Welcome to the Jungle (Tuv)

"Welcome to Deathworld 721/41/7. Enjoy your stay."

With that, the Colonel calmly marches off the podium, his eyes not-so-subtly sunken into his skull, lack of sleep and stress telling easily on his face.

Your sergeant assembles your squad. "Alright maggots, I've spoken with the Colonel, and we've got a 'special job'. No fuck-ups, or I'll put a bullet through your shit-eating brains and piss on you for good measure. Line up, and march, double time!"

You follow the Sergeant, leaving the assembly tent and dining hall of the small Guard encampment. The 89th Garak has set up a base of operations, burning a clearing roughly a kilometer square in the brush of The Jungle. That's what the Guardsmen are calling this place, and it's especially fitting. According to your briefing, every square mile of 721/41/7 is covered either in Super-salinated seas or Jungle as you now stand in. "Stupid fucking colonists..." grumbles one of your squadmates. According to the briefing, a full colony went missing, and the Regiment is here to find out why. When the ships showed up, and scanned for the colony, no trace of any hab units were found. The Guard encampment is set up where the colonists reported setting up their settlement, but there's no sign of any human presence before your own.

You walk past the Quartermaster's tent, a fat sweating man with a stress furrowed brow is talking with a tall, gaunt man with Lieutenant pins. Managing four thousand Deathworlders is no easy feat, and managing the equipment of four thousand Deathworlders is far harder. Your jog takes you past the make-shift vehicle bay, the two-dozen Chimera armored transports and 4 Leman Russ Battle tanks are being administered by a pair of techpriests, as well as a small army of maintenance servitors.

You continue through the camp, reaching the last line of tents before the security perimeter, to find an Aquila lander set up on the Landing pad that you came in on. A tall, regal looking man in an impressive greatcoat, short cropped brown hair, and a clean-shaven face, stands at the foot of the landing ramp, an impressive-looking engraved boltpistol holstered at his hip. His hands are encasing in large gauntlets... and then theres that. Around his neck... The Rosarius, an engraved 'I' overlaid with a skull.

Inquisition

The thought chills you to the bone, and some of your squadmates shudder visibly. Flanking the inquisitor are a sensous looking women who sets your heartbeat a little bit faster, all blonde hair and curves with a generous bosom, and a gargantuan man in full plate armor, with a face-concealing half-helm and a menacing looking maul in his hands. The Inquisitor is talking with another lieutenant. The officer is ashen-faced, clearly uncomfortable dealing with the situation. He glances at your squad and motions your sergeant forward, and your squad, with more than a hint of reluctance, follows.

The Inquisitor asks a question of the lieutenant, who nods quickly. The inquisitor then makes a shooing motion with his gauntleted hand, and the lieutenant marches off, visibly relieved. Your sergeant cautiously approaches the three figures, visibly steeling himself, hoping to show no hesitation in front of his squad. "Sir?" he asks the Inquisitor.

Oh no... Escort Duty... bad bad bad

"So this is my escort?" asks the Inquisitor. His voice is silky, appealing and disarming at once. Closer now, you see that he looks to be in his late thirties, but is still rather attractive. He turns to the hulking man to his left. "What do you think of our 'escort', Karius?"

The man peruses your squad, and you can tell he's rather skilled at reading people, his quick eyes missing nothing. "Green to the field, the lot of 'em. Undisciplined Savage Worlders. Wouldn't have lasted a minute on Hellhulk, Slaughter, or Zarous Prime."

The woman looks peeved at this assessment, her face pulling into a pout, almost breaking your heart and filling you with rage at the giant in the process. "Now now, Arbiter. We lost Pelkin on Hellhulk. And HE was good" she says, her voice like a chorus of Angels on an Iceworld. Your body at once beckons for more of the sound and recoils in terror.

Assassin

She turns to your squad and speaks again, the Chorus both terrifying and seductive. "Don't mind Karius, he's a little grumpy" she says, coyly.

"Enough games, Sarja. They're our escorts, no matter how useful they'll be. Let's go." With that, he marches off to the southwest, his retinue following closely behind, and your Sergeant and the rest of the squad following reluctantly in their wake.

Suddenly, the assassin breaks off from trailing the inquisitor, and you see she's dressed in a black body-glove, the vestment showing all of every curve in her pulse-quickening glory. She heads directly at you. "What's your name, handsome?" she asks, her voice low and playful, like she just found a new toy.