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I'm a guardsman, let's face it, no one really cares where I came from I'll be dead in my first engagement

I am a guardsman of Kharkovia. By my strength, faith, and lineage I have been selected by the Emperor's own hand of providence to serve in His army and fight His foes. It is my honour to take up the m36 lasgun and don the green uniform of my home world. With a red aquila on my helmet and the red star of Kharkovia on my spaulder, I march into what is both my first and final battle with no regrets save one: that I have but one life to give. I walk in the footsteps of all those before me: today I die the death of my father, of my mother, of my sister, of my two older brothers and one younger brother. I die the same death as the other nine members of my squad.

I die screening a basilisk from deep-striking plasma Scions.

Yup.

I'm a piece of poop on Papa Nurgles butt slowly morphing into a nurgling. But then a full grown nurgling picks me up and throw me against the wall to listen the splashy poop hits wall noise.

I am a Skitarii Ranger of Mars, born in a vat below the Red Planet’s vast forges, elevated to soldier of the Omnissiah through my single-minded determination and fortitude. I stalk the dust of countless worlds on steel-forged pistons, killing whoever and whatever my mechanical overlords command me to. I die when a poorly-timed Windows X update freezes me in place and the Titan I’m escorting steps on me, its princeps not having calculated that I would be in its path at that moment due to a minor glitch in the machine’s systems. My death is noted as an anomaly, but one within the expedition’s predicted casualty rates.

I am Bonesinger Allunadril, following the Path of the Seer.

I love to mend and create, to sing the song of souls and the tune of times past. I recall many paths, but none have left me with such a calm and quiet mind.

The few times I am asked to sing a suit of armor from the world, hum a farseer's helm into being, or wail a wraithlord from the womb of it's crypt, I feel the old fear. War, it's machines and the paths that follow it, call in an eerie ballad to my soul. Times past, when the fires of Fuegan's Kin burned in my soul.

Iyaden is in unrest, the Great Devourer is here. Fire and Death are everywhere. Each day, each hour, each second, I craft new weapons of war. The call for the souls of the departed to take up arms is ever greater, and my voice hews blade and gun from the bone. Soldiers of the living world march, brought to life by my people's death.

I can only imagine that my own will come at the shrill shrieks of these monsters.

I am menial laborer Theta-Gamma 102, toiling in the cavernous guts of a smog-riddled Forgeworld. My sole responsibility consists of turning a series of dials whose function I do not understand and for a purpose I do not know. I live in the same cramped space where I work, performing exactly this one job once per day. Occasionally I receive food and water from a chute in the ceiling.

I have not seen another human in thirty years. I doubt I will see one tomorrow.

It is getting harder to breathe these days.

One afternoon my lungs suddenly refuse to work, and I begin to suffocate. Before my death, I wind the dials one last time so I may please my god who I do not fully understand my devotion towards. I collapse and die on the floor.

I am found two weeks labor by a techpriest who came to accost me for slacking on my duties.

I am Shas'vre Bor'kan Zer'gsmas'her, and my weapon of war is an XV109 Y'vahra Battlesuit. I fight for Bor'kan Sept, the T'au Empire, and the Greater Good. My Ionic Discharge Cannon brings energized death to the enemies of the Empire, and my Phased Flamer burns any foe who dares to encroach in my battle space. Thanks to certain upgrades provided by my Sept's Earth Caste engineers, my weapons have a much longer lethal range than the suit's original designers dreamed of. I always bring along a swarm of MV2 Shield Drones to protect my battlesuit from attack, but with my maneuverability, I can usually get out of trouble quicker than I got into it.

Except for my last mission. The Gue'ronsha brought in a new breed of warriors, armed with a new variety of their crude, unstable plasma weapons. By their green armor, I would guess they were from the Dar'kangels Sept, or whatever those perverse creatures call their Septs. In any case, I was surrounded and cut off from my drone support. I took repeated hits from plasma weapons that were apparently even deadlier than usual for those weapons. A specialty of these Dar'kangels, I remember from an intelligence briefing long ago. My shields flickered and died and my armor was struggling even to stand, but with one final defiant tap of the stimulant injector icon on my console, I managed to burn a number of those creatures down in the name of the Greater Good, before my battlesuit finally succumbed to enemy fire and self-destructed to prevent capture.

Now I'm just a name on a wall somewhere on the Bor'kan Sept homeworld. Just one more servant of the Tau'va, the Greater Good, whose duty is now done.

I am Trooper #724A I served with the 131st Assault Bridage attached to the 7th Krieg Division. A strategic planet had turned from the light of the Emperor. We, along with 8 other regiments were sent there to investigate and see if the claims were true. We where to be thier Judge, Jury and Executioner. When the verdic was found and the guild placed, we deployed.

The 131th was tasked with taking the Gates of the Governor's own capital city. So that's where we fought. For 32 months the The defenders of the HiveCity felt out wrath. Battlelines changed, territory was taken, then lost them taken again. It was a beautiful war, a great war. But our objective remained un-obtained, the gate was unbreached.

The final assault was declared. Colonel. 2b committed the entire 131th Assault Brigade to the charge. We would take the gate or die. Our guns shelled the defenders for 7 hours before the assault. Then the signal was given. As a whole, 131th pushed across 5 miles of no-mans land. The Brigade never made it.

Like the masses before me, and those that followed, I was cut down. Left in a crater to die. But I was selfish, as I lost consciousness I clung to life. I was awoken by someone pulling on my body. I opened my eyes to realise my rebreather had been removed. Starring down at me was a skull faced mask with deep black eyes. He wore the rank of Quartermaster. Without a second thought he unbelted his laspistol and aimed it at my head. He spoke a simple phrase, a phrase that rang in my ears until his laspistol silenced it.

He said "The Emperor Forgives you"

I am Kekk the Gretchin. I carry ammo for a group of Nobz. I dodge their kicks and mutter spiteful insults under my breath as they mock me. I follow them towards the battle and realize we're boarding a Trukk. It is painted RED. I am super excited!

We race towards the foe. We fill the air with dakka, delirium, dust, and curses. Our ruckus draws attention and a lascannon is trained to our trajectory. The lascannon fires, the Trukk explodes, and the force of the blast launches me skyward.

I fly through the air. I see the battle raging beneath me... guns blazing, combatants consumed by conflict, vehicles being vaporized... It's awesome! It's the greatest visual I've ever seen. I've never felt like this before. Is this ecstasy? How can anything compare to this feeling?! This is incredible! This is the best day of my life!! I love everything about this mome-

I smash against a defensive structure [splat], the impact kills me instantly.

I'm a Kabalite Warrior of the Kabal of the Poisoned Tongue, except I never get to use splinter weaponry. I'm the lone Blaster wielder on a venom. It is rather embarrassing to carry a blaster when all my friends carry poison, in the Kabal that cares about poison no less. I decide one day to see what all the fuss is about and shot myself in the foot with a splinter pistol... turns out I'm allergic!

Now... I'M a WrACk WItH FOUr aRMS AnD a DesIRE tO DIE agaiN!