"Nature," the tall, robed astartes said while looking at the sky, his smile apparent in his voice. He inhaled deeply, but suddenly his face distorted and he let out a short coughing fit. "Haha, the cold gets to you, eventually, with age."

He smiled down at the EMTs who were exiting one of the makeshift warehouses with him, after a careful inventory check of medical and other emergency supplies. They smiled back, uncomfortably. He was not a doctor, but his experience was just right for planning the best evacuation routes, supply mobilization routes and guidelines, and proper warehouse inventory distribution throughout the area where the forces on Corillia were to make their stand against Chaos. He also knew his presence alone gave these people their spirits back. They were no longer fighting against the inevitable, prolonging a highly volatile and temporary existence just to choose between a fast or a slow death. It gave him great pride to have this part in the upcoming battle, but deep down he wished none of them were here. These battles are best fought as Space Marines versus the Black Legion. Astartes could be fixed, could be saved. He had little to no tools for saving humans.

Which is why he silently resisted cursing the name of the Mortificators as he made his way towards one of the warehouses where his gear was stashed. The death of any human on this planet is on their hands. Directly. They had no real [i]reason[/i] to leave. He couldn't decide if it was cowardice or apathy that could've guided such an action. His glaive, a long-shafted modification used for piercing the armor of large enemies, was meant only to protect the lives of men. What were the Mortificators' swords for?

He felt this melancholy creep into his heart, and forcefully shook it off. The last piece of his armor auto-bolted into place, he gave the glaive a few powerful swings to get the blood flowing while a full systems test was running, then proceeded to manually check his medical gear. It wasn't heavily modified, but heavily personalized, as the Apothecary was a firm believer that the extra time and effort to make everything fit just right was worth the countless hours of comfortable use afterwards. He followed this rule in all aspects of his life.

When he was done, he brushed his fingers through his wavy gray hair before bolting on his left gauntlet. Now comes the truly exciting part. A short walk later, he entered the cathedral, his multi-sensored helmet under his arm and his weapons and medical gear folded on his back and sides. A wide smile stretched his face.