Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1536954-20180414204120

''It has been fifty years since the Ra’mon Colonisation Contingent was flung out of the Startide Nexus towards the newly-named planet Ra’mon, and fifty years since the first settlers touched down on this planet’s dry soil, reeling from the macabre horrors they witnessed in the immaterium, and hoping with all their beings that Tau’va would save them. These fifty years have evaporated away, and still the planet has been left alone to rot. Only rumours have ever tried to fill in the gaps. Some say the planet is cocooned away by eddies of warp storms cast out from the Great Rift that blot out all communication. Others tell stories of the Empire deliberately ignoring the colony for fear of it being far too warp-tainted to save.''

''The realest thoughts that probe the minds of the common Tau however are far more simple. They are matters of bare-faced survival, for ever since the first drones drilled their first foundations into the ground, Ra’mon has been a hostile patchwork of poorly-equipped, walled settlements stalked by hunger and decay, and constantly embattled by Kroot and Gue’vesa tribes, all of which were descended from the auxiliary cadres that were driven out by the first Tau settlers whose experience of the warp had altered them forever and made them desperate for something to blame.''

''In this ceaseless grind for survival, between the gaps of the large but brittle Fire Caste armies, the savage Kroot carnivore gangs, or the marauding Gue’vesa corsairs, there has risen a class of soldiers-for-hire whose skill in warfare and defiance of adversity has become legend. They are formed from defected soldiers, bored and talented youths, and former pirates and warlord grunts. They are the Monat’nan; the Freeswords. Their desire for battle and hunger for riches and fame has burnt away their prejudices and rendered them immune to the grudges of the past, for to survive as a Monat’nan, your skill as a warrior supplants all else.''

~

The countless stars of the T’koreth hang above a roaring campfire, soaking the night sky in a billion blue pigments. The air is stiff, and the only significant sounds are the crackle and pop of burning wildwood and the soft hum of an urn of Ky’husa gently heating up.

Nobody speaks, but everyone has the same thought. A collection of Ra'mon'xauk-City Water Caste Diplomats and their Fire Team retinue are set to arrive with a business proposal. Prices have not been discussed, nor have the targets in question, but an offer from officials of the capital city of Ra’mon is far too delectable to be dismissed at face value.

A lighter sparks as Shas’vre A’nu lights a cigarette. He draws it in, its end glowing a quick, bright orange before a puff of smoke escapes his mouth. At that moment, the sound of padded footsteps meet your ears. Everyone looks at once to its source. In the distance, the silhouettes of two long-robed figures in domed pol-hats meet your eyes, and they are quickly flanked by a Breacher Team of a dozen armour-clad Shas’ui.

He took another puff, giving each of his comrades a cursory glance. Without getting up from where he sat, A’nu raised his hand, signalling them to come over. After a brief jerk of hesitation, the twin figures scurried forward. Their white robes billowed at the slightest disturbance, accentuating their movements with a characteristic wobble and flow that made them appear as if they were made of liquid.

“Creatures of ceremony, these Por’tol.” said A’nu, a smirk crossing his face.

The twins approached the edge of the fire’s light, their retinue keeping some distance behind them as they began to encircle the camp. The taller of the two gazed at the seated Monat’nan with a thoroughly buried look of condescension, suggesting to the Team that hiring Freesword scum was probably not his first choice. The other seemed softer and more amicable.

“Great night for a parlay, isn’t it Tau’fann?” A’nu greeted.

The tall official placed a gentle hand to his chest, feigning a meek demeanour.

“It is a wonderful night, Monat’nan,” He spoke, studiously eyeing over every single one of them, “I am Por’vre Taal’ret, and this is my associate, Por’ui Ya’yoi. As you are well aware, we have come to seek your services. Well, to put it more bluntly, we seek your particular strain of talents that would be unfitting to the doctrines of a Fire Caste La’rua...”

“Put it in real terms, please.” Interrupted Fio’ui Kai’kaara, not looking up from the plain-coloured doctor’s sausage he was methodically cutting up to eat.

Por’ui Ya’yoi raised a hand, notifying his superiour of his desire to speak. Vre’Taal’ret sealed his lips.

“For eight thousand Por’hesa, how would you feel about dispatching a posse of known terrorists?”

A’nu turned to look at his teammates. 