| [Z,1] Trou givré | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 1 2018, 07:17 AM (65 Views) | |
| TheWildSpud | Feb 1 2018, 07:17 AM Post #1 |
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![]() Named Trou givré by the men of Espérer, the planet is a sizeable tundra world. Composed of three continents, the topography of these landmasses are home to vast frozen plains, fjords, glaciers and mountains. Herds of several species of large woolly mammals roam around freely, grazing on any available plant life such as grasses or mosses. These beasts are in turn hunted by carnivorous creatures, each more strange and terrifying than the last. Cold Winds and infrequent storms batter the landscape, forcing visitors to wrap up warm or regularly construct shelters underground. The Armies of Espérer have been brought to this frozen waste to eradicate a sizeable Draxxen force. The Aliens have constructed bases across the planet from which they can launch raids into neighbouring systems. King Maurice II is commanding his armies in person, while his sons Crown Prince Samuel and Prince Duran lead smaller formations. |
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| TheWildSpud | Feb 1 2018, 07:28 AM Post #2 |
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Trou givré Espérerian Expeditionary Positions Eastern Flank – Frontline Trenches, 2nd Sector, 12th Troyes Fusiliers. Despite the low temperature and frozen ground, a respectable bustle of activity was present within the trench line. The Espérerian Troops, induced more by the desire to stay warm than by the orders of their superiors, kept themselves busy by digging, fortifying and prepping their weapons or equipment. As of yet, the Draxxen had not launched any raids upon the Espérerian lines, expectations for an eventual attack were high, and would only cease if the date of the rumoured ‘Big Push’ was announced. Until then the men of Espérer went about their duties, particularly in the task of digging. The detachment of Sappers who began the initial construction of this section of the line only had several days to dig before being transferred to other areas. As a result, the troops who then occupied the prepared positions had to expand and reinforce where they saw fit. The trench line was dug in a ‘V’ layout with the edges of the position dug at an acute angle which tapered off, allowing for enfilade fire and the launching of recces or sorties. Escape trenches were constructed in the middle and at either end of the trench, enabling the flow of reinforcements and the safe withdrawal of the defenders to the second line. In regards to the first line many additional positions had been constructed; these ranged from heavy weapons nests, dugouts as well as several dummy positions. As the sun began to go down, the activity along the line slowly ceased. Troops, downing tools or finishing the cleaning of their weapons, gathered around small cooking fires or either took their turn on the sentry rota. On the eastern side of the line, a young soldier made his way towards a small group of troops who had congregated around a bubbling bot of stew on a gas stove. By their appearance and insignia these men were veterans, usually, the young soldier would have kept his distance, but the lack of space at the other cook fires as well as the aroma of the stew override his usual caution. Approaching the group, the young soldier was quickly noticed by the furthest facing veteran who then notified the others. Every man of the small group turned to the look at the young soldier who began to shift uncomfortably. “Is it alright if I sit here?” the young soldier spoke gesturing towards an empty space, “Every other fire is packed with lads so I thought…I’d take my chances.” With his words trailing off, the attention of the veterans turned to what seemed to be the senior of the group. Sitting at the head of the stove he was a large burly man with a thick beard and close-cropped hair. The breastplate of his combat armour was engraved with a rank signifying that he was a Sergeant-at-arms, the senior enlisted man within a platoon. Realising who he was in the presence of the young soldier started to apologise. “Relax young’un” the burly sergeant uttered “You can have some of our stew, can’t let you go hungry now can we. Make em’ some room lads” Grumbling the veterans complied with the sergeant’s order, shifting around to create a small space from which the young soldier could sit. Thanking his superior the soldier placed his pack down on the space and sit on it, shifting his weight to give himself a comfortable enough seat. Once settled, and with his rifle placed by his side, the young soldier turned his attention to the pot of stew. “Hungry?” the sergeant asked eyeing the boy. “Yes sergeant, been on my feet most of the day, haven’t had the chance for a good feed yet.” “Don’t get much chance for a good feed when youse on the front boy” retorted a physically gaunt veteran, eyes down as he stirred the stew with a wooden spoon “Unless you be a noble, then its fresh pig and wine whenever you please, sitting in your warm dugout, not have to do any bloody digging”. Rather abruptly the gaunt veteran ceased his stirring and with a vicious scowl flung the wooden spoon towards the young soldier who caught it clumsily. “Why I’m I even stirring this bloody thing? Make yourself useful yeah wee shite!” Dutifully the young soldier did what he was told, proceeding to stir the stew in a slow clockwise motion. “Never mind him lad", a friendly eyed veteran said in an attempt to comfort the chastised youth “Sala’s morale has broken ever since he stepped off the drop-ship”. “Bloody right I have” Sala grunted “Four-month exercise on Nemours and now this frozen shite. Was looking forward to returning to Espérer for some heavy drinking and wenching. Instead, I’m sitting in this frozen hole, covered up to my balls in the mud”. “See what I mean?” the friendly eyed veteran stated smiling “What’s your name anyway lad?” “Brisbois” the young soldier replied turning his head away from the stew “Don’t bloody ask for his name Lamar” Sala spat “It’ll only make it harder for yeah once he gets skewered on a Draxxen spear. It always happens to the rookies, especially if they tell yeah about their bloody sweetheart back home.” “Quiet!”the sergeant growled, “Talk shite like that again Sala and I’ll stick yeah on digging detail until we’re told to go over the top, understand?” “Aye sergeant, wouldn’t want to jink the boy now would we.” As Sala’s words faded away a brief moment of uncomfortable silence set in. The sergeant observed Brisbois for a few seconds before finally breaking the silence. “So, Brisbois, where you from lad? Troyes or one of the surrounding villages?” “I’m from Troyes sergeant. Grew up in the common quarter on the west side, close to the space dock” “Take it your father was a dock hand then?” the sergeant asked. “Aye sergeant, my Da wanted me to follow him into his job but it wasn’t for me. Thought soldiering would suit me better” “How did he react?” “Proud. My grandfather was the last to serve in the King’s army so he said that I would bring honour to the family by serving, help keep the nation safe and all. My Ma burst into tears when I told her though, took my sisters a while to calm her down.” “Your Ma eh?” chimed in Sala with a dirty grin on his face “What does she look like?” “Look like?” replied Brisbois slightly confused “Knock it off Sala” Lamar cut in “get your mind out of the dirt.” “Hard to do when you’re already in the dirt…” “Well that’s true” replied Lamar chuckling “How’d you do with your selection then lad?” the sergeant asked returning to his line of questioning “Good, came third overall out of my bunch. Asked if I could begin my training within the stormtrooper companies, but my training sergeant said I need to do my time with a line company first.” “Aye that’s true” spoke a veteran who until now had remained silent “Need at least one year of experience and a commendation for bravery before you can apply for transfer.” “The quiet man’s Tosell” Lamar announced gesturing towards the veteran “Used to be a stormtrooper himself, for what was it; eight, nine years?” “Ten” Tosell replied “Then I got too slow, decided it was time to leave the Stormers. Now I just lug around a GPMG.” Brisbois nodded in thanks to the veteran’s words but before he could respond to Tosell they were interrupted by a young man of around fourteen and fifteen. His highly crafted combat armour and sword short belted to his hip signified that he was noble. Although not fully-fledged knight but rather a squire, the veterans and Brisbois braced up regardless. The young man was their social and political better, only a fool would show him disrespect. “Sergeant Gros our lord Sir Oriol wishes to speak to you at once in regards to issues with his dugout. If you would follow me?” The sergeant-at-arms nodded rising to his feet and slinging his weapon, a sturdy looking shotgun, over his shoulder. With the sergeant up on his feet, the young squire set off down the line towards Sir Oriol’s dugout, closely followed behind by sergeant Gros. Suddenly and without warning trip wires placed within no-man’s land were triggered sending flares screaming into the night sky. “CONTACT! CONTACT! STAND TO! STAND TO!” At the screams of the sentries’ everyman in the trench shot up from their cooking fires or emerged from dugouts, rushing with weapons in hand to the firing step. Heavy weapons positions were also manned and runners were sent back through the escape trenches to fetch reinforcements and extra ammunition. Emerging from his dugout, Sir Oriol garbed in his power armour and wielding a power sword in one hand and a machine pistol in the other strode down the lines shouting encouragement to his troops. As the flares burnt high in the night sky the men waited with a mixture of terror and anticipation to greet the unseen enemy. However, nothing appeared and as the flares gradually descended to the earth, men cursed or muttered that perhaps the flares were set off by some unseen beast. The theories of the troops were shattered as a mass of voices emanating from no-man’s land rose up joining together and culminating in a blood-chilling howl which was heard for several miles. A stampede of hundreds of feet pounded off the cold ground but the enemy continued to remain unseen. Then, three hundred meters from the trench, the second line of trip wires were triggered resulting in a violent combination of screaming flares and explosions. In an instant, the unseen enemy was revealed to the trench defenders. A savage horde of Draxxen came hurling towards the Espérerian positions. Without waiting for orders from Sir Oriol, the defenders of the trench began unleashing a withering hail of gunfire into the oncoming wall of meat. Troops fired their assault rifles on full automatic without caring to aim, grenades were flung in a reckless manner, and the twin-barrelled HMGs placed within the machine gun nests chewed through links of ammunition until the barrels went red. Despite their best efforts and with ammunition running low the on-coming horde was closing the gap with alarming speed. Seeing the inevitable clash Sir Oriol give the orders to prepare for the ensuing melee. “Men, fix bayonets!” without hesitation and with the enemy closing in the men of the 12th Troyes Fusiliers fixed bayonets. Many, like Brisbois, jumped down from their position at the fire step to better allow them to meet the encroaching enemy. Some, however, did not instead resuming to fire into the enemy. With ten meters to spare Sire Oriol roared a final command. “MEN! PREPARE TO RECEIVE THE ENEMY” As expected the Draxxen horde crashed into the Espérerian positions with a merciless wraith, screwing and mutilating those too slow or unskilled to defend themselves. The soldiers of Espérer replied to the threat with bayonet, rifle fire and any makeshift weapon on hand. An orgy of violence ensured as both man and alien descended into a free-for-all melee. Sergeant Gros ended numerous Draxxen with blasts from his shotgun. His ammunition depleted the burly sergeant quickly began wielding his weapon like a club, breaking skulls and battering any vile alien in his path. Sala, welding his rifle like a spear, skilfully embedded his bayonet into the chest of his opponent sending the beast screaming to the ground. As he attempted to remove his weapon, a Draxxen rushed up behind him burying his spear in the man’s back, severing his spine. Sala hit the ground like a stone chocking on his blood until his enemy finished him completely. Tosell using his SMG killed Draxxen one-by-one as they attempted to storm the machine gun nest which he and two other soldiers occupied. His two comrades were killed individually while Tosell continued the fight on until a Draxxen cut his head from his shoulders. Lamar after dispatching one Draxxen was set upon by another, who tackled him to the ground and began tearing into him with his shark-like teeth. Screaming in agony, Lamar reached for the knife strapped to his boot and in a desperate action commenced to stab his assailant in the neck repeatedly. It did not save his life but did result in the death of his opponent who expired on top of him. Sir Oriol, his squire lying disembowelled not far from him, fought on courageously. With the aid of his power armour and the abilities drilled into him as a child, he killed any Draxxen who came before him. Ended the life of many with his power sword, machine pistol or a combination of both. Brisbois by a combination of skill and pure luck also continued to fight on. Espérerian and Draxxen fell in droves as they mercilessly hacked, cut and mutilated each other. Those who fell added to the growing stack of bodies that littered the trench, hindering movement. Both alien and human were resorted to clambering over the bodies or even diving into each other in an attempt to kill one another. The battle continued to rage on with the Draxxen appearing to have the upper hand. However, thanks to the speed of the Espérerian runners; reinforcements began to arrive. Unable to enter the main trench due to the piles of corpses, they climbed over the walls of the escape trenches and fired down into the main trench. The fire of the reinforcements killed the last of the Draxxen and the battle was won. Edited by TheWildSpud, Feb 7 2018, 01:27 PM.
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| TheWildSpud | Feb 10 2018, 03:09 PM Post #3 |
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Orbit around Trou givré HMS Redoubtable The vessels of the 1st Battle Squadron orbiting around the planet drifted lazily, as they continued their pre-set courses. Ships of varying sizes constituted the throng of metal that was the might of the expeditionary force. Befitting a squadron of its size, a substantial level of activity emanated in and around the differing vessels. Supply craft docked from one ship to another, troop transports shot down from the belly of vessels to discharge their cargo on the surface below and squadrons of the fleet air arm ranged out on combat patrols. At the centre of this multitude was the first of two Battleships and the Flagships of the Royal Navy, HMS Redoubtable. Redoubtable is a huge vessel, with multiple levels of weapons batteries and fighter decks spanning from one side of the ship to the other. Hardpoints, shield generators and communication arrays lined the top of the warship. A large rendition of the Coat of arms of the House of Guiscard was also present on the side of the Battleship. Similarly, as with the outside, the inside of Redoubtable was animated with activity. Crew members attended to their duties while in the hangers and landing bays; masses of troops prepared for their scheduled deployments or conducted drills under the supervision of their NCOs or Noble Officers. As these monotonous yet crucial military actions continued, a young man made his way through the well-lit corridors of the warship. With shoulder-length golden hair, circular beard and handsome rugged features, the young man was a fine physically example of nobility. Dressed in a fine blue tunic, which hugged his muscular frame as he continued onwards, and with matching trousers and boots, his attire was a contrast to the drab and sturdy clothing worn by the common soldier or sailor. As the young noble sauntered down the corridor, one hand on the sword belted to his side, the few crewmembers whom he passed braced to attention and followed through with either a salute or bow. One crewmember, a rather portly fellow, became flustered unsure on whether to bow or salute. The young noble chuckled at the fumbling of the crewman, raising his hand in acknowledgement while he continued on his way. After another few minutes of walking, the young noble arrived before a large ornate metal door engraved with the depiction of a collection of men engrossed in books. “The ship’s library” the noble muttered slamming the bottom of his closed fist on a nearby button which opened the door, “Even while on a campaign he’ll find some dusty tome to brood over.” Stepping through the doorway the young noble was greeted with the sights and smells of the vaulted hall which served as the ship's library. Bookcases containing both physical and digital material lined the walls or were placed in the centre of the room, creating routes from which to walk through. The smell of old paper and the low hum of the digital bookcases aided in the creation of a pleasant and warm atmosphere, far removed from the hustle on other areas of the ship. As the young noble made his way around the library he observed numerous other occupants present in the room. They like himself were of Noble blood, using the chamber for a variety of reasons. Most read while a few used the tranquillity of the room as a place for quiet conversation. One noble, a rather aged gentleman, was snoozing away quietly on a leather chair. Another much younger Noble, clearly only just a squire, with wide eyes and a dirty grin was enthralled in a book with a bound purple cover. Chuckling as he passed the squire, too absorbed to notice him, the young noble continued onwards until setting eyes upon the person he had come here to meet. Seated at a fine wooden table was the noble’s younger sibling and second in line to the throne Prince Duran. Preoccupied with his tome, Prince Duran did not become mindful of the appearance of his brother until Crown Prince Samuel made himself known. Duran’s hard gaze shifting from his literature to his approaching brother visibly softened. “Glad to see me, brother?” Prince Samuel spoke approaching the table “Somewhat” Duran replied closing his tomb and leaning back in his chair “If you’re here with me then the chances of you launching headlong into the Draxxen are slim.” “Would that be such a bad thing?” “Slaughter all the Draxxen before the rest of the nobility get involved? It would be the scandal of the century. Father would have to hold tourneys for the next decade just to satisfy the obstructed bloodlust.” “That would be a small price to pay for eternal glory my dear brother” Samuel countered sitting down on the seat opposite his brother “Our house’s already consequential prestige would eclipse any of the other noble houses indefinitely.” “If you did manage to accomplish such an absurd feat you’d warrant a suitable epithet I’d say. Perhaps history would remember you as ‘the mallet’.” The Prince’s comment was responded to by his brother with a rather hearty laugh which turned the heads of many of the library’s other inhabitants towards the table of the two Princes. Prince Duran like his brother was a muscular and physically fit young man. Owning much to the hard schooling which they both received in the martial arts as young boys. In terms of appearance, Duran was quite dissimilar to his brother, his physical characteristics deriving heavily from his mother side. His pockmarked face, Auburn hair and green eyes being a contrast to the golden hair and blue eyes of his brother. Only the strong jawline shared between the two Princes was a clear indication that these two young men were siblings. Physical contrasts were also paired with personality differences. Samuel was the warrior of the two, a masterful fighter and leader of men. Duran on the other hand while competent with the martial arts, had a bookish deposition. More of an intense scholar and strategist with a dry wit than a charismatic warrior prince. As Prince Samuel’s laughter faded away the look of his brother hardened again. “As much as I love our bouts of banter I can assume you bring some news on the conduct of the fighting below?” Samuel nodded “The Draxxen launched a raid on the section of our lines early last night. Father has called a war council to plan a counterstroke so we can finally get on with annihilating the vile scum.” “This Raid they launched, was it serious?” “It could have been. A large force of them hurled themselves at our lines but the men held firm and fought them off.” “Causalities?” “Severe. The regiment that held that section of the line will be placed on rear-echelon duties until the campaign is concluded.” “Father’s wise to want to launch a counter-attack, the Draxxen will keep hammering at our lines until they find a gap to exploit.” Samuel nodded at his brother’s words rising from his seat, turning to glance towards the door. “Father has called for our attendance at the war council as well. I would suggest that we leave now, it would look poorly on us if we are tardy.” “Aye,” Duran responded also rising to his feet “It’s best we leave at once then.” The two Princes then departed from the library and made their way to the War Council. Edited by TheWildSpud, Feb 10 2018, 05:25 PM.
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