Much like the Archmagos' office, the first thing Ramona did as they entered the dojo was sweep her gaze over it for anything of interest. New territory, unknown variables, best to get the lay of the land as quickly as possible and assess what you can. Her gaze lingered, however briefly, on the miniature trees that dotted the area-- life in the underhive had left greenery strange to her, and even decades later she wasn't quite used to it.

"Hm." She took a deep breath as the smell of ozone joined the other myriad stenches in the air as the monks practiced their strange devotion to their strange god, even compared to the rest of the Factory-Cathedral, the air tingling with pent-up energy. Finally, her gaze went to the surely superfluous amount of stairs leading to the innermost part of the dojo, then to the figures visible atop the pagoda. Much as with Vigrid, there was little mistaking the massive Kim for anything but what she was.

"What do you know about Eunicornius?" She glanced towards Vigrid as they began the climb, looking for whatever insight either of them could muster. Sloppiness of the murder scene aside, the Dark Angel wasn't entirely ruled out as the killer just yet, and any edge was welcome in matters such as this.

[Art History]
Lion green
Wolf blue
Fangs, jaws
Loyal two
Forest black
Burning sky
Fool's glory
Eye's eye

In the days of the Great Crusade, when the Dark Angels and Space Wolves were both Legions, there was a terrible argument between Lion'el Johnson and Leman Russ that escalated to a duel to the death. Lion'el, Primarch of the Dark Angels, won the fight - but at the last moment turned aside his blade and spared the life of Leman Russ. A glorious battle, one of the first sagas that every Space Wolf learns - and the beginning of a ten thousand year tradition that whenever the Angels and the Wolves meet again then a formal duel should be conducted between their champions to recreate the great battle of their Primarchs.

Eunicornus knows this too. They do not waste a single word. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, they stand. Robed in ashen white, helmet bearing magnificent wings, golden pauldrons glittering with displays of ancient battles. Get closer, give me a good look, and I will unravel the secrets engraved into their armour [1-point spend].

Ramonia!

You don't get any of that. You just see a transhuman killer in full plate draw a sword the size of your entire body and start coming down the stairs towards you with what is clearly murderous intent. Whatever else you have become in your life, your ancient monkey brain is letting you know that this is the largest, scariest monkey you have ever seen and it means to inflict harm. You're up for a Stability check - you won't embarrass yourself on a failure, but you might miss some things that you otherwise would have picked up on.

Ramona took a step back as the Dark Angel began their descent, the glint of a hidden blade appearing in her hand with a flick of the wrist. This was starting poorly.

Base of the neck; slice the throat, sever the artery, drown them in their own blood. No good-- between that damned collar and the bulk of their helmet, there was barely room to wedge a blade in there. And that left you practically in the sweet embrace of an eight foot tall killing machine.

She preferred words to violence. Words gave you more opportunities, and left fewer dead ends.

Under the arm; find a gap, pierce a lung. Just as bad-- Those pauldrons came down too far, and there was no guarantee she'd make it through all that muscle to anything vital.

But sometimes words weren't an option, or would just give your opponent an opportunity. She didn't shy away from violence, make no mistake. There was a killer buried in there.

Inner thigh; nice juicy arteries in each leg, and tendons to clip to cripple them. The best option out of a bad lot-- she'd need precision to not make it messier and slower than she needed it to be.

Throne, but no one should be able to move that easily in that much armor, carrying a sword like that. The last option was living to fight another day, make a break for the exit and hope she could outrun one of the Emperor's Chosen. But they were supposed to be fast, and even if they didn't have a firearm on them who knows if they'd learned how to throw damned lightning like the rest of these monks.

Her eye flicked to Vigrid, loathe as she was to tear her gaze from the obvious threat. He seemed remarkably calm, given the circumstances.

"What do you know about Eunicornius?"--

"Finally," the great brute breathed, tone full of anticipation, his arms rolling martially in their shoulder cuffs, the chainaxe at his side was already in his massive fists. The look in his cold blue eyes was excitement. Yes, this was the first good development, meeting this Blood Angel, all day. A good distraction from mind games. An ancient tradition to ground him. Emperor, this was exactly what he needed. He rolled his neck, audible cracks echoing as stiffness from looking at clues and craning for cogitators worked its way out of his joints.

There was something about Eunicornus' plate; the display of ancient battles seemed to call to him. As the Space Wolf approached the matter at hand, he concentrated the first few moments of his battle scan on the markings in his duel-mate's armor. Any knowledge of battles won and victories earned could give him more insight into his opponent and their history. [Spend 1 point in Art History]

In the moments before he stepped in front of Ramona, he glanced at her and slightly shook his gargantuan head, the mass of kempt beard
and mustache following. The look in his eye was frighteningly joyous, wide lids and high cheeks expressing emotions the Marine felt. To Ramona it might look psychotic, or it might be encouraging that he wasn't surprised by the development of having another Marine approach them with ill-intent.