Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20190911202955/@comment-17657610-20190912053041

Ishmael plodded along and pulled a little at his explosive slave-collar. His neck itched a lot from the thing on his neck. Ishmael's Penal Legion had gotten to Golgotha to help with defense, though they were obviously not exactly looked well upon by the Imperial Guardsmen. It was not as if Ishmael cared at this, he was beyond petty feelings towards his fellow men. What did that matter?

The Penal Legion continued to march through the streets of Golgotha, and Ishmael considered his life so far. Things had not been going well for Ishmael lately, and he was scared. His life back home, his family, his little hovel on the Penal World, everything was gone now. The Emperor was the only thing left for Ishmael and what he was fighting for. As Ishmael marched further, he chuckled a little. He was not a good man, never was. The world was cruel, and the reality was that he was as well. The best thing he could hope for now was to survive the coming battle, unlikely, or die a death that might please the Emperor.