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The Tide of WAAAAAGH!

Warhammer 40k

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a part of The Tide of WAAAAAGH!, by Irish Wolf.

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Irish Wolf holds sovereignty over Warhammer 40k, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

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Warhammer 40k is a part of The Tide of WAAAAAGH!.

4 Characters Here

Missionary-Father Aurellius Valdor [0] The Emperor moves in mysterious ways. Having said that, I'd prefer not to be around when He does.
Regias Veche [0] A young, impudent officer in the 363rd. Commands Sentinels.
Else Vasmin [0] "Of all the men to get stuck with, we get the ones who dont come out of their metal boxes... See this is why I like women."
Henry Clayton [0] Captain and tank commander in the Scum 363rd

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Forty thousand years in the future, there is only war.

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In the Calixis Sector of the Segmentum Obscurus, the Imperial colony on Zel Tertius is under assault by the Ork Warboss Bombad Bloodboy of the Bad Moons clan and Freebooterz mercenaries. As orks slaughter the planet’s citizens, the Imperial Navy smashes through the blockade to land regiments of the Imperial Guard. The fight will be hard, as the Bad Moons have large number of Weirdboyz and a number of those being Warpheads. Also, they are a wealthy ork clan, so many of their countless numbers are Flash Gitz, whom are even more numerous with the addition of the Freebooterz.

Captain Henry Clayton, acting commanding officer of the decimated Luggnum 129th regiment leaned against the gray plasteel hull of his tank, Emperor’s Fury (her name written proudly in golden paint on the barrel of her battle cannon) and glanced at the five cards in his hand. It was hard to play at the moment, sitting in the town square of Haven, where a full platoon of tanks stood guard, as two of the soldier’s under his command circled one another in the middle of the square. Every now and then, they would swing at one another, as their fellows cheered or shouted insults from where they were relaxing. It was hard to keep the men focused. They had been sent to the ass end of nowhere, far from the front lines and even father from any reports of the orks infesting the planet.

“Hit him harder Frankie” roared the tank command, as he folded, “I have a full box a-smokes riding on you!”

His gambling partner, Andy, the main gunner for his tank laughed softly, as he scooped up the handful of slugs, the smallest of Luggnum currency and of little worth. At least the men were in better spirits then they had been a few days ago, when they rolled into the mostly abandoned town. The lose of most of your friends and only links back home was hard and the sting of losing the colonel, the major and the regiment colors to orks on the way planetside made it only worse.

“So whens the new tankers getting here” asked Rex, the tank’s driver, as he picked up the cards and started to shuffle.

“I don’t know” said Henry, “The dataslate that came with the fuel and ammo only said they’d be showing up today.”

“Who’s our new commander” asked Dennis, the loader.

“Don’t know” said the tank commander again, “It didn’t say. It just said they were hammered as bad as we were and that they’d be showing up today.”

“Did yah try calling HQ?” ask Rex, starting to deal out another hand.

“Yeah” grunted Henry, “But theres something in the atmo. Only short-range vox signals are working. However, I doubt those bastards at head quarters woulda told me anything anyways. The only thing we’ll have to do is wait.”

“So who are we combining with” asked Andy.

“The Scintilla Two-hundred-thirty-forth.”

“Never heard of ‘em” wheezed David, one of the side gunners, before he took a long drink from a dark bottle.

“Gimme that” said Henry, snatching the bottle from the man’s callused hands, “What would Commissar Vendigroth said about you drinking again? He would have shot you, so I’ll remove the temptation, encase the Two-hundred-thirty-forth has a Hangman with ‘em.”

A slight breeze picked up and tugged gently on the edges of his unbuttoned and stained jacket, as the tank commander drained the bottle of crude (and burning) spirits down his throat (the drink had been made most likely within the bowels of his own tank). It was coming from the west, where both the capital of this colony was (and most likely burning from ork artillery fire) and the direction from which the Scintilla 234th regiment should me heading from. At least it was late spring on this planet, no winter chill to force the men to seek shelter and no summer heat for the same effect. Many of the trees bordering the town were covered in small pink flowers (which had a horrid smell that luckily didn’t spread far from the trees themselves), as they lead up into the mountains in the east and to those much further to the west, which cut them off from the capital.

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#, as written by 7achary
"Are you kiddin' me? Get outta here unless you've got some real money, kid." Regias lounged in the open cock pit of his Sentinel, Caroline, with an important looking file turned over on his dash. He had names and numbers all over it, and a pile of slugs in his floorboard.

"But, Reggie, I only have a few slugs." A young non-com stood next to the lowered Sentinel, his floppy cap covering his ears. "Remember that time you let the Captain bet two slugs?"

"Go get frakked, I owed the Cap'n some slugs and he has a few figures more rank than the both of us." Regias counted out another bet to his left. "Get lost, my time ain't free."

The non-com shuffled off with a sour look. He went and stood next to a few enlisted men, they laughed at him as he approached.

Loud exclamations came from the gathered crowd followed by a dull smack. Regias let out an exasperated sigh past his cigar. The smoke drifted lazily in front of his face as he counted out the winnings. "Who's next? Let's get some beef slabs swingin' in the ring! Come on!"

A massive man, enlisted, by the name of Patrick stepped forward, his shoulders swaying. He threw a few heavy handed punches at the air and the crowd started to hoot and holler. He was bald with unnaturally large muscles and forehead you could set dinner on. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! Where are my high rollers?"

As a small crowd started to form around him Regias stood in his Sentinel to better see all of the "high rollers."

"LT! The new tanks should be rollin' in soon!" Called a dour looking individual named Georg. Georg was one of Veche's men. It was often joked that those who didn't play well with others were put on Sentinel duty. Georg was the model of does not play well with others. He pushed people out of his way to Veche's Caroline and stood up on one of her lowered legs.

"So?" Regias bit down on his cigar, intent on the slugs changing hands.

"They might have some new Sentinels." Georg almost fell off of Caroline as Veche shoved an armful of slugs at him and jumped down on his way to the captain's table.