Tecca Nina is quite an imposing figure, and through her value to the Imperium and consequent rejuvenat treatment seems much younger than her true age of, by her estimation, 48 years. Tall and slender, she is pale-skinned and in possession of dark hair down to her shoulders, a combination of traits that many men would find highly attractive - were it not for her eye sockets, empty and permanently seared black by the scorching light of the God-Emperor's soul that once coursed through her. For politeness' sake, she tends to cover the hollows with a black blindfold bearing the symbol of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica on its front in pale blue, a neat and tidy covering for a gruesome disfigurement. Additionally, she wears long black robes that cover her body, themselves bearing both the symbol of her Adepta in pale blue on the front, the Imperial Aquila in white on her back, and the Aquila again in white on the hood.

Privately, these items of apparent cloth in fact double as protection from harm. Woven into them is a mesh of thermoplas cells that stiffen when subjected to kinetic energy and heat, dissipating that energy and keeping her safe from harm whilst remaining quite lightweight. Additionally, to those who might somehow think she is easy prey and are not deterred simply for being an astropath, she typicaslly carries on her person some form of pistol and mono-edge sword, evidence of her importance as the master of Lycus Xande's Astropathic Choir and indicators of her own lethality if provoked.

To say Tecca Nina is a severe woman is not exactly incorrect. The life experiences of a psyker once their powers awaken, and especially an astropath, are rarely positive in nature; hers have shaped her into a woman who will not tolerate being made light of by anybody, as in her mind she has gone through too much and come too far in spite of the odds stacked against her to allow such a thing. Consequently, those of higher rank than herself who disrespect her are generally treated with coolness, the bare minimum of civility required and no more, whilst those outright beneath her who do the same will receive naught but passive-aggressive insults, or indeed outright warnings if they go too far - never threats, though, because a threat is uncivil, and implies the possibility that you won't follow through when push comes to shove.

To everyone else, though, she does her best to be helpful, understanding, and occasionally even kind. The God-Emperor's mercy works in strange ways - those who are most harmed are often most belittled, a circumstance she is personally well-aware of, and whilst she does not look back on her past with fondness or indeed grace, it has informed her quite a bit. Thus, she tries to show empathy to those in need, even the rare alien that the Imperium has seen fit to welcome into its fold, albeit tinged with pity and stern recommendations for the many. It is but rarely that this folds to naught but empathy, almost always for her fellow sanctioned psykers such as the choir she now leads, and to them she truly does act graciously, for it is a crushing sort of kindred that they share.

Her relationship with the God-Emperor is... complex. Every psyker soul-bound to Him experiences the process in different ways if they do not die outright, from indescribable sensations to an enlightening discussion with Him. Some even expand their faith as a result, becoming the self-proclaimed Transubstantial Initiates that irk the Ecclesiarchy so. Nina falls into the somewhat broader category of astropaths who merely experience agony, though the sensation was certainly indescribable, and as a consequence she is of two minds. Was it necessary? Certainly; even her particular strategies would not have worked forever. Did it help her? Arguably; having a shard of the Emperor's soul tied to hers has certainly kept it safe from harm. Is she less enthused with Him as a result? Entirely - but then, she can hardly blame the God-Emperor directly. His agents are far more culpable as sinners, after all. To that end, when she does talk about her faith in Him, she tends to keep her statements modest, largely espousing kindness to others as she herself displays, if only to offset but slightly the cruelties both necessary and needless of the Imperium's more questionable servants.

That being said, to the heathen, the heretic, and especially the witch, she of course has nothing but contempt. Even now, coming to terms with a traumatic past has been a cripplingly hard task that often keeps her up until the late hours, but she at least accepts that the sanctioning process and the Soul-Binding that blinded her was a necessity to keep her safe from worse things. They who would avoid either or both, and ultimately they who would act against the God-Emperor Himself, are unworthy of His grace; at best to be directed to the Black Ships, at worst to be eliminated and forgotten, for that is the greatest kindness one can do them. Most xenos also fall into this category, but she is at least able to acknowledge that if her master were to take any on board, there would likely be a good reason for it. The Inquisition does not act lightly, after all.

---

A silent plain filled with twirling, be-ribboned dancers, jigging to an inaudible tune, with a king jigging hardest of all. The Governor of a nearby planet is inviting a friend in another subsector to a ball. It has been misdirected; it is sent on its way.

One minute twenty four seconds pass.

The tide grows. An ineffable green wave of screaming death approaches, and too few spears to repel it. Orks<likely feral> attacking a world, resupply needed. Relayed toward the relevant authorities in the Departmento Munitorum.

Thirty eight seconds pass.

A verdant missile lances into an oversized, cancerous heart. The heart burns away, to be replaced by one of steel and iron, already being aimed at. The Salamanders<Space Marines?> had a successful xeno-cleansing mission, but they're starting to come to blows with the Adeptus Mechanicus, who claim <terminology uncertain>lost technology may be present. Diplomatic support required. Relayed deeper into Imperial Space.

Five minutes seventeen seconds pass. A page is written in her mind on the subject of humanity facing a war against a new, powerful alien species.

No further astropathic messages.

As another astropath relieved her of duty for the time being, she breathed deeply, reconnecting to herself gradually as she traversed the halls of the facility back to her room. She began taking in a touch more detail as she passed through, making herself aware of the minute flaws in the individual plasteel panelling, scrapes and fractional dents, and the way footsteps echoed off of the walls and floor as if those flaws weren't present, and gradually the idea of emotion was remembered. Not that it mattered so much, under the circumstances, for after time spent in the Choir, there was rarely anyone who wished to do anything other than retreat into themselves for a while, just to be alone. And to make sure everything was still there.

Her space was relatively spartan. Furnished well enough, with a bed and a set of drawers for clothing and a shelf of reading material, and Adeptus Astra Telepathica symbology indicating that this was the room of an astro-telepath, but nothing especially personal. There hadn't been time in the Relay, or time before then in fact, to gather possessions unto oneself; even now, Nina had nothing particular in here that she might not replicate within her mind. Writing implements? Why put word to paper, when one had long since mastered the art of generating a novel in one's head? Though she might put in a request for them eventually; she'd started to come up with something she reckoned might be a hit across the Imperium, if she was allowed to publish it herself. Though she'd need people to read it before then to make sure it was properly formatted, and... well, there weren't many who she might ask at all, let alone people who'd be interested anyway.

And on the other hand, she didn't need anyone else to consider the newest trait of hers. In fact, it may be preferable for them to not know, depending on how they'd react. With a sigh, she began to draw just a portion of her psychic power out, projecting it gently across the facility. Where her perception had been limited to the scope of her room before, now every being within a wide berth became a clear marker to her - the astropaths in the Choir shined brightest, whilst the staff maintaining the place were dimmer, and the servitors projected but a spark of self even as they ran their protocols and menial tasks. To do this regularly was to teach herself better and better control, to keep her powers in check just so. The portion of the Emperor's soul within her was hardly going to just let her falter, naturally - but she'd rather not push the limits of His potency. He helped those who helped themselves, as it were... well, even then, she pondered, many never had the ability to. Such was the way of existence for far too many. Could he not spare just a little help for some of those in the Hives, maybe ensure they were-

Somebody was coming toward her room. She didn't know this soul, it glimmered differently. Immediately, she shut her power off, brushing down her robe and preparing to receive the inevitable rapping on her door... there it was. Striding smoothly to the doorway, she opened it up to receive her visitor.

'Hail, sir,' she uttered, taking in his details as she offered the Aquila, and received it in kind. Quite well put together, frankly. 'And what brings you to the quarters of a mere astropath?'

'I'd be correct to presume you are Astropath Tecca Nina, then?' His voice was not so much unemotional as uninflected, and the fact he knew her name already implied either the authority to find her by name, or intentional following her to learn it in advance.

'...I am, sir,' she nodded. Best to assume the former for now - as suspicion confirmed when the man pulled an unassuming brown wallet from his pocket, and opened it to reveal a sigil she'd been privy to many a time as a Relay, even if in this circumstance it implied follower rather than leader. She knew what it was...

'Excellent. You've been requested by Inquisitor Lycus Xande. He expects us to return within ten minutes; you should have time to gather anything you require.'

...but what it meant for her was a little unbelievable. An Inquisitor? Beneath her blindfold, Nina frowned. Was he for real? Did he expect her to... well. He certainly looked the part. And he had the rosette, after all...

But, she imagined she may not have a choice, even if she tried to refuse. Just like so many other events in her life. She could at least put on a brave face for this one.

'Of course, sir. I've nothing to gather, so shall we off?' she offered with a smile as genuine as she could provide, stepping out and closing the door behind her. 'I wouldn't want to keep an Inquisitor waiting, after all.' And she suspected she wouldn't see the inside of that room again, one way or another.

Name: Sister Julianna
Age: 24
Gender: Female

Appearance, history and personality:

Julianna is quite tall for a woman – almost 184 centimetres with a muscular build, mostly owing to her rigorous training and budding life as a Sister of Battle. When clad in her power armour, she can look quite intimidating. Her hair is coloured white. She has scars all over her body from training and battles. She has always been shy and introverted, but behind her calm exterior, she has a deep pool of hatred for any Xenos.

Sister Julianna has survived harsh training from a Schola Progenium, and she views those who don’t give their best in adversary liabilities. She has doubts about her faith, but usually keeps them to herself, although some of her sisters have taken notice of her absent-minded prayers. She tends to see the world morally in black and white colours with no grey shades in between. To her, Imperium offers security and a way to avenge her family.

The Order of the Fiery Thorn has in recent times lent its support for the different branches of the Inquisition. One of their members was heard of taking part in a purging of a hive city, but reports are still fragmented and compiling a definite account on the operation is still under way for the Order’s archives. The Sisters of Battle at large rarely lend their support for the Ordo Xeno – often fighting the Xenos by themselves or in cooperation with other imperial regular forces. However, cooperation between imperial forces is paramount, but the Order of the Fiery Thorn is an exception from the many Orders. The Order mostly specialises in close combat, wielding chainswords, powerswords and boltpistols to great effect, but a minority of them specialise in using ranged weapons to provide fire support for their Sister on a battlefield, although they too must learn how to fight with powerswords and chainswords. All Sisters are expected to excel in close quarters combat and CQC training is an integral part of their training.

Sister Julianna has not seen a great many of battles in her life yet. She started her life on a remote agri-world of Pannonia Secundus, where the world was devastated by a great warband of Orks. The planet never recovered from countless battles between imperial forces and Ork bands. The planet eventually was obliterated, when an Ork-rigged asteroid collided with the planet. She was barely a teenager when the “Skyfall” happened. Julianna has many happy memories from growing up on Pannonia Secundus, which the training at the Schola Progenium did not wholly burn away with relentless training. Sometimes, she wishes that she could return to the life she once had but enacting a vengeance on any Xeno is distilled to her mind sharply. Suffer not a Xeno, a heretic or a mutant to live.

Julianna, a child of former Imperial Guard officers, was inducted into a Schola Progenium after some of the civilian population had been evacuated and resettled to other worlds. Her parents were left to fight against the Orks, and later reported killed in action after the asteroid was dropped on the planet. She also has a little brother, but as part of the Imperial Guard and the distances involved, they are rarely messaging each other.

Julianna was drilled and trained to become a Sister of Battle, showing enough fanaticism and religious zeal in her training. Julianna was inducted to the Order of the Fiery Thorn only a couple years ago, and she has been mostly training and getting used to the power armour and the weaponry of the Order.

Why Sister Julianna was given for Inquisition’s service? What made her skills valuable? Sister Julianna, in her own eyes, sees herself as quite ordinary Sister of Battle, but according to her superiors, she lacks a certain sense of religious commitment to the God-Emperor. She prays for her sins and the God-Emperor’s guidance and attends sermons and masses, but to her superiors her attitude appeared as if she didn’t have her whole heart behind the cause.

Someone might find her lack of faith disturbing from a Sister, but as the Order of the Flaming Rose has done cooperation with the Inquisition, perhaps her skills and training could be utilized by the Ordo Xeno to protect an Inquisitor from external threats and act as their muscle. Her superiors have recommended her to serve the Inquisition for the time being. After all, Sister Julianna has a deep-rooted hatred for any Xeno lifeforms, after witnessing her home world succumb to the Ork menace.

Equipment:

- Sisters of Battle Power Armour: A scaled down version of a “proper” power armour worn by the Adeptus Astartes, it still enhances the strength and mobility of the wearer and offer superior protection against small arms fire. While Sister Julianna lacks the enhancements of an Astartes, she has trained for few years wearing the armour.

- Sabbat Pattern Helmet: The standard helmet for the Order, providing visual aids in bright and low-light conditions, a rangefinder and infrared visualization. Offers life support in contaminated areas when used with the power armour.

- Godwyn-De’az Pattern Bolter: The standard bolter for the Orders Militant of the Sisters.

- Combat Knife of the Order: Every member of the Order has the right to carry a combat knife on their person. It is emblazoned with carvings depicting roses. Every member is issued one when they are initiated after they pledge their vows to the Order

Skills/Attributes

- Close quarters combat: Sister Julianna has trained to master fighting in close quarters, unarmed or with a chainsword. While clearly still not an expert, her training and power armour provide an edge over most human-sized foes.

- Markswomanship: Sister Julianna has trained to use the most common types of weapons of the Imperium, becoming a decent shot with most of them.

- A Spartan Training: Julianna has gone periods of bitter and harsh training to become a Sister – she has a short temper for weakness in battle and carelessness, even if she might appear shy and introverted. The day you stop training is the day you die, she believes.

Sister Julianna hurried through the corridors and tunnels of the sanctuary. Her squad had finished their training for the day, and Julianna had been called to meet the Commandery’s leading sister, the fierce Canoness Commander Cornelia. Cornelia hated if someone was tardy, and Sister Julianna had no intentions of letting her down. She had something important to tell her specifically.

The sanctuary had been built on hallowed ground on moon Scylla of a gas giant Thracian IV, it’s gravity close to the Holy Terra. A saint had been killed and martyred on the spot hundreds of their years ago, before the Order had been founded. Saint Victoria had fought off several waves of Orks while the Imperial Guard maneuvered against the Greenskins. Victoria had bought the land for the Imperium with her blood. The Guard smashed through the Ork lines, breaking their back.

Victoria, in the end, could not see the victory; the Orks had slain her, but not before dozens of them falling down. Or so the story told. History and myth often intertwined and grew in the telling. Saint Victoria’s powersword the Furious Rose had been awarded to the Order and passed down from Sister to Sister who deserved it.

The moon had been settled thousands of years ago for mining the gas giant’s atmosphere. Nowadays, it boasted small cities and a convent of the Order of the Fiery Thorn to train new Sisters and mediate and worship the God-Emperor. The moon was heavily wooded with high highs and fells dotting the landscape. New sisters would be hiking and running the hills and fells during their training and in penance for whatever sins they had acquired. One of the trails, Victoria’s Gauntlet, had been named after a saint, who hailed from Scylla and made her stand against an unrelenting horde of Orks.

There still were Orks on the moon, but they were largely feral and hunted for sport and training nowadays. A place rarely could not ever be truly free of Orks once they made their precense known, as they spawned more Orks as they were felled. Sister Julianna still remembered hunting her first Ork down on her own. It was a straggler, but still as large and strong as a hardened veteran of a Guard regiment. It had not been an easy hunt for her, but she had prevailed.

Sister Julianna passed more corridors and tunnels, decorated with statues, mosaics and altars. She had changed her power armour for her robes after the day’s training, her combat knife on her hip. Her hair had been whitened, as she still was one of the novices of the Order. It was a tradition for the Order. The novices’ hair was whitened until they had proven their worth in the service of the God-Emperor, and Sister Julianna had barely two years under her belt in the Order.

Sister Julianna finally made her way to the door of Cornelia’s chamber. Most sisters lived in shared chambers, sleeping, praying, eating and training together. Senior Sisters had their own private chambers. Cornelia led one of the commanderies on Scylla. She was approaching middle age, but she was as formidable fighter as any younger Sister. Cornelia had led the commandery with distinction in many campaigns, and Julianna would follow her into hell and highwater.

Just in time, Sister Julianna thought. She knocked at the wooden door. It was carved with an Imperial Aquila, and soon after, a voice called her in “Wait in the antechamber”, the voice added. Sisters were rarely invited beyond the antechamber. An empty antechamber greeted her. The antechamber was as bare bones as most other rooms in the sanctuary. There was mosaics depicting Saint Victoria’s birth, life and last stand on the walls, and a chairs. Sister Julianna gazed at the mosaics. She had studied Victoria’s life on countless nights. Her sacrifice inspired Julianna. She died protecting others and killing vile Xenos. Julianna desired vengeance for a life, a family and a home lost.

Cornelia’s voice woke Julianna from her thoughts. “Sister Julianna, you are finally here” she said. “I am sure you are thinking why you are here.” It was not a question, Julianna knew. She turned towards Cornelia. She was leanly muscular, with sharp features and dark hair. Her posture and voice echoed authority.

“I have not pondered it”, Julianna said. Do not assume, for it is dangerous. A mantra had been drilled into her thinking by a Drill Abbess early on. Observe, calculate, and act. Assumptions cloud you thinking and hinder your actions. “Assumptions can delude your thinking.”

Commander Cornelia weighed her words and presence. “Very well”, she replied after few seconds. “I will then go the heart of the matter. I have been given reports of you by Sister Superior Iona the Elder, among others. It appears you have been… absent minded of late in service. How is your faith, Sister?” she asked bluntly, her eyes again weighing her again.

This does not bode well, Sister Julianna thought herself. She weighed how to answer. She had had doubts of her faith for quite some time, but she could not uphold the façade forever, could she? Better to confess now than to hold guilt longer. “I have been thinking many things lately”, Julianna replied. “My faith has been wavering, as I believe my prayers have not been answered by the God-Emperor. I have not gained insights or visions of wisdom from Him.”

“I see. And this worries you”, Cornelia said. She shifted her posture, crossing her arms and moving closer. “We all have our doubts and wavers, but we must hold strong and believe in His blessings. One must be patient when worshipping the Emperor.”

“I have not been anything but patient for a decade, Commander Cornelia” Julianna said. “I have waited to avenge my life and family.”

“Your life – what you had before – is over. Your life now belongs to the God-Emperor. Your family now is the Sisterhood. Most of your Sisters have had similar tales to you” Cornelia sad to her in her usual stern voice. “But only you have been reported in my tenure in many years. Someone else might reprimand you and order a penance march through the Victoria’s Gauntlet, but you have also been lauded with praise in training” Cornelia pointed and gazed at the mosaics. Julianna’s eyes followed. “How well do you know the tale of Saint Victoria?”

“It is one of the first things I learned when I joined the Order, before learning the prayers and hymns and sermons. It was told vividly and in detail.”

“Would it surprise if I told you that Victoria had doubts? She travelled far and wide, searching for answers and purpose. She finally became a Sister, just like us. At the end, Saint Victoria had her prayers answered by the Emperor. She had prayed to protect others, to die so others could live in her stead.”

Sister Julianna had been thoroughly lectured on Saint Victoria’s life. She knew all of this. “What does it have to do with me, Commander?” she asked.

“We all serve the Emperor, one way or the another. Our Order finds a way to protect others from whatever horrors the galaxy throws at us. Our Order has cooperated with the Inquisition as far as I know, and they have been asked for a new Sister to assist of their Inquisitor of the Ordo Xeno. I believe it would suit you talents… and taste for vengeance for your family in another life. The Order will be attaching you to the Inquisition for the time being. You will be sent off tomorrow morning.”

Sister Julianna pondered it a second. She did not have a choice in the matter, it appeared, but it would carry her towards revenge ad helped to safe keep other planets from the same fate as her home world Pannonia Secundus and her family. “I will do it gladly, Commander, if it helps the Imperium.”

Name: Gustave 'Goose' Boucher

Age: 28

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance:
Goose stands roughly 178 centimeters tall and has a rather muscular build considering his diet. His hair is a dark brown hue, is slightly curly, and is cut similarly to a crew cut. His eyes are a honey brown and his face bears a beard that's well due for a trim. Numerous scars are littered across his pale body, but the most notable of which is his left arm. Completely replaced from the shoulder downward with bionics after a rather close encounter a handful of years ago. He is also missing his left pinky toe.

His clothes consist of his standard-issue uniform of the 78th Bristonian Hellhounds as well as segments of carapace armor. Said uniform consists of flame retardant greatcoat and slacks that are colored a dark navy blue. The boots are a dark brown color and are steel-toed. His carapace armor seen better days but it still does a bang-up job of keeping Goose alive well enough. The symbol of his former regiment and rank are displayed on the left and right shoulder plates respectively. The helmet completely covers Goose's head and looks akin to a modernized Roman legionnaire helmet with a full faceplate that somewhat protects his face from injury. The lenses in the eye holes are tinted to reduce eye damage from prolonged exposure to very bright light sources.

His signature weapons consist of a Bristonian pattern hand flamer and a dark blue chainsword with crimson stripes zigzagging to resemble fangs. He also has the standard-issue bayonet as his fallback weapon.

Personality:
Polite professionalism is what best describes Goose's overall personality as is. He has been through hell and back and it shows. Calm and collected, even in the face of danger, it takes but the worst of situations to warrant any significant reaction from him. Though rare, there are times when he gets irritated to the point that he lets his hive ganger origins show.

History:
Goose wasn't always what he is now. Before he was just some punk in a nondescript Hive City on the planet Briston, ready to kill anyone for looking at him the wrong way. He was known to deliberately cut off limbs of his opponents without mercy using a crude cleaver like sword. His gruesome manner of dispatching his foes earned him the moniker 'Goose the Butcher' among his peers and rival gangs alike. He soon climbed the ranks of his gang and it did not take him long to attain the position of being their top enforcer. And with him as their spearhead, the gang itself expanded their territories exponentially.

In this world, might was right and they were the most powerful present.

Life was good until the chaos cults messed everything up by instigating a lesser chaos incursion in the middle of the lower hive. He and his gang were having none of it, this was their turf and they were not letting some cultists wrest away their hard-earned prize. The PDF took their sweet time in arriving at the scene. As when they did, the majority of the lower hive was in a state of all-out war, and over half of his gang were already dead. The PDF fell too and they had to wait until the local guard regiment to save their asses. A little too late considering that nearly a hundred thousand were dead and the cult was close to making a big enough portal to bring in an all-out invasion. The Bristonian Hellhounds quelled the problem in a span of a month. Goose was in awe. To him, these boys in blue were the toughest and strongest 'gang' that ever set foot in his city. He knew one thing from that day onward. He wanted to be a part of that 'gang', thus leading him to the nearest recruiting center and joining up with the newly formed 78th battalion.

There he was hammered and beaten down to what the imperium needed him to be. Not some violent hive ganger scum, but a proper guardsman of the imperium of man. Gone was 'Goose the Butcher', there was only Recruit Gustave Boucher of the 78th Bristonian Hellhounds. He was only a boy at the time, but he soon was shipped out to fight on a world he didn't know, for people he didn't care for, against foes he couldn't even imagine. Two campaigns against Orks and Chaos, a torn limb, and a whole battalion worth of lives later had broken Gustave. Making him a cynical and aloof man.

Then came a missive declaring that due to his performance, he was selected to become part of the retinue accompanying an Inquisitor.

Skills:

• Expert Melee Combatant: Goose is an expert in melee combat. May it be with a weapon or not, he will be more than capable of standing on his own in a fight. Even before his formal training as a guardsman, he was a force to be reckoned with in his hive ganger days. Usually uses it when given the opportunity to flank and surprise enemy positions and when inside enclosed combat areas.
• Decent Shot: As a guardsman, he is expected to be at least proficient with a lasgun. True enough, he is a decent shot with a lasgun, but don't expect him to be making any trick shots with one.
• Quick On His Feet: 'The best way not to die is to keep moving in combat.' Those were the words his instructor had told him time after time Goose was beaten in combat training. He took those words into heart and ensured that while fighting, he keeps on mobile and his foes on their toes.
• Intimidating Presence: One nasty look from him is usually enough to get people to shut up and listen. He is a hardened veteran and a notorious ganger enforcer before that. If he wants you to listen, you will listen.

Equipment:

• Basic Guardsman's Kit
• Standard Issue Bayonet
• Standard Issue Laspistol
• Hand Flamer Prometheum Cannisters
• Chainsword Power Cells
• Laspistol Power Packs
• Spare Chainsword Chain

Miscellaneous:
Absolutely hates fighting near saltwater and sand. Once said elements get into his bionics, it causes malfunctions and immense pain.
Favored food is any kind of food that has good taste.
Collects small mementos from interesting experiences/people/places.

"Hey, Sarge. How long did command say til we leave this skad pit? I mean we already wiped out all the xenos here." Trooper Vilona asked while kicking over a headless gretchin corpse with a look of distaste on her face as it rolled down the stairs and into to the lower level. All the while, Goose simply observed the rest of the squad piling up the orknoid corpses outside to be burned. "...Not like I'm speaking out against orders but we've been here for nearly a day. Don't you think we'd be more useful somewhere else?" She asked the still silent Sargeant. After a few more moments he lets out a sigh and turns to face the overly eager guardswoman. "If xenos were to take a strategic position under our control, what do you think we should do next, Trooper Vilona?" Taken aback by the sudden question, the guard in question scratched the back of her head and gave her honest opinion. Well...obviously gather a force and take it back from their filthy hands. "Exactly. The xenos are bound to make a counter-attack soon to try and take this position back." This raised concern within the once gung ho guardswoman. With good reason, they only consisted of 10 Hellhounds plus the Sargeant. They wouldn't stand a chance! "Throne's golden plates! We'll be wiped out!" Goose only raised an eyebrow. "Who said it would only be us?"

As if on cue, a pair of Taurox APCs plowed through a pile of rubble and destroyed road wheelers from the east road and made a beeline to the residential hab block junction Goose and his squad had secured. The wheels of the transport vehicles screeched to a halt as soon as they reached the front of the residential building Goose was. As soon as the Hellhounds saw the lion insignia, there was a unanimous groan as they realized that command had sent the Leonin Highborn to support them against the inevitable ork counter-attack. To make matters worse in their perspective, the vox broadcasters atop the vehicles began to blare out the Leonin's planetary anthem as the guardsmen proper exited their vehicles and did their routine 'parade' around the perimeter of the area before finally toning down the music and positioning themselves properly in front of the Hellhounds and proclaiming in unison. "Praise the Emperor's name for you miserable mongrels have been graced by none other than the 15th Leonin Highborn!" They then perform a perfectly synchronized salute. Goose rubs his temple as he could already feel his blood pressure rising. "Sarge. I changed my mind. I think we can fight the orks alone. Please, just not them..." Trooper Vilona says whilst covering her face out of disbelief. "I'm sorry, but orders are for them to help us keep this position. But let's look on the bright side. Who knows, maybe they'll die honorably when the attack comes?" Goose says semi-sarcastically before heading down to meet their reinforcements.

The Leonin Highborns, as obnoxious and insufferable as they may be, were the best shots by a long shot when compared to the other regiments present on the planet. Despite their mutual distaste for one another, their roles simply synergized too well for command to ignore. "The xenos-" Goose was interrupted by a glove slapping him across his mouth as the Leonian speaks. "Let your betters speak first, mongrel." Goose's mechanical arm whined audibly as he did his best from braining his 'better' with his prosthetic. The rest of the Hellhounds looked at one another, confused and at a loss to what to do in response to the open disrespect. Though as the noise of the whining servos and motors faded away, they knew that the Sargeant had gotten his temper, and the situation, under control. "Oh good, the mongrel leader knows how to listen. I am Lieutenant Crispin DeSalvo, commander of squad three and four of the 15th Leonian Highborns. You are quite lucky that command deemed your insignificant unit worthy of our attention. Now that I've spoken, you have my permission to speak." Goose forced himself to thank the asshat before reporting that he and his team managed to take out the ork defenders with the help of the element of surprise. Before explaining when and where he expected the counter-attack to originate from.

The Highborn nodded in understanding before commanding his troopers to take vantage points in the surrounding buildings. He ordered others to man the gatlingcannons on mounted on their Taurox APCs and have orders to riddle holes into any and everything that was a shade of green and was moving. "Sargeant? I do hope you plan on getting ready. We don't want your incompetence dragging the Highborn's good name in the mud now do we?" If Goose didn't have the patience of a saint, he'd have dragged HIM through the mud. That and the sanction, and likely summary execution he'd face if he were to do so. He'd like to believe he chose the moral high ground when he swallowed his pride once again and simply instructed his squad to take care of any of the stragglers that manage to break through their defense.

And just as expected, the xenos came back to retaliate with a significant force. Over two dozen Slugga Boyz. A dozen Shoota Boyz. Six Burna Boyz. And a damnable looted Leman Russ tank converted to have a catapult of some sort in place of the main turret. A mek boy cackled madly as it launched the first attack, sending one of his gretchin assistants into their position. Normally, this would have been a great disadvantage for the little goblinoid, but there was something that gave it a deadly advantage.

The ludicrous amount of rokkits haphazardly bolted into its little frail body.

The massive ball of fire that ensued instantly claimed the lives of two Leonins and a Hellhound. The Leonin Highborns wasted no time and returned fire. Managing to cut down two-scores of the charging orks before they had to refocus on the other Boyz and the exploding grot launching tank. That left a little over a dozen Slugga Boyz for Goose and his Hellhounds to deal with. The orks in question didn't even try aiming while shooting at them with their sluggas, opting just to enjoy the feel and noise it made as it launched death at supersonic speeds indiscriminately.

One boy even accidentally shot the one in front of it, displaying that despite the poor accuracy, it was still enough to blast apart an ork's skull wide open. It cackled as he stepped over the corpse of its former comrade.

The rest of the Hellhounds had readied themselves to meet the force with laspistols and serrated sabers in hand. Luckily, they were better shots than the orks; landing hits on their centers of mass. Unluckily for them, the hulking green xenos took severe punishment better than anything else. Even at maximum power output, there simply was too much flesh for the laser to vaporize and within moments the xenos had come into melee range. A wild swing of a choppa easily bisected another Hellhound before a lucky shot evaporated the vile creature's skull in one hit. Things were looking grim for the remaining Hellhounds as the Slugga Boyz began to swarm at them. That is until a gout of burning promethium shot out from Goose's hand flamer as he waved it across the mob. Dousing at least half of the charging orks in nigh inextinguishable holy flame. The flames successfully halted the charge. And from the intense flames and acrid smoke of burning ork corpses lept forth the Hellhounds. The hounds made short work of the dazed orks with what Goose taught them. Lopping off hands and fingers to prevent any further attacks and hewing the tendons and major muscle groups of the legs to prevent any chance of escape.

The Leonin Highborns did their fair share of the work as well. Vaporizing the heads of distant ork and Shootas from nearly thirty meters away with pinpoint accuracy with their laslock rifles. The weapons of both their Taurox APCs made swiss cheese of the Burna Boyz who got too close for comfort. Though despite their best efforts, over a score of them were dead from either a Shoota getting a lucky hit, burned alive by a Burna Boy that managed to get too close, or was unfortunate enough to be caught within a gretchin explosion.

Goose didn't need the command to realize that their allies were having difficulty dealing with the grot-a-pult tank and took initiative to help them. While the orks were distracted by the Leonins, the Hellhounds maneuvered around the ork's position and flanked them. While the rest of his team went for the remaining Shoota Boyz, Goose went for the grot-a-pult tank and the mekboy. Just as he swung his chainsword, the mek tossed one of his assistants to block the blade. The small humanoid managed to do its job and save the mek, leading to Goose getting punched and knocked off the tank and flat on the ground. Discombobulated, Goose only managed to roll away before the tank tracked over where he once laid. The mek cursed something in orkish before trying to realign the tank to run over the human. Goose had other plans.

Grabbing a spare canister of promethium, he tosses the canister at the tank and firing his hand flamer as soon as the tank's track ran over the canister and taking cover. A massive ball of flame engulfed the tank and crashed into the side of a residential building. Half a dozen gretchin fell off and ran around as the flames ate away at their flesh. The mek, however, was only halfway out of the tank before the stowed rokkits and stikkbombs detonated. Sending bits and pieces of ork and metal across the street.

---

"I suppose I do owe you a gesture of gratitude..." Lieutenant Crispin said with disinterest and distaste in his voice. "No need. The fact that we 'mongrels' helped your asses is a reward in its own right." The Highborn only sneered at Goose. Crispin would never admit it but he was thankful for what Goose did for his team. Though he wished that the Sargeant would wipe the smug look off his stupid face.

After they had repelled the counter-attack force, they reported back to command who gave them orders to hold their position and set up a forward base while the main army moved up to meet them. Though the guard would only repel the ork Waaaagh! a year later, this was a major victory in Goose's book.

Name: Lazarus Germael

Age: 45

Gender: Male

Race: Human

Appearance: Lazarus is a fairly average specimen of a healthy middle-aged human male. He keeps relatively physically fit, with an average weight of 80kg, and although he by no means towers over anyone, his 195 centimeter height still gives him a considerably tall look.

His face is rather bony and well-defined, with his chin coming to a narrow end, and his nose a fine point. He keeps himself clean shaven as much as possible, and his greying head of hair neatly cropped and trimmed. His face is framed by a pair of necessary reading spectacles, which are specifically designed with one-way reflective lenses, which Lazarus prefers because they stop patients from distracting him with "incessant blathering and distracting eye contact" in his own words.

His eyes, when rarely seen, are a cold steel in color, bearing little of the spark or twinkle of life and energy. Instead they seem almost calculating in nature, constantly jumping from subject to subject, always observing everything they can.

In terms of apparel, he regularly wears the uniform of an Imperial Navy First Lieutenant, the traditional white and blue coat and trousers, with a high pair of black jackboots, and the official insignia denoting him as both a First Lieutenant and an officiated Chirurgeon. When practicing medicae in a proper facility, he traditionally wears either a white longcoat commonly associated with medicae professionals, or sanitized surgical garments when performing extensive procedures.

As someone lacking in combat expertise, he does not traditionally carry much in the way of armaments, keeping on hand a single stub automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. However, to make up for his lack of combat experience, he packs it with the vicious Manstopper bullets, to provide extra firepower in a pinch.

Personality: Lazarus is best described as stern, asocial, and calculating in nature. He shows the most warmth and personality when discussing the fields of medicae and biologis, but even then he shows a grim, almost grotesque fascination with the subjects.

Despite his distaste for talk outside his subjects of study, Lazarus feels great concern and care for those he treats for injury or illness, stopping at nothing to aid them to the best of his ability. However, should a patient of his pass, his cold demeanour returns, and he won't hesitate to use the fresh corpse for research or spare bodily objects or fluids.

When it comes to the stringent rules of the Imperial Creed, Lazarus only pays them as much heed as necessary, pushing the limits of decency and courtesy to the God-Emperor when he can. The Xenos and the Mutant bother him not with their presence, their biological and anatomical structure utterly fascinating to him.

History: Lazarus Germael is the fourth of seven sons born to Sigmund Germael, the patriarch of a minor nobility household on Scintilla. The Germael family lineage had always operated on the rule that the first son was to be heir, the second to join the Administratum, the third to join the Guard, and the fourth to join the Navy. Thus, Lazarus's career was defined for him at birth. While being groomed and schooled for the Imperial Naval Officer's Academy, Lazarus quickly found his fascination with medical and anatomical sciences, and his distaste for people. He excelled in scientific classes, but struggled with much of the pomp and circumstance due to one of his class and destined service.

Lazarus would enter the Academy at the age of 16, enrolling in their medicae program, and graduating with full honors and a commission as an Ensign medicae officer aboard the Saint's Chosen, a small frigate serving across the Calixis sector. It was here Lazarus would find the one person he could stand to deal with, a kindred spirit in the Biologis Tech-Priest Obel Gaven.

Working alongside Obel, Lazarus would serve dutifully and honorably for many years, rising through the ranks and chain of command in the medicae department, before eventually securing the position of Chief Chirurgeon and the rank of First Lieutenant.

Despite his cherished years of service, Lazarus had never been content with simply healing the ill, and had sought to put his knowledge to more theoretical purposes. Together with Obel they secretly conducted research and development of disturbing biological, cybernetic, and bionic enhancements to both servants of the vessel and captured prisoners alike.

This series of heretical actions against both the Emperor and the Omnissiah would not go unnoticed, and official action had to be taken. Obel was taken from the vessel and into the custody of the Mechanicus, never to be seen again. Lazarus, however, was taken before the Captain of his vessel, and the other senior staff, and given a choice.

A powerful agency had taken a specialized interest in Lazarus, that of the God-Emperor's own Inquisition. Individuals skilled in biologis and medicae fields weren't exactly the most common outside of specialized organizations within the Imperium and Mechanicus, and any that the willingness to extend the morality associated with their career path were even rarer.

With the only other choice being the barrel of a bolt pistol, Lazarus graciously accepted conscription into the Emperor's own vigilant safeguards against the enemies without: The Ordo Xenos.

Skills: Lazarus is an expert medicae practitioner, and a constant researcher of biological topics and advancements as he comes across them. He also has experience serving as the Chief Chirurgeon aboard a Voidship, and all the trials and tribulations associated with directing the medicae department of one of the Imperium’s starbound fortress-cities.

Thanks to his service alongside a Biologis Tech-Priest in his last assignment for the Imperial Navy proper, his skills with assembling and implanting cybernetics and bionics are profound for one outside the Machine Cult, and it is not uncommon for him to provide patients with enhancements that might be considered Heritek in some circles of Mars and her domains.

Although by no means an expert shot or a professional soldier, Lazarus has survived the occasional firefight with his autopistol, and what he lacks in direct firepower he makes up for with the danger of his preferred Manstopper ammunition and his knowledge of human anatomy.

Equipment: Alongside the aforementioned stub pistol and apparel, Lazarus keeps on hand a diagnosticator for identifying medical issues, a medi-kit for field operations, and a suture set for quickly closing wounds. He also wears a micro-comm in one ear for quick communication across the ship or in the field, and keeps handy a dataslate for computational purposes and other digital tasks.

Miscellaneous: He keeps a personal written journal for cataloging research and procedures that he desires to be kept hidden from anyone but himself. It never leaves his person unless absolutely necessary.