the kitchen tent."

Kamaf walked over to the load. It consisted of a large pot, filled with knives, plates and other assorted cooking and eating tools. He watched as Chester got caught by a Mordian NCO.

"Hey Chester, give us a hand with this lot, will ya?" Kamaf called across the room.

[Lieutenant Havenborn]

Markus watched as the clean-up began and decided to pitch in, instead of being lazy.

He got up and grabbed a broom (or the 40K version of one anyway) and started to clean up the mess.

[Avenger2099]

Moen stoically helped the others clean up the mess. He didn't complain, he didn't grumble. He went about his job with mechanical efficiency.

[JenBurdoo]

OOC: Sorry I've been absent, let's get back to playing!

IC: Black pokes his head into the tent. He has a black eye. "Hey, boys, get out here."

The squad troops out, smirking at the Mordians who are still cleaning up after the fight. They line up on the paradeground outside. Well, technically it's a paradeground; it's really a cratered field surrounded by machinery and fortifications. A servitor lurches past, and Black absentmindedly trips it as he inspects the squad.

"Get yer kit, boys, we have a mission."

After a mild cheer, he waves his hand and goes on, "HQ thinks they have the location of a new Greenskiin hideout. We're gonna go find it, an' wreck it if we can. Whaddaya say?"

The grins on their faces are enough response for Black to crack his own. "Then get outta here and fetch your gear, ammo, an' rations for a week. I want you all back here in ten minutes! Go!"

And he jogs off the field towards his tent.

OOC: This is your chance to describe your equipment in greater detail, as well as your character's thoughts on the mission ahead.

[Avenger2099]

Moen smiled and jogged off towards his own tent. When inside he lovingly took out his trusty Catachan model 2112 'head-popper' bolt-action sniper rifle. He'd been pestered to grab a newer model by a few of the guys recently, but he couldn't bare to give up this old gun. He had a relationship with her, she was his best-friend, his confidant. She had saved his life more often then he could count, and had ended countless lives of the enemies. "Well, girl, looks like we've got a mission." He said to it softly. He checked his scope, made a few modifications, and patted the gun. He also grabbed a standard issue laspistol and his trusty knife.

With his gear in tact he ran back out to the mustering area, where he plopped down and proceeded to clean his rifle.

[Lieutenant Havenborn]

Markus walked back into the tent and went to get his things, he grinned over at the Mordians still cleaning up the place, he saw Moen talking to his rifle and just laughed to himself.

When he got to his gear he opened up the case that was sitting near his bed, and there lay his trusty Heavy Flamer, he hefted "The Beast" up, that was his nickname for it and then set it down on his bed, he grabbed his Las-Rifle and the Promethium tanks, he slipped the Las-Rifle in the pouch that was on the side of the tank. Then he grabbed his webbing and his belt and pulled out his Las-Pistol and Knife, he put the knife in it's sheath on his leg and put the Las-Pistol in its holster. Then he hoisted the Promethium tanks onto his back and grabbed "The Beast" and connected the hose to the main tank.

He turned and walked towards Moen and said to him, "Yo Moen, I think it's about time that you got a new rifle man."

[BeRzErKeR]

Chester jogged back to his tent, swinging his arms to loosen up a little. His right was a little stiff; some son of a greenskin had got him with a chair leg during the fight. Not too bad, though.

He ducked through his tent flap, slowing enough that he didn't cross all three feet of enclosed space and rip through the back, and turned to his equipment rack. Helmet; so, settled snugly over the head and strapped down. Steel knuckles; so, riding high and held tight in the left fist. Knife; so, strapped tightly to the right hip, loosened in its sheath, with the heavy lead-weighted pommel angled forward. Bandolier; so, slung from right shoulder to left hip and tightened, a half-dozen wide loops filled with the black, angled shapes of shotgun magazines, and four smaller ones with las cartridges. Laspistol; so, holster strapped low on the right thigh.

Chester picked up his shotgun last, smiling softly, as he always did when he armed up. The weapon was blocky and powerful, squared-off muzzle set against angled handgrip. Lots of soldiers preferred automatic weapons, but Chester's had a dark, well-used slide. He relished the feel of it, and the mechanical clicking it made between the thunderous roars of discharges.

An ominous click-chak echoed slightly in the tent as Chester worked the slide, chambering a round.

A minute later Chester emerged, shotgun slung over his back and a bundle of ration packs tied to his belt, and jogged back over to the parade ground.

[iamspartacus]

edited for stupidity.

[Barret]

Trooper "Books" Harker, survivor of the decimated Squad Williams, dropped off the Chimera as it crunched over the broken parade ground and surveyed the camp. It had the same sights and sounds and stench as every other jungle basecamp on Armageddon. Home, sweet home. His orders were to join up with Sergeant Black's unit, and he strode across the broken ground, looking for his fellow Catachans, sabre rattling at his hip, his stolen helmet (now suitably adorned with muck and camo and crude imprecations about the nature of a soldier's life. He had a much-abused paperbound copy of the rather improbable adventures of an Ultramarine Captain tucked under the helmet's mesh netting.

A couple of surly, bruised Mordian troopers pointed him across the parade ground to where a group of Catachans were slowly gathering into what could generously be called muster. "Books" ambled over, looking for someone with stripes, and muttering under his breath against serious lack of sack time he foresaw in his future. Once more into The Green, and all that...

[Avenger2099]

Moen glanced up at Markus, his face unreadable behind his sunglasses. "Yeah? And maybe it's time you thought about getting a new heavy flamer." He said as he stood up to clap Markus on the back. "Now then, why don't you go off and pester the new looking guy, or at least go and see what he wants."

Moen dropped back to the ground and continued to meticulously care for his rifle.

[BeRzErKeR]

(OOC: Psst, spartacus. We're all outside.)

IC:

CHester looked up from where he sprawled on the ground at the sound of approaching footsteps. Another trooper was walking onto the parade ground, swiveling his head like he was looking for something. He had a Mordian helmet on. . . and what was that?

Sonuva treesnake, he's got a book. What'd he want ta bring that out 'ere for?


"'Ey, man. You lookin' fer somebody?"

[Barret]

Books drew to a halt near the assembling soldiers as he was addressed by the prone trooper, and he noted the shotgun, plethora of ammo, fresh bruises and, most importantly, massive girth of the other Catachan. Probably not someone to piss off, Books reflected. Instead he flashed a grin, a brief toothy clearing in the jungle of beard. They were all watching him, even if they weren't looking at him. "Trooper Harker," he said, fingering the strap of the lasgun over his shoulder. "My unit's dead, so I've got orders to join up with Sergeant Black's. Is that you boys?"

[Lieutenant Havenborn]

Markus grinned at Moen and left the tent. He moved back onto the parade ground, towards the rest of the squad, once he arrived he walked up and stood next to Chester.

Markus stared at the new guy, he had some standard rifleman equipment, but also had a sabre and a cadian style helmet, then he noticed the book. 'Of all things to have on the battlefield, this guy brings a book' Markus thought to himself.

He moved up a bit towards the man and said "It is indeed. My name is Markus, what's yours my friend?"