NationStates Jolt Archive

((OOC: This is closed to people who have already registered here:

http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=9883490#post9883490

Consequently, this thread will also serve as the OOC thread for the duration of this RP.))

The frost was fresh on the grass of the rolling foothills that stretched for miles in the shadow of the mammoth Alberian Mountain Range. Beyond the range lay the frozen wastelands of the Steppe, and today a thick and bitter wind blew from the peaks down over these highlands. The Alberian foothills were a barren place with a violent past, the region stained with blood from centuries of war stretching out long before the birth of the Generic Empire as it was today known. However, now one would not guess that the swept grass concealed the dust and bones of hundreds of thousands. It was desolate, with only a few sparse spirals of gray smoke rising from a hunting or farming village, or a nomadic tribe’s winter camp under the pure, blue, late autumn sky.

However, if one had been to observe from above, he would have certainly noticed a strange discrepancy in the landscape today, a sea of black and brown dots gathered in a circular shape covering a rough square mile, positioned around a vertex dense with a few large, brick structures. From this out of place epicenter, a dull roar drifted heavenward with the thick plumes of smoke that rose from campfires and chimneys alike. Here, in the center of the foothills was Camp Kyatyuk, the winter encampment for the 19th Battalion of the Imperial Generian Regular Infantry.

Drawing closer, one would observe a scene both peaceful and chaotic. Rough faced Generians gathered around fires outside of makeshift barracks, joking in their native dialects ranging from harsh Alberian to the refined tongues of the central provinces to the guttural drawl of the east coast port cities. Occasionally music or the muffled groans of a young prostitute drifted from behind a thick cloth tent flap. The men were in high spirits despite the cold temperatures. Despite the end of the last Alberian war over twenty years ago, the foothills and the Alberian province were still classified as an occupied and potentially dangerous province, and full time garrisons were maintained throughout. The 19th covered the foothills, a largely uneventful assignment, leaving more than enough time to pursue the finer nuances of soldiering, among these drinking, whoring, and hunting Steppe bear.

But now there came a break in the pleasant monotony of Steppe life as the Earth began to vibrate with a low rumble growing in the distance. From over a distant ridge, the sun glinted on the metallic top of a G-1 APC, A gargantuan tracked crawler capable of transporting platoon sized infantry groups over difficult terrain. They were rare sights this far east, usually confined to transport on the Steppe itself between the various fortified bases. As the mechanical beast revealed itself completely, several other crested the Steppe, and the ground began to shake even more violently.

The G-1s pulled up to the edge of the encampment, beside a pair of makeshift loading platforms, and the doors opened. From inside the APCs, close to 200 dazed and disheveled foreigners were directed out onto the platforms. For these foreign legion recruits, the journey seemed to be over and done with, but in actuality, it was only just beginning.

Colonel Tanis Andrevic watched the scene from the window of the tallest of the three brick structures in the center of camp, his clear gray eyes taking in the faces of each recruit as they stepped from the transports. His mouth was set straight as stone. The light from outside glinted on a single decoration hanging on the breast of his plain green uniform, a pair of crossed swords with the head of a wolf overlain. A saber sat on the desk behind him, the handle black without ceremony, the blade meticulously sharpened, curved in the scimitar like style of all Generian sabers.

He broke away from the window and walked back into the depths of his small office.

Josp Stalin got out of the APC, into the frigid icy land. He looked at the other recruits and wondered, for the uptenth time, why in the blue hells he'd signed up for this damn foreign legion.

Then he thought back to the hearing, in which he'd been force to sign up for another nation's military, and to get the hell out of the country. He then looked at the other recruits and wondered what there reasons for being here as he pulled his jacket tighter to deal with the abomidable temperature in this wasteland.

Samantha Kingsley stepped out of the APC and into the freezing world. She shivered as she realized she not worn the proper clothing for the assignment. As she milled around with the other men, she wondered if she had made the right decision in coming here.

Generian MPs surrounded the cuffed Gracius Kluck. According to the deal he had made with the Generian government, their numbers would diminish as he served loyally in the Generian Foreign Legion. But the more he showed aggression against fellow soldiers, and the more insubordination, the more MP would accompany him.

A thick Generian accent pierced the air after the others had unloaded from the APC, “Your turn shit.”

As he stood up his mind wandered about the events he had gotten himself into. I can remember how many days, but when I served those days…boy will I be good. My crimes will be forgiven in Generia and most if not all allied nations. I’ll be free to return back home.

His wanderings were cut short as a curled fist punched him in the shoulder, directing him in which direction to go. He stepped out of the platform and as he was led to what he believed some manner of briefing he looked at the other foreigners who had joined. Little cocks are probably looking for adventure and glory! Children, they know naught the real world. But oh-la-la, look at that Pwnage chick. I aint ever had Pwnage pussy.

As if it was some form of punishment for his thoughts on his fellow soldiers, a hand smacked him in the back of the head. As he had been thinking he hadn’t been paying attention to the MPs, and they were directing him another way.

Well, here’s my chance at freedom. And a Pwnage chick, but that’s a different story. Time to earn passed home.

Brian Lopez stared implacably at the judge. He was in his one and only dress outfit for a reason he didn't want.

In a fit of nationalism and, admittedly, in an effort to get his jollies, Lopez was caught burning Lady Destra of Euroslavia in effigy. His act of defiance may have gotten him only a night in county jail, a fine of $100 Sarzonian and a letter of reprimand from the county executive, but he taunted the police with the charring remains of the effigy. That landed him in court, and he pleaded no contest to the charge of attempted arson.

"The way I see it young man," the judge said, "you have one of two choices. Either you join the military and they whip you into shape, or you do three years of hard time at the J. Edgar Hoover Correctional Facility."

Lopez's scowl after being called young man, a term he found demeaning and dehumanising was replaced with chills down his nineteen year old spine. The Hoov! Known throughout Sarzonia as the most infamous prison in the country. It was the only prison that wasn't privately owned and its reputation was worse than any in the free world. His days would begin at 4:00 a.m. and not end until after midnight, when he'd have only three hours and change to recover from a hard day's labour.

He remembered that the Generian Foreign Legion was looking for people, especially those with a past, who wanted to make something of their lives. He knew his connection to the Incorporated Sarzonian Army, vis a vis his uncle, Major General Mike Quinn, wasn't going to help him. Even his other uncle, Colonel David Quinn, the commandant of the Blue Cobras special operations units, wasn't going to do him much good. He had to make his own way and away from Sarzonia.

"I choose the military, sir," Lopez said. "But not the Sarzonian military. I choose to join the Generian Foreign Legion."

The judge raised his eyebrow. Clearly this was not regular. But he wanted to get the 10,000th vagrant he'd seen in such a short time out of his hair, especially one with connections.

"Very well, young man," the judge said. "You may join the Foreign Legion. But if you slip up, you've got a place at Hoover waiting for you."

James Ruuvarri blinked as he stepped out of the gloomy giant that the Generians called an Armored Personnel Carrier and into the comparatively blinding light of the foot hills of the Alberian Mountain Range. He had learned in graded school about the Generian soldier, rough and tumble, with fanatical loyalty to his state, and had pondered traveling there himself. It seemed like his kind of crowd.

The bitter cold, obviously a surprise to most of the others, reminded James fondly of his birth home in Miko, where the harsh, mountain winters enveloped the city for nearly two thirds of the year. He remembered lovingly his parents, who had been killed in the first invasion by Dracun, and his subsequent urge to get out of this wasteland and make a difference.

James would be doing that now, and as he looked around, he noticed a stunning young woman step from the APC near to him. Judging by her features, she was from DMG. He walked towards her and indicated to the mountains on the horizon.

"Beautiful, aren't they?"

As the door to the APC opened, a gust of freezing air filled the cabin, some men groaned in discomfort at the cold, others sat quietly as if it was natural. Norman was one of those who cared little for the tempature, but concealed it. He quickly realized weakness coudn't be shown.

Not around these savages, he thought.

He exited the APC and before his first foot ever hit the ground the MPs had already grabbed him and thrown him out onto the frozen ground. He almost fell but quickly regained his balance, he looked to see that most others had regained their balance those that didn't and fell were trampled on by others and eventually picked by the MP shoved away.

He immiedately looked around and the first thought that came to his mind was, Criminals...all of them. Most had the look of sexual criminals, those were the kind Norman would willing genocide for any government, be it democratic and depostic. Others had the look of murders, looters, theifs, and there were a few, just a few that looked worse--darker than the others. Most were clean shaven men, barley old enough to hold their liquor, more less fight a war.

He stood quietly and awaited to see what was going to occur next.

The recruits had barely had time to orient themselves to the new landscape when the platform was stormed and surrounded by more MPs in full gear, GIR-47f carbines slung across their chests at the ready, though not trained on the recruits. A large man with a red beard, wearing sergeant’s stripes on his shoulder stepped through the ranks of MPs and addressed the recruits.

“Form up and go where you are directed. You will receive further instructions there.”

As unceremoniously as he came, the man was gone, and the MPs began roughly herding the recruits into single file lines and urging them to hurry down off the platform. They were steadily rushed in the direction of a large open area between a pair of newly constructed wooden longhouses. There they were split into a half dozen different lines between an equal number of tables where they were made to step forward and register. Following that, the recruits were divided again into two equal sized groups, neverminding gender, and ushered into one of the longhouses. There they were stripped down to their undergarments and made to wait while those ahead of them filed through a small medical room for a final brief physical.

Josp shivered slightly as he was unuse to being in his briefs in mixed company.
As he waited, he discreetly checked out the muscles on many of the others, as well as examining the females of the FL.

He was somewhat conscientious of the fact that he was one of the skinnier recruits, but would be willing to match himself against any of the much more muscular recruits.

As it was, he'd decided to rest before his physical, and had thus taken a seat to wait till he was called.

"Spectacular," replied Samantha to James, but before she could continue they were hearded into lines to register.

Stripping down to her undergarments, Samantha was very exposed, although she was used to it being a dancer. She eyed the other recruits but began to shiver as the cold was too much for her.

Being stript down to his undergarments wasn't something Norman commonly did. In fact, while serving in the militia he was forced to remain in uniform at all times. He felt the cold and shivered, though attempted to contain it anyway he could. He attempted to remain looking at the ground, but out of simple human nature he glanced around from time to time. He quickly realized the rest of the people, be they man or woman, were all shivering. The Generian climate was unforigving that was true.

Life sucks, he thought as he remebered the Generian Foreign Legion was his only choice for making a living.

After James had been separated from the girl, he had moved quickly down to their current position with the rest of the trainees. As he was stripped down, he noticed the muscles of many of the other recruits, and looked down at his thick, broad chested body. He had no doubt in his mind that most of these men would be the best of the best, and he hoped to join them.

As he waited for his physical to begin, James looked out at the camp and onto the Generian soldiers. They were indeed grizzly and rough looking, most wearing countless scars from countless campaigns. When the sergeant had first addressed the group on the platform, the only image that James could compare him to was a flaming red haired bear.

These people were going to teach him to fight, and they were going to do it well. Soon, he would be ready for anything.

"Fuck, I hate the cold." Was all Enhedu could think as she stood there with all the other recruits in her undergarments waiting for her physical. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to it, she had been in plenty of cold places before, but here it was different, here there were no holes to hide in, here it was open.
She shuffled in the line, with all the other recruits as she cleared her mind, ignoring the cold. Around her were shivvering people, from all over the place. People she didn't know, and had no interest in knowing. She wanted the money and support this work would bring her so she could stop fighng for her food or a place to sleep. Indeed she had already stopped fighting for food and shelter, now she was going to have to work for it.
Shuffeling again, she moved forward, onwards in the line.

Samantha continued to shiver from the cold air as she waited in line. Although the temperature in the Dominion was normally freezing (literally) she spent most of her time inside the warm buildings of the capital... the heat she could stand - in fact she loved the heat, but frigid temperatures she didn't like.

She looked around at the other recruits and noticed that many of them were muscular and scarred - such a contrast from her smooth, feminine body.

What am I doing here...

As he sat on the ground, Josp looked at the fairly attractive, but shivering lady. As he couldn't offer a non-existant jacket to warm her, he sat there and began meditating.

In a low, indiscernable mumble he began speaking, thought what he was saying what incomprehensible, even if someone could figure out what he was saying.

Lopez's transport took him much longer than the estimated seven hour flight from Woodstock to Alberia. With the state of relations between Sarzonia and Generia being pretty much non-existent, he had to wonder if he was being punished by the additional 12 hours it would take with the layover in a neutral airport and the flight from there to Generia. That didn't even include the interrogation by customs officers in Generia when they glanced at Lopez's Sarzonian passport.

Finally, he was in the rented transport that he was driving up to the Alberian mountains. He was warned ahead of time to wear layers and he complied. He was wearing a ten year old jacket that was fraying at the sides, a sweater, a shirt, and an undershirt. He had on courderoys, thermal underwear, and boxer shorts. He also had two pairs of socks under his boots, which themselves covered normal sneakers. Even with all that, a pair of gloves and a hat couldn't protect him entirely from the cold.

On top of all that, the heat in his transport wasn't working, or so the gruff guard who tossed him the keys said. He tried to turn it on, but it was no use. He was going to have to drive up to the site with his visible breath providing the distracting backdrop all the way up. The road took on a winding path and Lopez was sure he was lost. He tried the GPS locator in the car, but that didn't do much.

Finally, he saw what looked like an encampment and he slowly made the right turn. He was confused because the directions told him to turn left. However, unbeknownst to him, he had taken one turn too many and finally stumbled his way back in the right direction. He put his transport in park and pulled the brake. He then got out and gathered his bag from the trunk. He whirled around and walked in.

Sitting in his undergarments, a long pair of thermo-underwear, Chris began to ponder on just how much this sucked. He spied a meditating man. He sat down next to him and began to do the same.

"What a day" Marcus thought to himself as he stripped down and looked around at the women of the group with a wry smile. Thinking back, he reviewed the events that had transpired thus far.

A boring trip through the mountains, in which he slept most of the time; stepping out of the transport into the frigid air that pierced his skin to the meeting with the gruff sergeant; being organised into lines and taken to sign a form, and finally ending up with an examination.

It didn't take long for it to be over, just some standard stuff, nothing wrong. Afterwards, he followed the rest of them into the next room to await further instructions. He was stern for his age, sort of a loner. Everyone else talked amongst themselves and sat against the wall, but not him. Marcus stood at attention near the door of the room, as to ensure he was closest to any officers that might come in. But as time past, and more and more recruits came in, he finally slumpt down against the wall in resignation. It was clear that nobody was coming for awhile. Sitting there stoically, he once again began reflecting on the events of the day, then of the following week, and so on.

A gust a cold wind passed by, and Norman could barley control his shivering. How the cold air was getting threw what was suppose to be modern barracks was anybodies guess, then again he knew the Generians probably didn't care if he was cold, or if anybody was cold. He began to question if this was the right job for him, yet at the same time that nagging truth that this was his only choice continued to annoy his mind. His head began to hurt from the stress though somehow the cold seemed to stim the pain from it.

He looked around once more and noticed a remarkable number of women. In Saint Alpha women were banned from joining Norman's Militia (the State Military as it was called now), so seeing so many of them in a military oriented function was rather odd.

His body shivered even more as another gust of cold wind blew across the room. If I ever find the man who made this, I'll rip his heart out, thought Norman as he prayed his body would soon adapt to the freezing winds.

The MPs accompanying Gracius were only willing to afford him the luxury of having his cuffs off long enough to take his shirt off, then they went back on. Finally, it was quite difficult with bound hands, Gracius stripped down to his boxers. He took a deep gulp of the Alberian air; it had been years since he had been here. Gracius first laid eyes on the Alberian Mountains when training with his squad alongside Generian soldiers in the area. As he thought of his training, he remembered the red bearded sergeant. He was very familiar, perhaps he had seen him in those days, and perhaps he was just a familiar face.

Look at all these shivering fools. I guess none of ‘em have ever been in cold climate like this.

Gracius was used to the climate after having spent months in it at different times. But he wasn’t used to standing and waiting in a line.

I’m a Borman citizen; I trained here with the Generian. Certainly I’m more important than all these people.

He looked at the lead MP escorting him and motioned to the front of the room, “Let’s go. Neither of us want to sit here waiting.” It was true, the MPs appreciated standing in line just as much as Gracius himself did. So they did little in relation to Gracius except follow him as he pushed his way forward in the line.

Shouts of disapproval and anger rang out as Gracius made his way to the front of the line and stepped up to the Generian man. “Time for my physical I presume.”

Ruarc was nervous. Ruarc was nervous about all sorts of damned things. Nervous about whether they'd take him with his background. Nervous about the few thousands or more scars adorning his body. Nervous about how much that prostitute he just heard moaning costs. Nervous about why he was nervous. Ruarc looked at his feet and then back up. God help the man who made Ruarc angry. God help the man who stood between Ruarc and what he was determined to do. God help the man who didn't laugh when Ruarc decidely strode forward and tripped.........Not the best beginning for this old Sawney.

OOC: I hope I can come in. If not I shall step off.

A small chuckle left Marcus' lips as the man infront of him fell to the ground clumsily. But that was it, a small chuckle and the stern face came back. It was getting boring waiting for someone to come and collect them. Damn world, getting too soft, the army is just an excuse for fags to shower with other guys now a days. "We should be out at the practise range, or doing push-ups in the mud right now, not sitting around doing nothing." His thoughts were hard, and he thought them right; regardless of the fact that he was a rookie and had never done either. So, he stayed silent and away from the rest of the group, chewing on a piece of beef jerkey he had brought with him.

A large soldier patrolling the lines spotted Josp sitting, and grabbed him about the throat, pulling him back to his feet and cursing his perceived laziness in Generian while the other recruits continued to file through the physical rooms. At the opposite end of the line, the doctor looked disdainfully at the Bormanian soldier. He nodded to one of the MPs standing beside him who kicked the man in the groin, and gestured for the others to bring him back to the end of the line. For a staunchly meritocratic society, Generia was quite egalitarian in its line-waiting policies.

For the others, it was a brief examination, five minutes at most, and the majority passed without incident, however there was additional scrutiny over the women, particularly a skinny 19 year old ex-dancer, but eventually after some debate she was granted passage to the other side.

The other side was in effect a short march to another open area and another pair of wooden longhouses. There, after having any personal weapons confiscated, the recruits ran a gauntlet of equipment, each receiving one plain Kevlar helmet, a brimmed cap, a small canteen, a thin wool blanket, a large backpack, a leather belt, a pair of leather gloves, a pair of boots, two pairs of heavy green uniform pants, two green uniform shirts bearing patches with the emblem of the foreign legion and four Generian cyrillic letters translated as IGFL, a thick general issue black coat that smelled like a cross between motor oil and mud but did well to keep out the biting frost, and a few other assorted items deemed necessary standard issue.

By now the sun had begun to sink low behind the mountains, and the sky was turned a brilliant blood red while the half moon waited pale and idle on the eastern horizon. The recruits neared the end of the rushed registration process and were given barracks assignments for the evening. Barrack 14 was a plain wooden structure identical to the dozens of others scattered around the camp. There were neither beds nor partitions nor plumbing facilities for the forty-odd men and women occupying the bunk. Included among those registered to this barrack were Enhedu Enanatuma, Titus Pullo, Brian Lopez, Gracius Kluck, Josp Stalin, Samantha Kingsley, James Ruuvarri, Norman Hendricks, and Shalin Khalid.

As some began to sink onto the floor, exhausted, they were interrupted by another stampede of rough faced Generian soldiers who burst in, shouting for the recruits to stand to attention. They did so, poorly in some cases, and in the frame of the door a figure appeared, that of a middle aged man with graying black hair, dignified and wearing a clean, neatly pressed black uniform coat. A plain saber hung in a sheath at his waist. He stepped into the barrack slowly, each heavy footfall sounding loud and clear on the clapboard floor. He silently paced the rows of nervous recruits, his clear gray eyes staring straight through each one. He finished the round and came to rest where he had begun at the top of the room. He looked out and addressed them, his tone calm and even, but loud enough so that each syllable was heard perfectly even by those standing at the far end.

“Welcome to Generia. Savor those words because they are the first and last time you will hear them. The fact is you are not welcome here. I welcome you not because I like you, or want you here taking up space in my camp, but because the government has invited you, and because I serve the Emperor, I extend that greeting to you. I would protest such a greeting because I am a man who takes great pride and pleasure in speaking the plain and honest truth, and I will do so to you without hesitation or regret.”

He paused and let the words sink in before continuing. Not a man stirred.

“I am Colonel Tanis Andrevic. For the next eleven months I will be your commanding officer. That is to say, your king and your God. I will not be your friend and I will not be your family. You will do as I say and you will not ask questions. When I tell you to kill, you will kill. When I tell you to die, you will die.”

He put a subtle emphasis on these words, and they fell clear and dull on the eardrums of the recruits. He began to pace the rows again, the footsteps a drumbeat to the melody of his words.

“You are here because you have left your own homelands, be it by choice or coercion. Your motives are not my concern or the concern of the Generian government. Your past is meaningless to us. What is our concern is that you are here, and you are here to serve Generia. But at the moment you are incapable of serving Generia. At the moment you are weak. At the moment you are cowardly. At the moment you are all worthless, foreign dogs not fit to hold a weapon or even to throw a punch or speak an insult in the name of this mighty Empire. The men out there,”

He gestured towards the door.

“Are warriors. They see you for what you are: usurpers, and I join them now in such sentiment. Generia has a mighty standing army of valiant men who kill and give their lives without question. What need then do we have for you? Why would we cull from the hordes of international misfits and criminals a new legion to take up more of our resources? What gain is there in this? Right now these thoughts run through the minds of every soldier in the entirety of the Empire. Many more would not waste their time with the questions but simply cut your throats while you slept to rid Generia of this useless compilation.”

His tone was stern now, full of composed power. His eyes seemed to blaze with an invisible flame, an emotion unfamiliar, not angry but not peaceful.

“At the moment,”

He looked now into the eyes of everyone before him.

“The truth of the matter is, at the moment, we do not need you. At the moment you command no respect.”

“But!”

The sudden change in volume shook the silent recruits. He had reached the end of the room and now whirled around, his face full of expression.

“What is the case at the moment is not terribly important considering the details of my job. It is my job to make certain that you end up adding something to our martial tradition, and so help me God, I will do it. Yes, it is true that everything you gain from this moment onward will have to be earned. You will shed your blood, and your sweat, and your tears and they will be the currency that will buy you a place in this army. You will have to become the best to become the equivalent of the men who right now give you no more attention than they do a pile of feces or rancid meat. When one of these men shows you enough respect to look at you full on without becoming ill with the notion of your existence, you can consider it a triumph. At the end of this training period, those who command the respect to ride to battle beside these men and support them in contest of arms will have the pride of knowing that they, though foreigners, are the single finest unit in the world, for while the Generian soldier is born equal to his countrymen, you will have to climb every inch of the way to reach their level, and then some.”

He paused and seemed to add the next part as an afterthought.

“Very few of you will reach that level, however. If there are any doubts left in your mind, I will be gracious enough to dispel them: make no mistake, some, if not all of you will not survive the coming ordeal. The Generian military is not the best in the world for tolerating the weak and the foolish. There are very few ways out of this camp right now, and while you are free to leave at any time, I doubt many of you have homes to return to. For these individuals, there are only two tickets out of this country: a military transport as a full fledged foreign legionary, or a body bag.”

He began walking back towards the door. As he spoke the next line he gestured at the entire company of assembled recruits.

“Take a look around. This room will never be as full as it is right now.”

He reached the door and turned to face the men one last time.

“Good luck to all of you. I say that with sincerity. I also sincerely suggest you get some sleep. You won’t be getting much of it after tomorrow morning.”

With that he left unceremoniously, leaving a silent room.

Norman growled as he was pushed aside by this unknown man in handcuffs. He analyzed the situtation, he could attack him now but the MPs would probably intervene on the guy's behalf. He knew there would be a chance to put this arrogant fool in his place, but not now--this was not the right battlefield. He got back into line and sighed as the line continued to move again.

Shalin stepped shakily off of the huge, cramped and cold snowcrawler. Apparently, the body heat of the passengers in there didn't do anything to help warm it up. At this latitude, nothing was warm, not even the souls of the locals. Then again, she really wasn't one to comment on that.

Now she had to strip down to her underwear in the cold. Registration was easy, all she had to do was restrain herself from castrating the fat, greasy corporal who spent way too much time staring at her while filling out the proper paperwork. Damn. This place was colder than the waters off Layartebian Greenland... Shalin hugged herself to warm up a bit. She looked around. Damn again. Too many perverts, rapists and other sundry violent predators.... and some of these recruits looked way too soft... Pasty cheeked, weak muscled, either the bigger, stronger recruits would rape them until they bled to death from their bodiliy orifices or the drill sergeants would work them to death. Maybe they were escaping a life of poverty, crime, abuse or some other unhappy situation at home, but they sure as hell didn't belong here, not with this crowd.

She remembered some of the big guys in her barracks doing some horrible, horrible things to the smaller, weaker recruits. In was a brutal imitation of Praeto/Sarzonian hazing rituals, every one of the newer recruits that couldn't defend him/herself was beaten and violated... the wrong way...

Think happier thoughts.... she thought. There were none. Only thoughts of blood, fire, misery and chaos danced around in her head. That and the guy behind her was grabbing her ass.

Just try to stay calm until you can become that evil non-com again... she thought.

As Josp was forced to his feet by the man, who yanked him by his throat, he contemplated revenge, but decided the best revenge would have to be postponed for now. He rubbed his throat, before passing throught the medical in-processing.

After he was deemed fit enought he went to the equipment annex, where he got the various sunderies that the Generian Command deemed necessary for the new recruits to have.

As they travelled to the barracks, he put the rank, bulky overcoat on to help deal with the heat, or lack there off. As the man that Josp thought initially was the drill sargent, he stood to attention, or at least a crude version of it.

As the man, who turned out to be far above a drill sargent ranted at them, he made a vow that he would be one of those who finished, come hell and highwater. As they were told to sleep he took the cap, gloves, pants and shirts and stuffed them into the backpack. He then laid the blanket on the floor, and laid down, using the heavy overcoat as a blanket. He looked at the other people who where in the barracks, and wondered what they made of the situation.

Samantha listened to the man's speech before he left.

Being that she was in such a confined space with so many people, Samantha decided it would be too hot to put all of the issed clothes on. Instead she laid them on the floor in a big comfy pile and laid down in her undergarments.

The moment Tanis left the room the tension began to drop and Norman let out a small sign. His original thoughts that this was a bad idea were now confirmed, but again he had no other choice. The words Tanis said has sunk deeply into his mind, he knew he may have to 'eliminate' some of his fellow legionniares in order to obtain a high rank. He didn't feel a need to kill them, just a need to humilate them or weaken them to a point where the Generians would kill them. He decided the best idea was to get some sleep, he figured the Generians wouldn't be too gracious in the hours he'd be permitted to sleep.

With that he sat down on his bed and glanced around the room once more, he made sure he knew all the people and where they were. He then fully got into bed and closed his eyes, yet his ears stayed wide open for a long time to ensure none of his 'comrades' got any funny ideas.

Chris stayed standing. He grabbed his bag, which held his "civilian clothes" and his personnal sidearm, a HP-43 "Warlock", a 10mm heavy pistol that could put a round through a inch of solid steel.

He managed to coerce an officer beforehand to allow him to keep the weapon, so long as he kept it without any ammo. He leaned against the bed and began to disassemble and clean it, humming some old rock song from his homeland. Unknown to his Generian superiors, he had kept a single clip of ammo. It held 10 rounds and was shielded from the elements in a tight plastic case. He kept that deep within his bag as he began to reassemble the gun. Once reassembled, he balanced it on his index finger and twrilled it.

A pair of soldiers who had remained in the barrack to watch over the recruits spotted Chris cleaning the pistol, and moved quickly over to him. Training their rifles, they shouted for him to hand it over or be shot.

A pair of soldiers who had remained in the barrack to watch over the recruits spotted Chris cleaning the pistol, and moved quickly over to him. Training their rifles, they shouted for him to hand it over or be shot.

Chris said back:

"Don't worry, it's not loaded and the camp armorer has my ammo. I'm just keeping sharp with it."

"It's the rules. Hand it over or be shot. Last chance."

"It's the rules. Hand it over or be shot. Last chance."

"Before I do, am I allowed to use this as my weapon in training?"

"You'll get weapons when we give you weapons, and then you'll only use those weapons. You won't see a gun for the next six months. Now give it up."

Josp watched the troops deal with the man who'd smuggled a gun into the camp. He winced slightly at hearing that it was no guns for six months thought.

((OOC: Brief OOC comment here just for convenience. I forgot to mention that we confiscated all sidearms during the registration process. I'll edit it in now. Don't worry, you'll get them back.))

He grabbed to barrel and handed it over to the soldier.

"Take good care of it."

He grabbed to barrel and handed it over to the soldier.

"Take good care of it."

The MP looked at the fine weapon and smirked before turning and walking away to turn it into the armorer.

A speach from the commanding officer, a barracks full of missfits, and someone already breaking the rules. Nothing new to Enhedu's observation as she pushed her stuff against the wall and sat down. The wooden floor was a comfortable upgrade from the cold granite she had been sleeping on before she came here. An upgrade she welecomed.
So, while the other recruits drifted off to sleep she sat leaning against the wall, taking a look at the others in the room. Men of all shapes and sizes crowded the baren room, probably criminals. The other women in the room were the ones who caught her attention. She had grown up learning outsiders thought women unfit for a military role, and in some cases they might be right.
Not too far away a fragile looking woman laid out almost naked. "She won't make it through the week." Enhedu thought to herself as she continued her looking around. Before she closed her eyes for a light sleep, not wanting to trust the miscreants in the room, she thought again to herself. "She probably won't make it through the night. Such a shame."

Training equipment. Even that was shitty. But the Generians weren't known for their combat electronics, material scientists or love of non-narcotic luxuries.

Shalin didn't even want to think about the food. Pwnage food was the best food in the world, whatever the ethnic tradition. Damnit... speaking of food, she could use a dose of Paella Paella or maybe one of Habib's falafel bean sandwiches right now.... Habib, you greasy fucker, why the hell is your nearest restaurant 18,000 miles away? Just when I'm hungry. Hell, every ship I've ever served on has had a Habib's, but not here. Shalin sat on her rather filthy bed with its painfully coarse sheets and just kept thinking about what was coming up. Maybe it wasn't as comfortable as the well ventilated Pwnage barracks, but there weren't daily rapes and beatings as well. Just some extra pain eating mud, being constantly and getting tired.

But the Generians were harsh taskmasters. They had taken her personal sidearm, an officer's edition L-26 earlier during the day. The gun meant alot to her. After all, it was the gun that had helped her escape MassPwnage, among the many, many it had done for her over the years. It would be 11 months of sheer hell. Commando training all over again. But at least there was any of the brutal atmosphere of hate in the barracks here, no officers and enlisted men hoping to get rich off of the incredibly corrupt and incredibly wealthy Pwnage military machine. Tommorow, she would probably lose her hair. Another instance of hell, getting your head shaved. In this weather.

In the dark, Shalin analyzed her comrades. Most of their faces had a brutally hard edge. They knew adversity. But there was one. Young, lying naked on her bed. She groaned on the inside. Poor thing. Poor, poor thing....

Dressed in a pair of basketball shorts and a blank T-Shirt, Chris began to meditate before going to sleep. He thought of the brothers-in-arms he had left behind, the good buddies he'd been through basic with. He longed for the freedom of a gunship, or the rush of raiding a building. He had heard of the war with Kraven. He wondered if they were on some mission deep in enemy territory, blowing the crap out of some fascists. He sorely wished to be with them. But he had no way back home. It was do or die. He stood up in bed and began rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a necklace, it held a gold eagle with a ring around it, the symbol of Halo Force. He began muttering his unit's battle hymn.

"We are the protectors of freedom, the vanguard of justice. We are the angels of death who bring retirbution on all those who threaten the Union. We will always bring back victory, even from the jaws of defeat. We will never leave a brother behind. We stand together, or fall alone. We are Halo.

Semper Fi.

Semper Fi. Always faithful. Yep.

He put the necklace on and thought about it for a few minutes, the drifted away into a uneasy sleep.

Marcus stood there, at full attention staring forward at the man infront of him. He listened to the officer until he was finished speaking, then, went about inspecting his new gear for the second time. The giant coat he threw aside, finding the weather a bit warm; being a native of the former Arctican Empire which inhabited Antarctica. Looking at the floor which would be his bed, he felt pride as he pictured himself a spartan warrior in the ancient times. Laying down, he watched with amusement the guards confiscate the pistol from the man before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

Sawney............
The direct servants and warriors of the Hannons.........
Hannons........................
Servants of the Empire...............
Sawney.
He shook himself from these thoughts for half a moment before allowing them back. Camel Eaters had been close allies with Generia ever since Uberstock. Uberstock........now that was a time. The closely guarded secret of Sawney genetic memory allowed him to fully know the presences of Uberstock within his own mind. He could smell it. Taste it. Feel it. Oddly Uberstock felt like a pair of rather large female breasts. The world flew by for a moment as he drifted through a few hundred years of history. Battle here, battle there. The rain that ran red from the blood in the sky. Harvest back home in Alabama. The first true Sawneys. That cave was known well enough to him. His own life was far less interesting. He never ate human outside of a festival. Except that one time.........
He'd gotten piss drunk and ran about naked and through the woods until he came to an old Universalist style church. A wake was being prepared for tomorrow and no one was there. He could smell giant tortoises nearby. Always wanted to ride one.......
That corpse had been pretty good actually. So had the bottle and a half of Cragganmore Whisky afore it.

Sleep..........Sleep now child of the Cave. Sleep and know peace for awhile more.

Awake...............awake and find battle to refresh you. Find flesh to apease you. Show yourself for what you are. Lamh Iadir un Uachter. Awake strong hand and find food. You need it to be what you are.........Sawney.

He ignored the usual voice that all Sawneys had. That darkness that made them want to cannibalize. That need to make them rush at an enemy with nothing more than their hands and their Toxin. It was a bit before they'd be awoken. It was a bit before anyone would come. It was a bit before anyone would notice a missing finger or hamstring.

NO! None here. None now. None ever.
He would not eat...............
He would not kill...............not here. Save that for the battlefield.
Save the hunger for battle.........

Sleep......................sleep child of the Cave. Know that soon you will have to eat..........Sawney.

Simus Dolph, wanted in Freudotopia for sixteen different counts of murder, had wandered in extremely inhospitable places during his thirty-eight year life, but he had never experienced cold like that he felt as he approached a metal gate that separated him from his new home.

A guard stepped out of his station and leveled his gun at the shivering killer.

"Halt! State your name and business here."

"Simus Dolph, and I want to join the Foreign Legion. May I?"

"Wait here. I will inform my superiors that a new recruit has arrived. If you really want to get in, you'll stand right there until I get back."

As the soldier was turning away, he caught an unpleasant gleam in Dolph's eyes, something he couldn't quite identify. For some reason, he felt just a little colder, and he had been living here for years.

rp dieing quick?

rp dieing quick?

((OOC: No, I've been too busy for NS. Be patient.))

Gracius smiled as Chris had his weapon removed from it.

Stupid shit

He then looked around the room, trying to get a feel of all the people there.

Some chick that's gonna get raped. That prick who gave me the funny look back at the line, if I ever get a chance I'll need to show him some manners.

He continued looking around taking in people and faces, creating a mental 'album' of all the people in his barracks. Then he rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

He was the first one up. Always happened that way. Always would happen that way. His hands trembled as he gripped the edges of the bed. Everything was spinning and his old body couldn't keep it down this time. Toxin welled up into his bloodstream for no real reason. So much he vomitted it up. So much that his lips turned black for the first time in years. The vomit toxin stank of things that most humans should never know. Of flesh from days gone by. Of savagery. Of general horror at the fact that someone could eat that many sardines.

He felt his heart speed up. It would last longer than most. It always did. His blood coursed with something that felt like iron. Everything was better now. Everything would be better. His mind shut down for a moment more. Something in-human welled up in that moment. Something un-Sawney as well. Something mostly completely forgotten by mammals. The oxygen coursed back into him as he let the tides of longing to return to the ocean subside. Then the cave dweller hit him. He was up. He was fast. He was going all out. Anger he didn't know he had came from everywhere. The sky turned red. The entire place was full of enemies. OUT! HE HAD TO GET OUT! He rushed at the doors with all of his strength. Wood, iron, steel, and bone would fall afore him. He screamed into the dark night and then felt the last remnants of the Toxin empty itself from his stomach......

Ruarc had lost himself..........he gathered his wits and sat down slowly. Vomit was all over his legs but he just sat. His eyes had already adjusted to the night. He wondered how many people he'd awoken. He couldn't move though. Everything was to weak. He tried to crawl back to his bunk but gave up and just lay there. Waiting.......

Chris awoke to the sound of retching.

"What the hell..."

He turned in bed and viewed a man who had vomit all over his legs.

God damn it...

"Hey bro, you feeling alright?"

Josp woke from his light sleep and watched as the man began emptying his stomach. As the stank of bile and rotted foodstuffs reached his nose, he plugged it and just continued watching the two men interact.

The velvet darkness was still thick outside the barrack when the doors were thrown open and a half dozen Generian NCOs poured into the room, shouting violently at the recruits to get up, clothed, and standing at attention. One of the officers discharged a magazine’s worth of ammunition from his pistol into the ceiling.

“Stand to attention you fucking rats!”

As the recruits scrambled to their positions a new face appeared in the doorway, that of the red bearded sergeant. The large man maintained the same uninterested look he had carried when he had first addressed the recruits the previous day. His loud baritone boomed out over the group.

“Today is your first day of training. It is 4 AM Generian Standard Time. You will rise at this hour every day, and assemble in your barrack before beginning a 20 mile run with full gear. From the time you get back until noon you’ll have drills. Following that you’ll run 26 miles without gear. Combat instruction is from the time your return until 6. Generian language instruction is from 6 until 8. Any additional time should be used for eating, resting, or practicing. Get moving.”

The sergeant turned and left the barrack, following which the Generian NCOs began haranguing the men, moving them out the door and into formation.

“Move you foreign scum! If you slow down you’ll be shot! Last man back doesn’t eat today!”

Josp, having slept in his clothing was up and ready quite quickly. The change in temperature, from under the blanket to 'outside' was shocking, as was the firing of the pistol.

As it was, he was one of the first out as he headed out toward formation.

The sound of the door opening had startle Enhedu to her feet, wide awake. The gunshots and men in uniform stirred her to attention. She didn't know what exactly was going on but saw a few men begin leaving the barracks quickly. She quickly followed suit, assembling outside with the others.
I better keep on top of this. She thought to herself as the sleep drifted from her, I have no idea what these Generians fo to stragglers, and it's better I not be the one to find out first.

Ruarc was up and out as soon as his legs began moving. His gear was on him before he left the doorway. He beat his chest a few times and waited for the rest of the rats to be up and out.

"Fucking move! I'll eat the last man out!" He bared his mostly canine teeth and roared. Moving quickly he grabbed Josp by the arm and lifted him high in the air. He screamed and shook him. He beat Josp's chest and tried his best to terrorize him. He threw him in the air and tossed him about like a ragdoll.

He put him down and grinned his Sawney grin. Ruarc then blinked. "Sorry, I did some acid when I was younger."

How the fuck did I get myself into this shit, Lopez thought as he stood at attention. The events that led him to Generia from a starkly different Sarzonia still seemed all too unreal for his blinking eyes still trying to absorb everything he was facing.

Times like this made Lopez realise that being the nephew of both the rising star of the Incorporated Sarzonian Army and the new Commandant of the nation's special forces wasn't going to help Lopez through a military unit that could serve as the Oakland Raiders of world militaries.

Lopez's face clenched slightly and his body stiffened as he stood at attention.

"You sir, are insane, did you know that?" Josp asked as the man, who looked older than his grandfather. As he shook himself, he made a mental note that Acid, as he was now irrevocably known in Stalin's mind, was to be treated like a live wire.

As he shook himself and stood to attention, he wondered what other personal idiosincracies the others would have and be named by.

OOC: Are we supposed to have gear?

ooc: representin' GE here.

MrBlack0: and post OOc in the thread that i meant 20 KM but can't get on to edit right now

Peachy. Then again I expected this, thought Shalin as she got on her heavy gearpack and began running. Running was always an activity Shalin liked. It helped clear her mind.

She heard some of the Generian officers announcing Generian language instruction.

Psh. Like she actually needed that. Generian was widely spoken in MassPwnage of course.... Just like everything else.

Realizing that they'd said to run, he took off, as fast as he could fully loaded, after her, figuring she knew the route or wouldn't be doing the run.

Chris ran lightly, easily ahead of the pack.

Special forces training comes in handy in times like this. The heavy pack did nothing to stop his speedy advance. \

This shouldn't be hard.

The blackness disappeared as Marcus' eyes opened at the sound of the men rushing in. The un-necessary gunfire did a final trick to wake him up fully. Pulling on his pants and shirt quickly, he stepped out and to attention. AFter listening to the man, he pilled out with the rest of the group.

EDIT: This is entirely re-written
OOC: *Waves fist at GE* Damn you! And being on my crappy laptop and angry at other computer, it'll only be somewhat better.

IC: Gracius was a fast man, he knew none faster. As he slowly rolled out of bed he remembered tons and tons of races, of course ending in his victory. He slowly put his clothes on and looked around. He rubbed his hands and blew hot air on them, as a result of Raynounz disease he had pooor circulation and so had to wear gloves to keep his hands warm alot. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small wooden box. He opened to expose two dispayed slick black leather gloves. He had worn them every time he had killed someone for the last ten years, and when his hands were cold. He slid them on and then jumped out the door.

Gracius took off with a burst of speed and then slowed down a tiny bit, he was a master of pace. Soon his pace would bring him past most of the people and put him in the front of the group, and than at the end he would have a burst of speed and pass them all.

OOC: Damn, I lost my big post.

Ill shorten it:
IC: Gracius got up, put on his uber cool black leather gloves he used to kill people to stop the cold from getting to his hands, and then started running at a pace fast enough to past most people ahead and yet slow enough to save energy for the mad dash he always uses at the end to beat everyone.

((OOC: That's a disgraceful post. Edit it or delete it. You're capable of far better.))

OOC: Damn right Tom.

IC:

Ruarc was a Sawney. Sawneys eat people. Most people give out about 5 kilometers into it. But as the old saying goes......On the plains, if you are a lion you have to be faster than the slowest antelope, if antelope then you must be faster than the fastest lion. Either way when you get up running and you go to sleep running and you dream about running and you practice running and you know running like you know your own body. Because if you can't run. Then you won't know your body much longer.

"The whirlwind is in the thorn trees! It's hard for thee to kick against the pricks. Till Armageddon no shalom no shalom. Then the father hen will call his chickens home. The wise men will bow down before the throne. And at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns........when the man comes around."

He knew singing helped. He knew Johnny Cash would genuinely scare a few people. When you were scared you ran faster. So that means.......SING JOHNNY CASH!

"Come on naw! Those who fall behind me will be eaten. I'm sixty-three you buggers! Come on then. Faster! Faster! Goddamnit faster!" He jogged in place and grimaced as the pain in his side overtook him for a moment. Then he was up and out again. Waiting for those soddy little bastards to hurry up and quit slacking.........his hands curled as an icy wind passed through him. His heart had stopped for a second or more. His whole body had tensed up. Goddamn he didn't have long and here he was. No family to speak of. His clan decided he wouldn't be a teacher. The Hannons assigned him to die here. Those bastar........NO! They are our kings. They are right in their judgement. They know better. I am useful here.

"When the man comes around!"

Josp got into the proper pace for the run. As he ran, he shifted the pack into the easiest way to carry it at speed, which was bent over as he ran. As Acid began singing, he scowled, Jonny Cash was a depressing pointless singer.

As it was he gritted his teeth, and just kept running, ignoring the growing fatigue of the weight. He could stay balanced on his fingers for hours, but running was not his bag of tea.

The Generian sergeants ran easily with the columns, shouting at them to move faster, occasionally firing pistols into the air or at the feet of the slowest runner.

"Run you lazy bastards! Run! It's no task at all to keep up with you foreign pissers!"

Josp winced at the sound of gunfire and bent over even more, using the momentum and inertia of his gear to help push him forward. He also picked up the pace, thought his legs and lungs were burning, for different reasons. His legs burned from the stress of the run, and his lungs from the icy cold of the air.

Gracius now led the colums of runners as he started to slow down a tiny bit.

If I get two far ahead those Generians will either reward me or shoot me, better not take the chance.

And so Gracius slowed down enough to run only several feet ahead of the second man.

The gunshots did very little to disturb him. His first instict was to throw his pack off into where the shots came from, jump on the armed man, and wrestle the gun from his hand, then he remembered the guns were held by the sergeants and decided against it.