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So, in light of raising my new IG army, I've decided to post a little story about their origin, and how they came to be. I'll be posting new stuff HOPEFULLY periodically, and feedback/comments/anything positive or constructive is appreciated. Some guidance on terms, items, or anything else that could use clean up, or altering, advice on that would be nice.

Part 1
"War. War never changes."
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Lord Castellan Creed stood upon his podium in the hangar, normally reserved for the battered aircraft supporting the 8th Cadian infantry, but today the air was quiet, there was no noise save the thunderous voice of Creed himself, toned to perfection from the many battles spent bellowing orders to countless Guardsmen in the thick of combat. The vast rank and file amount of troops in the hangar was motionless, and speechless. In the front row sat the Commissars of the Battalion, and next to them, in the corner, stood two eloquently dressed officers, their blue uniforms laden with intricately designed medals and ribbons. Finally, a grizzled, war struck Major sat next to the officers. He had the wrist pads, and artificial eye synonymous with Masters of Ordinance. Lastly, a hardened Sergeant stood next to Creed, undoubtedly his trusty Color Sergeant Kell. After a watchful gaze, Lord Creed spoke.

“You have all served the Imperium well, and have made the God-Emperor proud. He has bestowed His watchful gaze upon you, and has blessed you all for your service. I was once amongst your ranks, a Whiteshield trooper, just as you are now. But faith in the goodwill Emperor has beset me to this path, and so long you remain vigilant, he will bestow fate for your endeavors. He is with us, and He watches over us, serving and protecting us, so long as we shall do the same!”

The few hundred Whiteshields in the hangar all stood at attention, their lasguns slung across their right shoulder, while their left arm held their helmets firmly against their hip, their helmets being the only downtrodden part of their uniform, in contrast to the freshly pressed uniforms, and recently scrubbed flak armor they wore.

“In honor of your service, and the display of exceptional courage under fire, and true heroism in the face of an impending defeat from the forces of Chaos, I am proud to lead your promotion. You are no longer Whiteshields; you are now Guardsmen of the Cadian 8th regiment! We welcome you to our ranks, and hope, for the glory of the God-Emperor, that you make Him proud, and you fight ever vigilant! Fight for His glory, men. Fight for my resolve. But, most of all fight for your humanity, men. The Xeno threats hamper the Imperiums might and it is now your duty, and your responsibility, to protect us, even if it means sacrificing yourself. There are no wasted lives in the guard, so long as your commanders remain competent, there are only lives spent. Make me proud men.”

Lord Creed finished his speech, before saluting the troops, and marching off, with Kell right behind him. Within the infantry ranks, five lowly conscripts marched off through the large, sweeping hangar door. On their way through, they dropped their old, battered helmets with the iconic white stripe in a basin. Around the side of the hangar, engines fired, and moments later, Creeds command convoy was heading out, off to task another battle on some distant front. As they strolled onwards, heading back to their barracks, they all filed into four lines and in each line, they shook a Commissars hand and were then handed a fresh flak helmet, this one however was clean, fresh, and void of any signs of combat. Everything was identical, save the white stripe running down the middle. Once through, the five conscripts met up once more, and headed towards their barracks, waiting for duty. The small squad stopped and leaned against a plascrete barricade. One of the soldiers took a cigar from his pocket, and began to smoke it. One by one, the troops cinched up their helmets straps, and buckled it firmly on their heads. A small, inaudible chirp echoed between the squad from their com units. At once, the squad brought their lasguns to bear, checked mags, adjusted stocks, and calibrated sights as the rumbling treads of a Chimera APC lumbered up to the squad. “You boys the replacements for Gamma Squad, part of Delta Platoon?” spoke the Commander from his perch, heavy stubber pointed aimlessly in the sky. “Yessir,” spoke the troopers in chorus. At once, the APC’s back hatch dropped, and the five troopers climbed inside the cramped quarters. As quickly as it arrived, it strode off, just as Creed had, soldiers to fight in another nameless, never ending fight.

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