a man in Green combat uniform is hammering in a sign into the local square , stopping to wipe sweat he steps back nodding softly he finishes nailing it into place walking back to his unit the Jopall 222th.

No job to big No job to small, just call the Jopall indentured 225th

the sign is an advertisement for any work needed in the lcoal area a vox number is written on the bottom

there is a signature by one Major Gabriel tallwalker and Captain Abraham Goldstrider

The figure is wearing rich robes of deep red and indigo, edged with golden embroidery and draped elegantly around them as they sit crosslegged on the grass. Their hair is dark and wavy underneath a delicately crafted gold circlet with wrought-gold vines dangling down the back, and they have a pair of smoke-colored quartz glasses over their eyes, rendering them invisible from the front. They seem to be breathing in time with the slight breeze, and their hands are folded in their lap. They do not appear to have any weapons on their person.

Brother Lavender is chilling on the beach. However, a space marines swim suit basically just includes a deployable pool noodle with "For The Emperor" burnt on.

going out on all channels at once is message beamed across the planet to any who would receive it repeating one simple phrase

WHAT FETHING YEAR IS IT?!

Stranded on an Island after being dumped on this planet, the Lord Inquisitor of the Ordo Chronos knows nobody knows the answer to that question, be he hopes he can attract some help and attention

"By orders of the commissar, I have gathered you all together, you fine warriors."

"We will be the deterrent for those with no other recourse."

"We will be the emperor's finest mercenaries! We will ward off the unholy and unclean!"

"Roar my gathered mercenaries! For you are numbered amongst the greatest on the planet!"

The blind psyker's mercenary army consists of a sentient grenade throwing fish, an ogryn trying to find his daddy, 14 quokkas, a blind dog, a blind kroot hound, the disembodied silent spirit of Ferrus Manus and donald who is just here for the donuts.

You can just join in and pretend you're one of them. This man is blind, I don't think he realizes what is actually standing in front of him.

Thus reads a crude wooden sign planted haphazardly in the soil. Nearby a hermit in oddly rich blue robes galavants about, releasing fish and other aquatic creatures into the local rivers, lakes and ponds via incredibly inefficient buckets.

Skiirl and Armas are pacing back and forth together in front of the small settlement as the others from the respective crews continue construction.

S: I'm hesitant to name the place something in Aeldari, but it might be our best option.

A: On the contrary, it's a good backup but I believe we should call upon Meripen for guidance.

Skiirl rolls their eyes and curses.

S: I forgot you lot are so devoutly religious. I'd never ask Khaine or Isha or even Cegorach for guidance for something as simple as naming a settlement.

And yet, it seems they cannot come to an agreement. Armas wants to name the settlement something meaningful in relation to Meripen or the Chaos gods, but Skiirl wants to name it something related to the topography or landscape, in either the common tongue or the Asuryani language.

decending from the sky on columns of purple flame is a mixed group of Valkyries, Aquila Landers and a quartet of heavy dropships, all painted the base black and blue of the regiment, but each sporting their own customised livery, the sole Devourer of the flight being painted to look like a blue shark.

as the dropships finally touch down atop a wide plateau, the occupants begin spilling out, a wide variety of guard units taking up positions, engineers starting to dig in and a truly excessive number of vehicles for the size of the force. While at first glance, this seems like just another Imperial landing, the unusual amount of abhumans, incredibly customised equipment and even archeotech in their midst points to something gar more interesting afoot. This is only compounded by the final members of the landing force, faintly visable in high atmosphere, seemingly waiting for the beached to be prepared. A single, spherical object, resting on the glowing pulse of ion engines and swarming with fighter cover sits, partially obscured by the cloud cover, above the busy construction.

From their subterranean lair emerges a Necron expeditionary force. Clad in the dark - almost black - silver and green of the Saltisekh dynasty, a four armed and eight eyed cryptek leads the expedition. This is Lycozeras, the personal alchemist and advisor to the dubiously sane overlord Sylpha. They make their way down from the mountains, followed by a pair of lychguard and five immortals for protection, and a small convoy of canoptek constructs specialised for gathering samples and subjects. It appears that Sylpha -the Seeker of Absolute Knowledge - requires more subjects for her research.

This small Saltisekh force makes its way through the lands, searching for any life considered anomalous - essentially anything non-native to the world, as well as rodents of unusual size. Notably they ignore their human mountain neighbours, holding fast to Lycozeras’ oath not to interfere provided they are allowed to operate in peace

Out in whatever center of civilization we can find people on this godforsaken [REDACTED], there is an ogryn in a black and white outfit and a funny helmet running around with a crude drawing.

"OIM LOOKIN FOR MAH PAW-PAW, 'AVE U SEEN IM?"

It's a crude drawing of Penguin

A small cabin made of junk and a few logs held together with duct tape and prayers can be seen sitting next to a freshwater stream gently flowing down from the mountains.

Next to it are a few fishing rods and also explosives. A white furred felinid with beige spots is sitting next to the stream, trying to catch some fishes.

The haul seems unproper to consumption however, the fishes displaying long hair, bird beaks, human teeth or a combination of some other abnormal growths

A poster is placated on the cabin with noted "for the love of the emperor, if someone can fix this food they'll get 4 dabloons"

Upon the tallest mountain not currently occupied by military outposts a bonfire, kept in a bone and chitin basket, lights up the sky. The purple fire wafts a lithium cloud of pollution that scents the air with rust and bananas, casting long and polylimbed shadows across the landscape as joyous laughter escapes the festivities.

You see a bunch of Orks and Gretchin wearing hi vis uniform building train tracks and being shouted at by the Meklord. Where will the tracks lead? Only Gork and Mork knows.

thirteen figures move gather in the square it being the only open space in this sector of the hive, each one is bald with pale skin, with faint purple eyes and wearing clothes that would not look out of place in a manufactorum , at a mine or any other number of industrial workstations. save for one the thirteenth of thirteen who is wearing a faded garb like that most out of the way missionaries would wear. he taps his hand against a vox caster his voice booming across the square.

Gather around Children of the Emperor and join us the church of the All-seeing Emperor as we give unto him praise for he cares for all of us in his arms. he cares not whether you an under hiver or from the gleaming spires he wishes you all to come and hear of his glory.

finishing the preacher steps down waving his hands the other twelve spread out offering up Pamphlets to any who will take one

A turquoise battle barge has parallel parked between two forests, being careful not to crush any of the trees, before its thrusters nearly cause a wildfire. From the ship, several transports fly off to do space marine things.

T'was the night before saintmas, when all through [REDACTED], not a creature was stirring, not even a cherub-

Well, except the hundreds of Attikans in the mountains, keeping people up in the vicinity. Drills and lasers a plenty, digging out rooms, with the more crafty Jotun sewing sandbags. Twas the night before saintmas, with the heavy artillery being tested on nearby plains.

This unknown planet, redacted from all Imperial records, is a clean world. No animal life -- be they bird, beast, or insect -- taints it and all that is left is shrubby plant life and rocky terrain. Yet, it is too clean. No planet naturally born would host such a lack of life. And that is not the only strange thing about this world.

In hollows and combes, in dark places and wastelands, one might find fragments of what came before. Bits of silvery metal either individual or in the shape of skeletal limbs. Jagged, square teeth lost in deep, hand-carved tunnels. And, to the north, the much eroded remains of an Imperial hive city.

As new life finds its way to this world, in the shape of colonists and explorers, a wind seems to pick up across its surface. It is a soft, chill wind that bites surprisingly deep. Somewhere in orbit, a dull light blinks: seen from the ground as a distant red star. The world stirs but, as with all clean worlds, it stirs slowly.

In the vicinity of the planet, out in space, a warp rift appears. Out of it comes a Cruiser of the Navis Imperialis, its mighty symbols and cannons being overshadowed by the raging fires sporadically spread through most of its compartments, the ship burning as it starts drifting into the system. While the warp is usually the cause of such damage and much more when travelling through a maelstrom, the ship's gellar field appears surprisingly intact despite all the destruction. Soon after, it starts broadcasting a beacon for help

It is the 41st Millennium and the galaxy is in turmoil. A giant warp storm -- the Cicatrix Maledictum -- splits the Milky Way in two, leaving half of the Imperium of Man beyond the light of the Astronomicon. Xenos, heretics, and worse threaten the sanctity of Imperial worlds each day and the combined forces of the Adeptus Astartes, the Astra Militarum, the Adeuptus Mechanicus, and their allies is barely enough to contain them. Terror and fear are rampant, the fragile shell of the Emperor's Dream decays with each passing year, blood flows openly, and plan upon twisting plan is laid only to never come to fruition. It is a dark time, a grim time. There is no hope: only war.

One world is better off than most. Surrounded by a raging warp storm, it is sheltered from most outside threats save those brave enough to cross the maelstrom. It is an unimportant, unnamed planet of mottled blues, greens, and browns. Anything could happen here and anything can happen, caught as it is between the territories of multiple powers. Its fate lies with those with the strength and tenacity enough to claim it be they Imperial, xeno, or renegade. Its fate is up to you...

OOC: Reboot time. Bring whatever you want -- a new character or old or anything in-between -- but keep all characters as 40k-related as possible.

The nameless weirdboy is getting chased by some Quokkas

YA WILL NEVA GET ME ALIVE!!!
The nameless weirdboy tries to use DA JUMP.
His head explodes, and he falls over dead.

The nameless weirdboy is no more.

View Poll

A great roar shakes the forests of Redacted as a cruiser hurtles towards the surface, flames leaking from the engines.

It ploughs a cutting throught the ground throwing trees aside like matchsticks.

The ship lodges itself in a hillside, half covered by dirt, trees and chalk, listing slightly to the left.

A few moments pass and a loading bay door starts to creak on the lower end of the ship, giving way to rupturing metal and a torrent of pink armoured space marines piling up on the ground below, some missing their heads and some full of bolter holes. The wall of the loading bay stained with a dark crimson message, "ANGRON WOZ HERE! FUCK YOU, SOFT PRICKS!"

The Meklord is currently relaxing by an artificial beach he built to charge tourists extortionary amounts of teef

Skiirl and the few remaining crew of the former Vaisseau Degager are out in the center of some of [REDACTED]’s woods, clearing a place to build a small fortified base.

(These remaining crew members are the warlocks - Nyyrtal, Biryyal, Tyyrok, Oqyyn, and Devyyn - Griiall, Eraak, and a couple of Dire Avengers and Rangers from the brothers’ fireteams. Skiirl themself wears a necklace with a pulsating soulstone on it, containing Laknash’s soul and consciousness, the only remaining piece of the wraithlord’s bone mech.)

The base slowly takes shape, built roughly of stone and wood found around them. Their camp sits nearby, and will move within the walls as soon as they are mostly complete.

View Poll

People are dying, the sun is not just stinging you but stabbing you, and you just got robbed by a man and or women depending on the day of the week wearing a penguin helmet. It's an ordinary peaceful day on planet [REDACTED]. For just a moment you close your eyes. When you open them, you're in a carriage. Moving through a cold forest towards a primitive town. Your hands are bound and strangely enough you can't really break out of it even if you are a psyker who can bend planets or just, a fuggin ork.

In front of you sits local celebrity and misanthrope LORD AZUNTH, who despite being a necron overlord is wearing cloth pieces of clothing, like a peasant or a common robber. Other than that there is whoever else is on this surprisingly large carriage. Perhaps an eldar, perhaps an ork. Perhaps Penguin again.

"Hey, you, you're finally awake. I! LORD AZUNTH! WILL STATE THAT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THE FUCK I AM!"

"Silence you!" The guard says before hitting Azunth in the head with the pommel of his axe.

"Ow! I'm made of necrodermis why did I even feel that. I'll have your head for that!" The android skeleton proclaimed.

And so the carriage continues on.

An ork mek boss taps his finger against the microphone

HELLO IS DIS TIN WORKIN

Oh Dat to woud

Attention I needa a hund I lost a bomma

Me and won OH dah meks made

A red bomma with dah badmoonz logo on dit den we put sum blue stripes on dit fit But DEN WE LOST it

If yuh find it culd yah pls inform whre it iz

How dah yah turn dis off

Lifts finger off speaker button

The figure casts around for any signs of life.

?: It's been many cycles... I wouldn't be surprised if the planet has been abandoned.

An inaudible second voice speaks over the figure's commbead.

?: Indeed, you're likely correct.

The figure continues walking around, keeping within a reasonable distance of the ship. Their helmet and clothing reveal little about them, other than that they seem to have been wandering for quite some time, given the tattered state of their cloak and the scratches on their helmet.

Across the planet small posters are put up, depicting a harlequin proudly lifting up a large, Ork knife in all 6 hands. Below the image is a simple sentence stating: Who has the biggest stabba? Is it you? Is it the man standing next to you? Do you want it to be you?

Deep within the city of Underbright, in the district of Fungus town near teef lane, an old building lies abandoned, large smokestacks still rearing up into the "sky" above and unclean windows full off dust and graffiti dot the ramshackle structures sides in seemingly random intervals. In the tiniest blink of an eye the entire area around the building is bathed in bright green light, pouring from the windows and entryways, followed just milliseconds later by a thunderous boom like the explosion of a warhead as doors are flung open violently and the glass of many a window shatters instantly. As sudden as it appeared the light and noise vanish again, leaving little noise apart from the distant beeping of a ground cars alarm. Staggering from one of the entry ways comes an Ork, covered in crude prosthetics, a group of mechanical appendages sprouting from a strange backpack of sorts and wearing a comically large and sleeveless Labcoat, singed and torn in many places. The Ork stumbles into the road, leaning on a lamppost the Ork coughs loudly as he rubs his eyes.