The grand cathedral had been abuzz with energy since the Lamenters had landed. Of course that is always the case when the Astartes arrive at worlds like this but when it had become clear that not all would be able to be evacuated in time it sent many into a panic. The Ecclesiarchy did its part in cowing the masses but the damage had been done, many of the citizens were despondent and hopeless. However a great deal became emboldened, refusing to roll over and die on their backs. These volunteer soldiers did whatever they could to aid the PDF, gave up their vehicles, dug trenches, extended their skills be them medical, engineering, or labor, and promised to aid personally in the coming battle. The last vow will be tested soon enough but as it stood they had the fire of Guardsman in their hearts and that is all that the Emperor requires of them. 

Deep within the grand cathedral sat Petra Tantillus, Chaplain of The Lamenters. The abandonment of his fellow Astartes had set him into a deep melancholy, how simple superstition could one from their duty was beyond him. The room was as quiet as the grave, having finished sanctification of his arms and armor long ago. All that was left for the Chaplain was his thoughts. The coming battle was going to be hard fought, terrible, and with little glory. Petra could feel it in the very core of his being, it was if the Emperor himself had gifted him with the grim intuition. In the end it mattered not, resolving himself Petra began the process of arming himself. Each piece of armor was treated with the outmost care as it was put into place, with every plate came a litany and a promise. Eventually all that remained was the Skull Helm, a symbol of mortality and the Emperor's great sacrifice during the Hearsay. With a last hymn he placed it upon his helm and left the confines of his dark quarters.

The sky was heavy, much like the mood of many of his brothers. The Lamenters may be free of the Red Thirst but in its place was left a deep melancholy that could easily trap one from their duty. From the alcove normally reserved for the priests of the Ecclesiarchy Petra gazed upon his brothers. To a normal man they worked with speed and efficiency beyond what they could manage, but he knew. They were hurting, the abandonment of the Mortificators had been a large blow to morale and it would destroy them. With the assistance of a Servitor Petra was patched into the Vox speakers, spreading his message throughout the Cathedral.

[i]"Brother Marines, the great enemy is at our doorstep. They would try to take, drag it into the Warp where their foul sorceries would corrupt the very ground we tread. I say no. They will not have this planet. The Mortificators have abandoned not only us but their duty as Space Marines, this dishonor will stain them until the end of time but it will not ruin us. We stayed while others ran, the 9th Crusade will not find a world they can raze for their dark gods. They will find the might of the Imperium, the fires of our hearts, the bight of our blades, and the fury of our blades! My brothers, the Emperor is with us this day, for all days, we will send these Heretics screaming back to the Warp for Holy Terra, for the Primarch, and For the Emperor!"[/i]

There was no outcry from the marines, no great hurrah, but the morale was restored and the melancholy banished. With a stoic gaze Petra appraised the marines before him and was filled with pride. Turning away he marched out in search of the Tech-Marine Ferrum Unguis, he would need his overseeing of sanctifying what little they had against chaos.