Post by edelman on Sept 10, 2006 10:13:55 GMT -5
I made this because Titan and Zim don't want me doing my story oj the other forum. no fraternizing with the enemy. The only story i have in here now is my Fianntagh one, I'll bring the others over later.
The world of Fianntagh was settled as an agri-world in M34.435, but the world proved inefficient for farming and became a planet for production of herd animal products. The wool producing freep(much like the sheep of antiquity but 3 times the size and with 6 legs) became the primary livestock and the world prosepered. However, a warp storm which began in M36.897 kept the world isolated for 2,000 years. The world reverted in technology and was reduced to the most primitve of gunpowder weapons and the use of archaic weapons became commonplace. The farming communities became clans of herding warriors which traded and more frequetly fought with each other. When contact was reestablished in M38.651 it was determined that new system utilizing these clans could be established. Noble families from other planets were moved to Fianntagh and built citadels among the valleys of the mountainous, grassy, temperate planet. These citadels would function as small cities and spaceports where clans would come twice a year to pay tribute to the lords in the form of animals and their products. The capital city of Redinburgh is located near the equator of the planet, and is quite a desirable location for vacationing nobles. The small popluation of 4 million provides a comfortable atmosphere with its wide streets and many gardens and parks, and of cousre the proximity to wilderness which provide more than ample opportunities for hunting.
The military of Fianntagh is organized into squads of highland recruits led by officers from the noble families, whose martial traditions require their sons to serve in the Imperial Guard. The 29th Infantry Regiment, the most famous of all the regiments of this world, is led by Lord Marshall Rayvvian Kensiv, and includes detacthments of Grenadiers formed from the sons of nobility, along with some of the most seasoned veterans of the planet's forces. The compliment of armored vehicles was given to them by the Steel Legion in thanks for their service on Armageddon. The regiment has served in many theatres including quelling uprisings on nearby hive worlds as well as fending of Ork invasions.
Bryce McRannus looked over his freep herd. There were only about 20 of them left, after the Eddernis clan's raid last night. They had pushed their chief rival's herd out of the more favorable grazing grounds, and the Eddernis had retaliated. They snuck in during the night, and stole or killed as many of the freep as they could before McRannus and the other herders had chased them off. Clan violence was getting worse, but if those dirty, thieving Eddernises were looking for a scrap, McRannus was confident he was coming out on top. His clan was the strongest of any in the region, and with good reason. His father, Duncan McRannus, had been the best chief this tribe had ever seen, and McRannus looked forward to following in his footsteps. The local lord in the citadel down in the valley, where the space men landed even knew him by his first name. They always brought the most Freep meat and skins in during Tribute.
"Bryce! We got some roight ol buggers at the village. They're lookin for yeh." It was Gregor, his cousin, also a herder. He had just run from the village, a mile or so away, and was panting heavily at the base of the gnoll Bryce was perched on.
"What do they want?" Bryce yelled back down to him.
"Dunno, but they look like they're from the citadel!"
"Alright then let's be bloody well off." He grumbled. He hated leaving his herd at such a crucial time. If the Eddernis came back when he and Gregor weren't there, the rest of the herd might be killed. His herders were good men, but he was doubtful they could handle all of those buggers at the same time.
He gathered up his bedroll, rifle, and sword, and started off the ridge to the village with Gregor. The wind blew over the high rocky grass covered hills where the clan made their home. To the west huge snowcapped mountains loomed and to the east the hills continued for some distance until the big valley. That was where the citadel was, and where Bryce had led the freep every tribute for 6 years now. He was 19, by the Fianntagh calendar(the Fianntagh calendar is very close to the standard Terran calendar, but the planet takes an extra 26 days to make a full orbit, so the year is 381 days long). He stood taller than the average man, and had black hair which was tied into several long braids. His face was young, but appeared older than it really was, with scars and a hard life taking their toll on his rugged yet handsome face. Stubble was thick on his chin, he hadn't shaved in 2 days, though growing a beard wasn't permitted until you had served in the armies of the space men. And there were few men who had returned from the past war that their lord had taken them to the stars for.
It wasn't long before the pair had made it back to the village. Some strange looking men, one dressed in a black greatcoat with a red sash and a peaked hat stood next to a man wore a wreath around his head and wore two swords with a shield on his back and a shining breastplate. Bryce had heard of this man. His name was Lord Marshal Rayvvian Kensiv, or something like that. And if there was a warrior greater than this man, Bryce had heard of him not. The man walked over to him, his walk was full of poise, and he had the face of a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. A face that was hard and admirable. A face of greatness. His voice was clear and powerful, despite his lowland accent, and he spoke to Bryce directly.
"Bryce, isn't it? Your father tells me you're the best fighter he has ever seen, is it true?" He inquired, even though Bryce could sense he knew the answer.
"Not as good as he says, sir. But I do love a good scrap."
"Lieutenant, strip to your waste. Bryce, you do the same." Despite his request seeming ridiculous, Bryce felt compelled to do so. He did and faced the big dark skinned Lieutenant. Bryce had only seen a man of his color once, at the citadel in strange colorful armor, and that other man was even bigger than this one, much bigger. Someone had called him a "Space Marine", but Bryce did not believe this man was a Space Marine. He settled into a fighting stance, as did the Lieutenant. Suddenly the big man threw his leg out to kick Bryce in the leg, but the Highlander caught it and twisted, flipping the Lieutenant to the ground. The Lieutenant rolled back and swung himself upright again. This time Bryce threw a punch, but the soldier dodged and brought his own fist into Bryce's face, sending him reeling. Bryce was bent over, his back to the soldier. The Lieutenant came at him, but Bryce threw himself flat and rolled into him, knocking the big man down and then rolling back on top of him, pinning him and punching him savagely in the face.
"Enough!" Kensiv yelled. Bryce stood up and pulled the Lieutenant to his feet. He was bleeding from his nose, and Bryce's jaw was sore. But neither were truly hurt. The Lord Marshal could have let them fight much longer, but he already knew who would have won. "Impressive, McRannus, I've never seen anyone bring Lieutenant Tristan down so soon before. In fact, it was your fighting prowess that brought us here. You see, Bryce, I am a Lord Marshal in the Imperial Guard regiment raised on this world. Have you heard of the Imperial Guard?"
"Yes, sir. They serve the Emperor as His hammer against His foes."
"Excellent, I see your clan has been to the temple at the citadel. Well, we need fighting men, good men, to join the fight against His foes. Your lord said this clan was the best under him, and I think you've proven yourself. Welcome to the Guard." Bryce was surprised by this. Welcome to the Guard? He was in the Guard now? Again, this seemed ridiculous, but the draw and charisma of this man seemed to compel him to obey.
"Thank you, Lord Marshall," he replied.
"Collect 50 of your best men, and go to the citadel. There you will be outfitted and put on a ship to the capital, Redinburgh. You will be trained there, and I will join the army there in several days time, after I finish gathering more clansmen. I trust you, Bryce. You will make a good Sergeant soon. I always liked Sergeants. You might even make officer. You've got it in you. But don't dissapoint me or the Commissar here. There are consequences for cowardice."
"Yes, Lord Marshall, I will not fail."
Bryce looked up from the ground. The drill sergeants sneering face hovered inches away. "Get up worm. Sniveling worms like you don't deserve to be in the grace of the emperor's service." Bryce pulled himself to his feet, his gray fatigues covered in dirt, and his hair now cut short. Bryce had been at the military base for six weeks. In that time he had never been so degraded, horribly beaten, tired, or downtrodden in his life. Bryce had come to expect a certain amount of respect as a chieftain's son, but that counted for nothing here. While infantry platoons were generally organized by clans, during training, individual identity was stripped. Bryce straightened himself and looked down into the sergeants eyes with hatred. He stood nearly six inches above the city bred man. Despite his smaller stature the sergeant commanded a great amount of respect. He was middle-aged, with streaks of gray running through his reddish brown hair. His name was Derzin, and he had held this position for fifteen years. "Boy, when I tell you to do something you do it quick," he said, and whacked Bryce across the face. "The Emperor does not expect laziness from his soldiers." The sergeant moved down the line of soldiers assembled outside their tents. The unit had been conducting drills all morning and had been called in for inspection by the Lord Marshal. He was returning from Medusa V and this unit would replace the losses sustained by the 29th in the conflict. He was expected in one hour. "Gentlemen! The inspection is concluded. I expect all of you to be cleaned and in your dress uniforms in thirty minutes! Failure to do so will result in ten lashes! Dismissed!" Then the sergeant got into his MW24 vehicle and drove off, headed for the complex. The troops were left to break camp and head back to barracks, which would take at least 15 minutes at double time. The complex was only a mile away, but the troops had been conducting camp excersizes. Bryce and the others got to it right away. They hurriedly dissassembled the gray prefab tents and packed them into bags, slung their packs behind them and began running at top speed along the sides of the road. The light forest gave way to the disciplined military buildings and troops rounded the last bend into the yard infront of their barracks. Amazingly, the whole platoon was in dress and marching down the street to the parade square in under half an hour after the sergeant had given the order. Bryce and the other McRannuses around him found their place in the ranks of the men already assembled and stood at attention. 2,480 men were now standing rigidly in the square, dressed in crisp, fresh grey uniforms with green trim and black brimmed caps. The sun shined down on the boots, belts, and brims of the soldiers, all giving off a bright gleem. The troops kept staring straight ahead as a valkyrie landed in the middle of the square and the Lord Marshal stepped out, dressed in shining armor, a wreath around his bald head, a neatly trimmed goatee on his chin, and ice in his eyes. He was surrounded by his staff members, commissars, colonels, and other officials. He took a look around at the troops and began making his rounds.
The world of Fianntagh was settled as an agri-world in M34.435, but the world proved inefficient for farming and became a planet for production of herd animal products. The wool producing freep(much like the sheep of antiquity but 3 times the size and with 6 legs) became the primary livestock and the world prosepered. However, a warp storm which began in M36.897 kept the world isolated for 2,000 years. The world reverted in technology and was reduced to the most primitve of gunpowder weapons and the use of archaic weapons became commonplace. The farming communities became clans of herding warriors which traded and more frequetly fought with each other. When contact was reestablished in M38.651 it was determined that new system utilizing these clans could be established. Noble families from other planets were moved to Fianntagh and built citadels among the valleys of the mountainous, grassy, temperate planet. These citadels would function as small cities and spaceports where clans would come twice a year to pay tribute to the lords in the form of animals and their products. The capital city of Redinburgh is located near the equator of the planet, and is quite a desirable location for vacationing nobles. The small popluation of 4 million provides a comfortable atmosphere with its wide streets and many gardens and parks, and of cousre the proximity to wilderness which provide more than ample opportunities for hunting.
The military of Fianntagh is organized into squads of highland recruits led by officers from the noble families, whose martial traditions require their sons to serve in the Imperial Guard. The 29th Infantry Regiment, the most famous of all the regiments of this world, is led by Lord Marshall Rayvvian Kensiv, and includes detacthments of Grenadiers formed from the sons of nobility, along with some of the most seasoned veterans of the planet's forces. The compliment of armored vehicles was given to them by the Steel Legion in thanks for their service on Armageddon. The regiment has served in many theatres including quelling uprisings on nearby hive worlds as well as fending of Ork invasions.
Bryce McRannus looked over his freep herd. There were only about 20 of them left, after the Eddernis clan's raid last night. They had pushed their chief rival's herd out of the more favorable grazing grounds, and the Eddernis had retaliated. They snuck in during the night, and stole or killed as many of the freep as they could before McRannus and the other herders had chased them off. Clan violence was getting worse, but if those dirty, thieving Eddernises were looking for a scrap, McRannus was confident he was coming out on top. His clan was the strongest of any in the region, and with good reason. His father, Duncan McRannus, had been the best chief this tribe had ever seen, and McRannus looked forward to following in his footsteps. The local lord in the citadel down in the valley, where the space men landed even knew him by his first name. They always brought the most Freep meat and skins in during Tribute.
"Bryce! We got some roight ol buggers at the village. They're lookin for yeh." It was Gregor, his cousin, also a herder. He had just run from the village, a mile or so away, and was panting heavily at the base of the gnoll Bryce was perched on.
"What do they want?" Bryce yelled back down to him.
"Dunno, but they look like they're from the citadel!"
"Alright then let's be bloody well off." He grumbled. He hated leaving his herd at such a crucial time. If the Eddernis came back when he and Gregor weren't there, the rest of the herd might be killed. His herders were good men, but he was doubtful they could handle all of those buggers at the same time.
He gathered up his bedroll, rifle, and sword, and started off the ridge to the village with Gregor. The wind blew over the high rocky grass covered hills where the clan made their home. To the west huge snowcapped mountains loomed and to the east the hills continued for some distance until the big valley. That was where the citadel was, and where Bryce had led the freep every tribute for 6 years now. He was 19, by the Fianntagh calendar(the Fianntagh calendar is very close to the standard Terran calendar, but the planet takes an extra 26 days to make a full orbit, so the year is 381 days long). He stood taller than the average man, and had black hair which was tied into several long braids. His face was young, but appeared older than it really was, with scars and a hard life taking their toll on his rugged yet handsome face. Stubble was thick on his chin, he hadn't shaved in 2 days, though growing a beard wasn't permitted until you had served in the armies of the space men. And there were few men who had returned from the past war that their lord had taken them to the stars for.
It wasn't long before the pair had made it back to the village. Some strange looking men, one dressed in a black greatcoat with a red sash and a peaked hat stood next to a man wore a wreath around his head and wore two swords with a shield on his back and a shining breastplate. Bryce had heard of this man. His name was Lord Marshal Rayvvian Kensiv, or something like that. And if there was a warrior greater than this man, Bryce had heard of him not. The man walked over to him, his walk was full of poise, and he had the face of a man who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it. A face that was hard and admirable. A face of greatness. His voice was clear and powerful, despite his lowland accent, and he spoke to Bryce directly.
"Bryce, isn't it? Your father tells me you're the best fighter he has ever seen, is it true?" He inquired, even though Bryce could sense he knew the answer.
"Not as good as he says, sir. But I do love a good scrap."
"Lieutenant, strip to your waste. Bryce, you do the same." Despite his request seeming ridiculous, Bryce felt compelled to do so. He did and faced the big dark skinned Lieutenant. Bryce had only seen a man of his color once, at the citadel in strange colorful armor, and that other man was even bigger than this one, much bigger. Someone had called him a "Space Marine", but Bryce did not believe this man was a Space Marine. He settled into a fighting stance, as did the Lieutenant. Suddenly the big man threw his leg out to kick Bryce in the leg, but the Highlander caught it and twisted, flipping the Lieutenant to the ground. The Lieutenant rolled back and swung himself upright again. This time Bryce threw a punch, but the soldier dodged and brought his own fist into Bryce's face, sending him reeling. Bryce was bent over, his back to the soldier. The Lieutenant came at him, but Bryce threw himself flat and rolled into him, knocking the big man down and then rolling back on top of him, pinning him and punching him savagely in the face.
"Enough!" Kensiv yelled. Bryce stood up and pulled the Lieutenant to his feet. He was bleeding from his nose, and Bryce's jaw was sore. But neither were truly hurt. The Lord Marshal could have let them fight much longer, but he already knew who would have won. "Impressive, McRannus, I've never seen anyone bring Lieutenant Tristan down so soon before. In fact, it was your fighting prowess that brought us here. You see, Bryce, I am a Lord Marshal in the Imperial Guard regiment raised on this world. Have you heard of the Imperial Guard?"
"Yes, sir. They serve the Emperor as His hammer against His foes."
"Excellent, I see your clan has been to the temple at the citadel. Well, we need fighting men, good men, to join the fight against His foes. Your lord said this clan was the best under him, and I think you've proven yourself. Welcome to the Guard." Bryce was surprised by this. Welcome to the Guard? He was in the Guard now? Again, this seemed ridiculous, but the draw and charisma of this man seemed to compel him to obey.
"Thank you, Lord Marshall," he replied.
"Collect 50 of your best men, and go to the citadel. There you will be outfitted and put on a ship to the capital, Redinburgh. You will be trained there, and I will join the army there in several days time, after I finish gathering more clansmen. I trust you, Bryce. You will make a good Sergeant soon. I always liked Sergeants. You might even make officer. You've got it in you. But don't dissapoint me or the Commissar here. There are consequences for cowardice."
"Yes, Lord Marshall, I will not fail."
Bryce looked up from the ground. The drill sergeants sneering face hovered inches away. "Get up worm. Sniveling worms like you don't deserve to be in the grace of the emperor's service." Bryce pulled himself to his feet, his gray fatigues covered in dirt, and his hair now cut short. Bryce had been at the military base for six weeks. In that time he had never been so degraded, horribly beaten, tired, or downtrodden in his life. Bryce had come to expect a certain amount of respect as a chieftain's son, but that counted for nothing here. While infantry platoons were generally organized by clans, during training, individual identity was stripped. Bryce straightened himself and looked down into the sergeants eyes with hatred. He stood nearly six inches above the city bred man. Despite his smaller stature the sergeant commanded a great amount of respect. He was middle-aged, with streaks of gray running through his reddish brown hair. His name was Derzin, and he had held this position for fifteen years. "Boy, when I tell you to do something you do it quick," he said, and whacked Bryce across the face. "The Emperor does not expect laziness from his soldiers." The sergeant moved down the line of soldiers assembled outside their tents. The unit had been conducting drills all morning and had been called in for inspection by the Lord Marshal. He was returning from Medusa V and this unit would replace the losses sustained by the 29th in the conflict. He was expected in one hour. "Gentlemen! The inspection is concluded. I expect all of you to be cleaned and in your dress uniforms in thirty minutes! Failure to do so will result in ten lashes! Dismissed!" Then the sergeant got into his MW24 vehicle and drove off, headed for the complex. The troops were left to break camp and head back to barracks, which would take at least 15 minutes at double time. The complex was only a mile away, but the troops had been conducting camp excersizes. Bryce and the others got to it right away. They hurriedly dissassembled the gray prefab tents and packed them into bags, slung their packs behind them and began running at top speed along the sides of the road. The light forest gave way to the disciplined military buildings and troops rounded the last bend into the yard infront of their barracks. Amazingly, the whole platoon was in dress and marching down the street to the parade square in under half an hour after the sergeant had given the order. Bryce and the other McRannuses around him found their place in the ranks of the men already assembled and stood at attention. 2,480 men were now standing rigidly in the square, dressed in crisp, fresh grey uniforms with green trim and black brimmed caps. The sun shined down on the boots, belts, and brims of the soldiers, all giving off a bright gleem. The troops kept staring straight ahead as a valkyrie landed in the middle of the square and the Lord Marshal stepped out, dressed in shining armor, a wreath around his bald head, a neatly trimmed goatee on his chin, and ice in his eyes. He was surrounded by his staff members, commissars, colonels, and other officials. He took a look around at the troops and began making his rounds.