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I love the Kreig army, first for the looks (I dont like what the germans did, but i do like their uniforms) and for the sheer verocity of their men. Ive faced IG many a time when i played SM, CSM, Tyranid, and Tau, and I was owned each and every time (one instance including my Deamon Prince being drowned by a MAXED platoon of conscripts that just walked into me) and so I decided that if i ever got back into 40k, it would be with the guard. Well here I am, and the original person that I am, I dont wana be the humdrum Kreig army around the corner, but something original.
The darkness of space was cold, hollow, inviting on the other side of the viewport. The frigate Guidance had seen better days, her hull scarred from hundreds of encounters and several actions on distant worlds from her homeworld, Kreig. She had been adrift in the voids of space now for almost 2 years, her crew exiled from their homeworld, the Death Korps inside seeking redemption for their sins against their brothers when they left their hiveworld, just to see her destroyed by the Chaos Behemoth not but a scarce 5 hours later. Coloniel Varruke gazed into the darkness and almost invited it to end their purgatory here. War after war they faught, as if seeking some unatainable goal, giving thier lives without remorse, without a second thought. His face, if you could call it that, was a mass of wires, servos, and viewing lenses constructed by the Techpriests aboard the Guidance after their action against the cultist of Primus IV, where many of his men died, freed from their purgatory, and he was forced to continue on in this hell of an existance. As much as he regreted not dying on the fields of Primus, he had a duty to his men. His rank of Commisar a distant memory, he continued to inspire them, to lead then to glory, and one day a new home. He inhaled, the mechanical rebreather that was adapted into his facemask allowing air into his lungs, as he remembered the home he and his men lost. His ponderings came to a hault, when a hand touched his shoulder. He turned to see Hildane, his personal medic, and quartermaster to the men. Hildane seemed to shutter when he looked to his commanders face, having yet to become used to the permanent Adamantium skull-plate that would now and forever be his face.
"Commander, you neglected to meet with the med officers for your therapy. Those Techpriests may have saved your life with the cybernetics they grafted into you, but you still have to be wary of infection. The men need you, and your loss would break them."
Varrke nodded to Hildane, and followed him. He hated the medtechs aboard the Guidance, their informal stare, and the constant look of disgust upon their faces every time he removed his mask. He would have much rathered the techpriest left him in the care of Hildane, but he was not well versed in their ways, and the Adeptus Mechanus was still a cult of secretive bastards who never could make life easy. Then again, what ever was? His overcoat, formerly fitting his rank of Commisar, fluttered around his frame as they traveled down the corridors, his arms rarely swaying, the clicking of his heels resonating against the deckboards. It was time to give the medtechs another taste of horror, and a smile spread across what was left of his human face. How easy it was for them, to deal with a mere hour of looking upon him, compared to the death of those he had become brothers with, those whose names were written in his memoirs. Never had the had to glimps upon their breatheren strewn among the twisted bodies of the cultists they cursed with every breath. The assult upon Solaris Vii would begin in two days, and Varruke knew that he must be at full health, for no one else was willing to give his men a chance at redemption. If he were to die, the remnants of the Sons of Kreig would die off, fed as meat to the grinder to be killed off, the last of a lifeline strewn with honor and pride long broken and worn.