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Sergeant Charles Tartarus

"You ever happen to notice we don't have Medics on a squad basis? Well there's a damned good reason for that."

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a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by The 275th

Description

Soldier's Particulars
To be completed on day of inauguration by attached Commissar.
Name: Charles Tartarus - Sex (M/F)
Serial Number: 7418493-2952478
Rank: Sergeant
Grade: III
Height: 1.88 m
Weight: 106.4 kgs
Distinguishing Marks: Heavily scarred on entire body. Augmetic right arm.
Age: 50
Born (Place) (Date): Northwind, Northwind System, Subsector Northwind, Segmentum Obscurus, 940.M41
Company Number/Name: The 275th Imperial Legionnaires
Watch code: Wheel

Soldier's Medical Details
To be compiled after full examination by platoon chief medic, in conjunction with any existing and available medical archives.
Previous Ailments: N/A
Disabilities: N/A
Prosthetic/Mechanical Limbs/Organs/Compensators: Augmentic Right Arm
Time of Application: 978.M41 -- Araxis Campaign
Assimilation Procedure: Limb Replacement
Convalescence Duration: Seven Hours
Psychosis Level: Stable
Psychic Profile: Negligible

Personality

Image

Equipment

List of Attire

  • Combat Fatigues
  • Shirt
  • Undershirt
  • Underclothing
  • Greatcoat
  • Rain Overalls
  • Combat Boots and Laces
  • Full Body Flak Armour
  • Webbing
  • Leg gaiters
  • Belt and holsters
  • Bandolier
  • Field rucksack w/straps

List of Arms/Ammunition/Maintenance of
  • Long pattern combat knife w/sheath
  • Mk. Xf Hell's Teeth pattern Chainsword
  • Kantrael pattern Laspistol w/holster
  • Spare Power Packs x5
  • Blessed range finder

List of Tools
  • Ear Vox Bead
  • 9-70 Entrenching tool
  • Hand axe
  • Multi-purpose tool kit
  • Standard issue lamp-pack

List of Medical Supplies
  • Standard swabs
  • Salt tablets
  • Water purifying tablets
  • Food supplement tablets
  • Guard issue medi-pack consisting of-
    • Guaze/Bandages (Blessed)
    • Vein clamps (Sterilized)
    • Lotion of embalm
    • Phials of Morphia X4
    • Sterilizing fluid of cleansing
    • Cleansed surgical grapple
    • Synth-skin canister
    • Sanctioned insect repellant
    • Blessed lotions, acids, alkali, medical tonics, tablets and internal cleansers (for enema administration)

List of Other Items
  • Sand bags x4
  • Mess kit (spoon, knife, fork, mug, tray)
  • Canteen
  • Collapsible water bag
  • Canvas sack
  • Blanket
  • Sleep bag
  • Field glasses
  • Gas Respirator w/Morius Mk. VIII filter
  • Spare boot laces
  • Dry rations
  • Dog tags
  • Tent w/pole, rope and pins
  • Whistle
  • Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer
  • Adhesive tape
  • Tinder Box
  • Deck of the Emperor's playing cards
  • Grooming kit, consisting of-
    • White soap
    • Dry scrub brush
    • Shaving brush
    • Razors X2
    • Toothbrush
    • Tooth Powder

So begins...

Sergeant Charles Tartarus's Story

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus steps through the doorway of the bar, peering around quickly with his dull brown eyes. Seeing no immediate threats to himself or his team, he calls out behind him as he moves to hold the door open. "Clear, Sir."

Coming through the door next was the tall and imposing form of an Imperial Commissar, with his chest puffed out and his hand firmly grasping the bolt-pistol he preferred. His face wore a grimace of disapproval at once again entering the bar, but he seemed more at ease than last time at least. Following him into the room were three other men in standard guard formation, one watching their rear while the other two kept eyes to the side; all three wore helmets embroidered with a two-headed golden bird.

All of the men aside from the Commissar could be easily identified as belonging to the 275th, judging by the numbers on their right shoulder-pads. They all seemed rather pleased at the prospect of being in a drinking establishment as well, or as pleased as they were allowed to under the scrutinous eye of Gabriel.

"Right then, Men," the Commissar says in a bold, deep voice. "At ease." And so they did ease themselves, standing in the doorway rather invasively, each man looking around carefully at their homey surroundings.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus found himself gaping at the little woman, as did the Vox-trooper and one of the other two soldiers. The third soldier was grinning like an idiot, finding the further insult immensely amusing apparently.

The Commissar, for his part, simply raised a brow. Still standing off to one side, he decidedly steps back in front of the woman and places his large bolt-pistol securely in its holster. "Is that right," he asks calmly, placing a hand on a smaller pistol resting just behind the Bolt-pistol. "And where in His Holy realm did you learn to speak to a Schola graduated member of the Commissariat like that?" His words were softer, but in a way they bore more threat than when he had spoken less gently.

The apparent Sergeant, judging by his lack of headgear, broke out of his stunned appearance quickly, stepping up beside the Commissar and fixing the woman with a silent gaze of warning, though he seemed at a complete loss of what to do at that point.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus could see a brewing conflict as well as any other, and this one looked to him like it was about to get extremely ugly. Stepping between Gabriel and Rin, he clears his throat and places a hand warningly on his Chainsword. "I don't know who or what you think you are, but you are interfering with Imperial affairs," he says as boldly as a mere man can dare to speak against a being of supposed power. His face was of stone resolution; he would defend the Commissar to the last if need be, and his men were slowly fanning out into positions in case a fight really did break out.

By this time, Gabriel had only given a glance to Rin. He had prepared to speak before his loyal Sergeant spoke in his place. It did become aware to him that the verbal duel was drawing the attention of others, but his work was that of the Holy Emperor, and as such he could do no wrong. Looking back down to the small woman, he couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for her immediate assault on anything and everything nearby.

"You remind me of an Ork," he says simply, ignoring her attack on him yet again. "Either stupid enough or brave enough to laugh in the face of certain death. Though judging by your size, you'd be more of a Gretchin, or maybe even a snotling. And this Tau abomination here is the proverbial Ork," he goes on, gesturing to Rin.

With that said however, he decidedly holsters his Las-pistol, much to the relief of at least two of the other Guardsmen. It would do no good getting into a pointless fight that might get any of them killed, after all. The third, grinning man however, finally collapses on himself in a fit of laughter. "Corporal," Gabriel asks him dully.

"She's got balls bigger'n a Grox bull," he gasps out, as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus makes his way over towards the woman at the bar rather cautiously with the three others in formation behind him. He didn't want to appear too imposingly, after all. By virtue of his duty, the Sergeant hadn't noticed the appearance of a Daemon, but the Corporal had. Stopping abruptly in his tracks, he makes the sign of the Aquila and mutters to himself, "Emperor Preserve us," over and over, hoping to ward the evil away from himself.

The other three Guardsmen hadn't noticed it yet however, and so they reached the woman with little trouble. Hearing her greeting, the Sergeant clears his throat. "I believe we got off on the wrong foot, Ma'am. Not here to kill you, though I think I speak for all of us when I say that was right offensive, what you said about Mankind and the Emperor. That said..." He sighs somewhat. "I am Sergeant Charles Tartarus of the 275th Imperial Legionnaires."

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus decided to give the warp-blasted creature the benefit of the doubt, but he wasn't going to take his eyes off it yet. Moving forward swiftly, he places his free hand on the Corporal's shoulders. "Vidius, snap out of it. Snap to," he orders. Being touched and spoken to, the Corporal seemed to tense up for a moment before snapping up and placing the lasgun smartly on his back. "Sorry Sir. As the Emperor Wills, Sir."

The following salute was enough to tell him that the safety phrase had worked as it should, but it might not last if the Corporal stuck around. Speaking in a quiet tone, he moves the Corporal towards the door. "Let Commissar Envictus know we may have Warp-taint in the area to worry about. Be swift."
"Yes sir," the man responds, briskly making his way out. Charles was still rather shaky as he looks back towards his men, who were receiving a stern talking to by the woman who had introduced herself as Alethin. They were both aiming their weapons past her, or trying to at any rate, but seeing the situation diffused for now they cautiously placed their weapons back where they belonged on their backs.

Walking back towards Alethin and his men, Charles speaks up. "Sorry for the ruckus ma'am. Where we come from Daemons aren't exactly..." He pauses, trying to find the words, but is spared by the Voxtrooper. "Trustworthy."

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus gives the Daemon behind them a final passing look before obliging. "We'll do our best. It's hard to fight instinct." Shaking his head, he gives the woman a salute- palming his thumb and spreading his fingers in the shape of a wing. "My apologies for the discrepancy... Miss Duval, right?" Helpfully, the Voxcaster trooper nods, though looks at the woman to make sure he'd heard it right as well.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus was still cautious, but to be courteous he takes the offered hand and shakes; it was a firm handshake, and he was obviously not very accustomed to the gesture by the way he ham-handed her hand. He could tell something about her sudden change in demeanor was deceiving, and if he could help it he wasn't going to be caught off guard.

Deciding for the time being to remain as sociable as possible, he continues. "The men here are Trooper Dunkel Sarkonnen," he says, gesturing to the man with the vox-caster, "And Trooper Marcus Salazar." The other man grimaces somewhat and waves, apparently not approving of the title. "The two men who've left are Corporal Vidius Dancin and Commissar Gabriel Envictus. My apologies on behalf of the argument earlier, Ma'am."

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"I suppose not," Charles admits, relinquishing her hand. At that point he seemed to realize exactly how far out of his comfort zone he was; in an alien place without the Emperor's guiding light, with nothing that he should be killing at the time being.

With little options left, he decided, on behalf of his men, that they should drink. It was a bar after all. "Do you think they accept Thrones here," he asks aloud, producing a couple of coins graced by the visage of the Emperor on one side, and the Aquila on the other.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus seemed suddenly very uncomfortable by the offer; he and his men had been on leave plenty of times in the past, but somehow it seemed strange here. The younger of the troopers, Marcus, actually seemed to redden somewhat at the offer, though whether it was embarrassment or anger wasn't readily apparent. "I appreciate the offer, but... I think that will have to be another time. Let the air clear a little, as it were." He seemed sincere with the offer, though through the whole encounter he had yet to crack a smile or be any more friendly than shaking her hand and trying to make peace. "I think for now we had best leave as you asked us to, and reevaluate our position in the area."

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus opens the door to the bar much as he had done the day before, glancing about through the main room cautiously before calling out behind him; "Clear, Sir!" And, just as before, the tall and imposing form of Commissar Gabriel Envictus enters the room behind him, peering around with a sour expression.

Unlike last time however, now there were five Guardsmen following them in, rather than just three; and what's more, the two new-comers were certainly not Cadian, judging by their attire. One wore something that looked rather tribal, contrasted by the absolutely massive weapon resting easily on his back, while the other was wearing a trench-coat and gas mask.

Each soldier was scanning the room carefully in their own right, awaiting the order to move through the rest of the room, and helpfully blocking the doorway with their bulk; the soldier in the Trenchcoat was watching their backs as the rest chose the best location for a party their size to sit.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus was busying himself with the shuffling, performing a few little tricks he'd picked up during his service. It was certainly entertaining to watch, but it did prolong the time before the game could start in earnest. Still, it was sort of a tradition.

While the Sergeant was going about that, Trooper Marcus turns to the tribal looking man and punches him in the arm. "So, Goose! You got your arms back on all proper-like, eh? How'd that go?" He spoke loudly despite his naturally soft voice, and seemed to be somewhat mocking.

In response, the large man peers over and grins wickedly. "Went great, didn't hurt at all. Say, you want to arm wrestle? Maybe after I crush your hand you can give it a try too," he responds deeply; the joke in his voice was noticeable, but the threat was still there, and came across clearly enough.

By this time, Charles had gotten about to finish his shuffling antics and deal out a pair of cards to everyone. "Wish I had a cigar, times like this," he laments with something of a rumbling sigh. Several of the other soldiers mumble their agreement.

At the end of the table, Gabriel was still relaxing quite comfortably, though he had peeked one of his eyes open just a bare amount to keep an eye on Mirana, who he'd noticed to be looking over some of his men not long ago. Thus far he saw no point to approach, but it could prove an interesting venture once the drinks were in order.

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[color=navy]"Alright ladies, let's get this show on the road. I don't know 'bout you lads, but I'm eager to get drinking!" A rumble of approval met the Sergeant's words as each man picks up their cards. Gabriel, too, finally leans forward to pick up his pair; he wasn't above cards with the troops.

The first round was to go by quickly enough, as each man peered over his cards. Since the starting bet was to be the drinks, most of the men were content not to bet any of their thrones just yet. Eventually there were five cards visible on the table to anyone watching; the two of Skulls, ten of Skulls, five of Arms, ten of Faith, and the Emperor of Aquilas. "I bet twenty thrones," Trooper Marcus begins confidently. The following three soldiers followed suit, placing twenty thrones on the table before it came to Gabriel. "I raise to forty," he says with a grin.

"Ah, come off it Sir, don't use your superior pay grade on us," Marcus complains with a frown.
"I'm not. I've a good hand, is all," Gabriel retorts, his grin widening as he meets Marcus' eyes. Glancing back down at his cards, Marcus scowls and waves it aside for the betting to continue; naturally, the others folded. It was how it usually went with Gabriel, prodding Marcus into continuing alone.

And so he did. "I see your forty and raise eighty," he declares.
"I'll meet your bet," Gabriel says, already knowing everyone between the two of them was going to fold. "Show me what you've got!"
And so he did; Marcus had the ten of Arms, and the two of Faith. "Full barracks," he says with satisfaction. But of course, Gabriel was always a step ahead; placing down his pair of Emperors. "I'm afraid my barracks bests yours, Trooper. You know the rules! Hop to and get some drinks; see if they've any Amasec, and if not just come let us know." With no small amount of uproarious laughter, the other men placed their orders to the poor Cook, who stood with all the dignity he could at being barely beaten out- once again- to go fetch

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-The drinks. (My bad folks.)

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus similarly sits down, back where he was on the other side of the Commissar, who's offer for a hand-shake had gone ignored; not always the wisest choice when dealing with a Commissar, but he was being more lenient with the locals. "I think using your deck would be fine," he remarks. "I wonder sometimes if Dancer here's rigged the deck," he goes on, giving Vidius a lighthearted grin.

Vidius, for his part, simply nods enthusiastically. "Yes, let's use your cards, I like them." It was a simple, but eager response. With that, the men begin to scoop up the cards and hand them off to Charles, who shuffles them up as he would. "What's your game, mate?"

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus chuckles somewhat. "If you've got Thrones, sure, we can bet currency. If not, we'll probably have to settle on drinks." Clearing his throat beside him, the Commissar speaks up again.
"Before we continue however, I would like if you gave me your name, friend." One did not ignore the Commissar long, and his friendly demeanor was slowly melting away to his usual command. The other soldiers were watching curiously, nursing their drinks as they watched the Commissar and the newcomer.

All except for Marcus, of course, who had made his way back to the bar. Standing a short ways away from Kayla, he notices with some regret that another man had begun to speak with her, but no matter. Standing at attention as if on parade, he waits a few impatient moments to be noticed.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus steps into the bar as he had done twice now, looking around carefully to ensure that there were no immediate threats. "Clear, sir," he shouts out behind him. Normally, the Commissar would enter immediately after him, but this time a different man was first; a man wearing by far less formal attire, though laden with a variety of intriguing weaponry ranging from the standard Lasgun to what appeared to be a grenade launcher.

Entering just behind that man was the Commissar, and the retinue that had come last time; the soldier with the large Vox-caster on his back, another man with a massive gun of some kind on his back, and a masked man with a flamethrower on his back. Then of course there were the two 'normal' looking soldiers, with helmets and standard kit.

The whole lot of them decidedly scans the room, but rather than wait in the door as they had the previous times, they instead make their way towards the larger tables in the middle of the room and begin to settle themselves in for the night.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus nods his approval. "So it's the same deck, just with lesser symbology," he decides, looking over the cards. "Shuffle and deal then! Let's get this show on the road, eh?" A murmur of interest goes through the squad before Marcus speaks up.
"Don't forget, first game is Drinks. Whoever loses buys, so bet carefully. I'm not losing this time," he declares defiantly.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus looked at least somewhat relieved at not having to pay for drinks. "Amasec," he decides. "I'll go east on you." Most of the other troopers order Amasec as well. "I'm feeling adventurous. Give me something local," Marcus decides, for once not having to pay for the drinks. Gabriel nods his approval and states his interest in a local drink as well.
"And I'll have a Wildsnake. The one Potato here brought me last night was pretty damn good," Enrico adds.

Vidius, for his part, was looking at his cards happily, taking in the lot of the coins that had been placed as first bet. "I like these. They feel lucky," he decides.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus returns the smile good-heartedly, taking a long swig of his Amasec. "You're a good sport about it," he decides observantly. "So either you're waiting to pull out your best game, or you've never played cards against the likes of Guardsmen." He laughs heartily, some of the more jovial members joining in. "Would you like to try some Amasec, mate?"

While the Sergeant goes about being formal, Andre begins to dish out the cards with the precision known to his kind, eventually setting the deck down and lifting his cards. Beside him, Sweepers places down four coins for the big blind, and such begins the next hand as everyone starts putting down Thrones.

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Sergeant Charles Tartarus pauses in his stride as the Sister of Battle suddenly departs with no word to either himself or any of the other Guardsmen. "Well doesn't that just fit the bill," he decides irritantly as he turns back to the rest of the squad, who looked just as surprised. "Sir, tell me you saw that too," he asks as he walks over to Gabriel.

"A Sister of Battle in full combat dress, Sergeant? Yes, I did," he admits, frowning at the door. "Well, perhaps she'll be back. In any case, for now, on to the drinks. Take your seat Charles, I'll be back." And so with that, he continues on his merry way to the bar counter.