Eisenhorn

The Emperor's Duty: A Warhammer 40K RP

Skitarii of Explorator Fleet Delta Gamma 13-1121

Faction Name: Skitarii of Explorator Fleet Delta Gamma 13-1121

Force Name: Delta Gamma Mandible 13-1121-Epsilon

Leader Name: Magos Eldarian Null

Leader Bio:
Born into a relatively minor forge world, one that effectively mimicked the Priesthood of Mars itself, Eldarin Null was the scion of two Tech Priest Enginseers that were assigned to the local system Guard. Sent back to the forge world to be raised and inducted into the Cult Mechanicus proper, the young man received his earliest augmentations at his coming of age, willingly undergoing augmentation and modification for the glory of the Machine God. He would be assigned a place in the new Explorator fleet, filling one of countless minor, menial roles, providing one of many cogs within the perfectly functioning machine of the greater fleet.

Starting as a field Tech Priest, helping set up positions and assisting the Skitarii under orders from his superiors, Eldarian would make his way up the ranks through the discovery and aquisition of forgotten materials and artifacts, questionable in origin as far as those outside the Explorator Fleet would have been concerned. It was for their well being, then, that they had no idea what the Fleet and Tech Priest would dig up. Continuing to increase in augmentations, having surpassed the point of being over half machine after a few years of service, his discoveries and service would earn him a, at a glance, begruding elevation to Magos once it reached the point where less than 10% of his body was flesh.

The newly minted Magos was, despite his rank, still one to deploy on the surface alongside the Skitarii and other lesser forces. This suited both his superiors well, acting as a liason between the Explorator Fleet and any Imperial forces, nominally allies, operating in the same theater as well. More pragmatically, Magos Null had all the makings of a Magos Explorator, much like his direct superior, and was borderline obsessed with discovering and refinding lost STCs and operating in the frontier. While, of course, Xenotech was forbidden to duplicate, study of it to possibly glean divine inspiration from the Omnissiah on its true, proper form, at the superior hands of the Adeptus Mechanicus, was another matter completely.

Operating as one of several Magos that would be deployed to the field when operating in coordination with other Imperial forces, the Explorator Fleet would find itself being hailed by one Inquisitor Hera in the Yunnalin system. Normally, the Magos Explorator would have feigned ignorance and departed as quickly as possible, however, logically that was inefficient. Firstly, they would likely be still in the system and thus held accountable for ignoring the hails. Secondly, conflict with a local Inquisitor would prove tedious at best and, so, a compromise would be made. The Magos Explorator did not deem the situation worth full deployment, nor even sending of Sicarian troops. Instead, Magos Null was tasked with analyzing and selecting 10 Skitarii Alphas, upgrading one to Alpha Primus, and taking them alongside a supporting Mechancius escort craft to answer the Inquisitorial call for aid.

Magos Null would personally respond to the hail, informing the Inquisitor that Mechanicus Skitarii were being dispatched to assist. During the response, he was already requisitioning the necessary Ranger Alphas and personally upgrading the Alpha Primus, RT-A-221, before boarding the designated escort craft and departing for Yunnalin V. The vessel would arrive and deploy the Skitarii Ranger Alpha squad alongside the Magos himself, heading for the surface in, at least at a glance, open compliance with the authority wielded by the Inquisitor and the organization she was part of and represented. There was low statistical odds, but the Ranger Alpha squad would comb for archaeotech or other technological prizes, to at least gather some net gain out of the venture.

Direct Superior: Magos Explorator Davian Scelder

Troop Count:
x9 Skitarii Ranger Alphas
x1 Skitarii Ranger Alpha Primus

Armaments:x
x10 Arc Pistols
x7 Power Swords
x2 Taser Goads
x1 Arc Maul (RT-A-221)

Extraordinary Troops:
+ Skitarii Alphas - Normally assigned to squads of Skitarii, the unique nature of the request for aid by Inquisitor Hera required an alternate approach. Divine Inspiration from the Machine God dictated that a ten man Squad of such Alphas be equipped and sent as a formal offer of assistance from the Explorator Fleet that was in range of the Inquisitorial call for forces. With access and programming to wield all arms their Tech Priest masters could need them to wield, and with a level of intelligence and autonomy above the rank and file Rangers, they provide a flexible, hard hitting, and uncompromising force.

+ RT-A-221 - The Alpha Primarus of the Ranger Squad, next only to the Magos, issued with a Phosphor Blast Pistol and Arc Maul as weapons while the rest of the squad wielded long arms normally issued to Skitarii Rangers. Authorized and upgraded with more means of autonomous leadership, allowing for better interaction and integration of the Ranger Alpha squad with joint operations.

+ Magos Eldarian Null - The Magos in charge of field operations for the Mechanicus presence during the operation. Just under 10% flesh, rendering him unnaturally durable, capable of shrugging off punishment most flesh and blood individuals would fail to resist. Rarely deployed into direct combat operations, operating as a command official from the bunker, guiding the Skitarii Alphas through RT-A-221. Still better equipped and augmented than the Ranger Alphas.

Extraordinary Equipment:
+ Enhanced Data-Tether - Issued to RT-A-221, this enhances and amplifies the orders issued by their Magos, providing clarity and blessed intent of the Machine God, spoken through their Magos when acting from command level.

+ Omnispex - Also issued to RT-A-221, providing a superior, masterfully built version of the auspex to the squad. It has been installed as a optical implant in the lead Skitarii Alpha, further blessing RT-A-221 in the eyes of the Machine God.

+ Magus Null Equipment: Phosphor Serpenta, Omnissian Axe, Mechandrites, All organs replaced and have backup systems, Servo-Skull, built in sub dermal armor, all relevant bionics for a Magos.

Why Were They Selected:
The Explorator Fleet could not ignore the summons of the Inquisition, nor did they see the mission as worthy of committing great amounts of resources. The solution was decided that Ranger Alphas would be deployed and, as a show that it couldn't immediately be declared little more than some menial token gesture, the Magos Null was tasked with leading the Skitarr Alpha expedition to Yunnalin V. Not wanting to waste more valuable Sicarian troops, and the fact Skitarii Vanguards were calculated to be of detrimental value to the request for forces, Ranger Alphas were the most logical, effective response to be mustered.

Relationships:

- With Inquisitor Hera
+ "Inconclusive. Reputation is known to the Magos Explorator, and distrust is mutual. However, call for aid is not able to be dismissed. Inquisition will receive Skitarii aid for duration of operations, no longer."

- With the Adeptus Arbites
+ "Free thinking menials enforcing the rules of the Imperium. Little interaction, mild obstruction when engaging in technological reclamation. Must be analyzed and judged for further preparations."

- With the Adepta Sororitas
+ "Fanatics. High level of collateral damage, difficult to reason with or apply logic to. Keep in dark of any ulterior motives, minimize non necessary contact."

- With the Adeptus Tempestus
+ "Superior to Astra Militarium regulars, inferior to Skitarii regulars. Positive joint operations retrieved from data logs, utilize to full extent of possibility."

- With the Assassins
+ "No contact with, records outdated. Useful for single target elimination, and specialized operations Sicarian pattern troops would be deployed for. Maintain cordial relations should they be present."

- With the Astra Militarum
+ "Rank and file of the Imperium of Man. Tech Priest Enginseer aid must be rendered on a routine basis to ensure due respect and reverence to the Machine Spirits of their issued equipment. Necessary for expendable assets. Utilize as seen fit."

- With the Skitarii
+ "There is no truth in flesh, only betrayal."
"There is no strength in flesh, only weakness."
"There is no constancy in flesh, only decay."
"There is no certainty in flesh but death."

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

Ansgar was growing steadily more irritated the more the damage reports scrolled across the diagnostic tools. The bridge would need the ship to be effectively docked to even begin salvage efforts to make room for the repairs. Between that, and the fact that there were several sensor lines that had burnt out, he would have to repair those as well. Nothing that would prevent them from departing once the Captain was done babysitting whatever newcomers they were dealing with. As well as sorting out casualties, which was unfortunate but something he had to worry about later. He wasn't injured, surprisingly, at least not that he was aware of, so he could focus on in flight repairs while they were moving. Sure enough, the comm buzzed and the captain was asking about whether they could get moving or not.

"Anything that moving would disrupt I can't repair while we aren't docked. We can move whenever suits you, Boss, hope this port has a good docking setup, and you lot like the people at this port. These repairs will take a hot minute." Cutting the commm off again so he could focus, he pocketed the diagnostic tools and started ripping panels off the walls at seemingly random, watching his surroundings since they had complete unknowns on board, stopping whatever he was doing whenever persons that weren't part of the crew wandered by, glaring at them, almost like he was willing them to get a move on so he could get back to work. While working he would be muttering under his breath, cursing as well, as he started rewiring and scrapping the parts that were ruined. It was a starting point, getting the sensor lines back online, but it would keep him busy.

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

The hatch to the engine room would grind open, a thoroughly pissed off looking Ansgar striding out with a sense of intense purpose, the hatch sealing itself behind him, a red light indicating only the Captain or Ansgar could override and unlock it again. The man was carrying his tools in one hand, and tapping the deck, wall, and ceiling plates seemingly at random, listening intently and sporadically tapping again to try and listen. He was tracing power and utility lines, and seemingly always pulled open a covering that would belch smoke of varying colors, curses and responses being thrown back as the man dug in and began implementing repairs, and if anyone dared to block his path he'd tell them off and drag the plate they were, likely unwittingly, blocking. His path would meander at seeming random, only making sense to Ansgar since, well, he was the one who ended up effectively rewiring and resetting the entire ship's systems to allow for things like the backup bridge and controls back in the engine room.

His mutterings, meanderings, and patchwork repairs would eventually lead him up to the bridge where Ansgar had to, in medical terms, triage the ship and focus on what could be readily kept up and running. Now that they weren't completely fucked, he could begin planning and prepping the area for potential void repair work. He hated the shit, but it was often the only effective means of undergoing repairs and refits of this scale. Plugging tools into a wall panel, he began running diagnostics while making mental notes, muttering and plotting how he would even void proof the space again, let alone get it up and running as a bridge again with the time he had on hand. A lot of sleepless nights ahead, he'd better be getting a damned good pay raise. "Fuck, might be easier to just cut the entire old bridge out and replace it from scratch, the damage is absurd..."

Unheroic: The Backwards Castle

Walker was silent as Kaath went about responding with something bordering on excitement. The man glanced at Ruby as she broke out what looked like first aid supplies and seemed dead set on cleaning up his shoulder. He had better things to do than argue or fight over it, so he silently assented to her ministrations, shrugging off the cloak and pulling his arm free of the sleeve to expose his wounded shoulder. What was exposed was a patchwork of scars of varying sorts, the usual assortment of puncture, slashes, even burns, though this was probably nothing new for someone who dealt with would be heroes and adventurers. Cocking an eyebrow at her at the muttered praise, he redressed his shoulder and arm with little waiting nor fiddling about with the far more expertly done work. His normal approach was grab something suitably strong in alcohol content, take a swig, then rinse out the wound before crudely binding it. He could tell her stitchwork was a damn sight better than his usual approach, so he would leave it be.

"Deft hands, you've probably stitched up quite a number of people if I had to hazard the guess." The man didn't address the remark on having 'done great' according to the murmured remark. He was starting to get a rough picture of what to expect, skill wise, from this woman, doubly so when she went about studying the nightmare oil that she'd acquired. She'd have fit right in among the scholars and mage quarter of Istvargraad, and he honestly wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or insult. Depended on the week, he supposed. Still, with that, Kaath chimed up again, first asking two questions as to who was with them, and if anyone had been lost. The ranger captain, well, former ranger captain chimed in and answered those two questions before the other two could say something stupid.

"Just us meddlesome humans three, and in spite of efforts to the contrary, seems all of us made it. At least in physical body." As he answered, Walker fished out his lucky pipe, weighing it in his hand and huffing, going about cleaning the pipe since they had time to actually sit. He'd not given it a proper cleaning in awhile, and while no amount of effort would restore the former engravings and clean ivory, it was far better in craftsmanship and quality than someone of his standing would have. Still, since he didn't fish for a pinch of tobacco, he was at least cognizant of the fact smoking in here would be rude. Or he simply couldn't since it was needing cleaned out. It kept his hands busy while he evenly met Kaath's gaze, listening as she rattled off those that had come before them. Fantastical races, including those extinct or, perhaps, having never existed outside stories, including the fates of the Kites that had taken more barbaric sounding individuals.

"Luck or a by product of our rather lacking numbers. Maybe both. Given what you've said thus far, a guide to this 'Bruise' will be useful. Desperation is an old friend, I suppose, so no small shock to find it in the heart of the Kite's puppet master." The string, in a very metaphorical term, was linked to one of the first freed. Given their numbers, that was probably the gypsy looking one, as he'd woken up before the seamstress and then they ran afoul of Keepa. An unpleasant fight by all accounts, and a reminder that he was going to need something a lot more hefty than an arming sword, knife, and a crossbow. Satisfied with the cleaning efforts on the pipe so far, well, he went about mostly holding it and considering the situation at hand. He'd eaten his share of the fish before being tended to medically, so he had to keep his hands from being idle. Nothing good came of it.

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Sergeant Rojack was fairly uncomfortable, by all accounts. Travailing the black skies between worlds was always unsettling, especially when passing into, well, he didn't have a good word for it in the Father's tongue. But it shortened passage between places, he'd heard others refer to it as the Warp, and he supposed that was as close of a word as he would get. Still, the worst of it was always setting off into, and back from, the black skies. Violent, shuddering, and thoroughly alien to anything that the feral worlder could have ever imagined before departing his home. It was something he never got used to, and he had to do his level best to keep a straight, even face as they descended into the oncoming fire. What was interesting to the man was how others had handled this so far.

The masked one, a Krieg Man as he was told, muttered grim prayers to the, he assumed, Father as a response to the one having said something about here we go again. The one that spoke in such a thick manner that he went completely understood also replied something in return, lost between the sounds of flak and anti sky fire, and the descending sky ship. Lastly was the Captain singing and then telling off the Krieg Man about not marching simply off to death. Blind death wishes didn't make sense to the Sergeant, but he didn't question it either. Different tribes had different beliefs, but this was their new tribe, so new traditions had to be respected. It seemed this tribe leader, the Captain, was not having any of that death seeking attitude.

"Aye m'um, though sooner we're off this sky ship, the better." Rojack was worried about this whole 'command squad' thing that was being talked about. He was hoping that didn't mean sitting in some far speaker hut, staring at the fighting while the Captain barked orders into the far speakers. He suspected that the woman was not that sort of officer, given the explanation of their task, one couldn't really do that thing from a far speaker hut. Not effectively, at any rate, but there was only one way to find out. Find out and that meant sitting here, waiting for the sky ship to actually land so they could actually go about their job in the Father's name. So he mostly listened and waited, trying to quell the nerves over being stuck in a metal box loosely hurtling to the ground to disgorge its cargo.

Unheroic: The Backwards Castle

Walker focused on recovering from the rather jarring series of events leading up to this while the other two went about insisting on offending their host, half closing his eyes and quietly sighing in response. Unintentional or no, was it really so hard to watch what one said? Tracking what was said and not chiming in until silence settled in, at least briefly, the man forced himself upright to accept the fish and consider what was said and going on. Plague surgeon had probably burnt himself out on mana, and given his limited understanding of mages, well, they were lucky they'd not just been torn apart by the onrush of forces pooling into the new, empty void. Given that hadn't happened, it probably worked differently here. Still, the odds were, given that he had not even stirred yet, he was a lost cause. Shame, that reality warping capability was useful, if completely disconcerting. He could also feel the mental lockbox he threw stress into straining to the brim, near a complete nervous breakdown given all the foreign, new, and, by all of his known standards, impossible things in such a short period of time. Several thing stuck in his mind, and as he moved to the fire to accept fish, a staple of Istvargrad diets, he would process while speaking.

"If the plague surgeon is completely burnt out of mana, we're obscenely lucky to have survived the incident. What interests me is the Kites, plural. How many times has this happened before us? A bunch of lost lambs, on the run from our mutual, well, bastard of an acquaintance, being dumped in a shrine belonging to a unique and, you have my gratitude for this, hospitable individual, only to be escorted to, what I assume to be, a relatively safe establishment in spite of unknown dangers in the woods..." Walker was thinking along far too many lines of thinking at the moment, in an effort to avoid glossing over details in the face of the overload of information going on right now. The gypsy was going about meditating and doing...strange mage tricks to attempt and fix her mental issues. He doubted it would work, she'd been far too quick to assume them enemies, even taking that Keepa puke in mind. Someone to keep a close eye on, though he wouldn't say as such. No, best to keep that on the down low until loyalties can be ascertained either way. Her questions after aiding the plague surgeon reminded him of the almost panicked focus when she learned he was inert, and he chimed in between bites.

"If these so called strings of his are cut, as none of us held them to my knowledge, I doubt there's anything to be done for it, doubly so being completely burnt out as it has been said. He got us this far, at least this one did, and if he isn't showing any signs of recovery by the time its time to leave, well, we can't be lugging around a corpse for numerous practical reasons." It was cold, sure, but Walker was in no condition to be carrying anyone, and more importantly, temperament since hauling that gypsy had only gotten a hostage situation and rather meek thanks. Beyond that, if there were numerous versions of this Kite doing this, there was bound to be more information and, possibly concerningly, the chance to run into another, less willing to help version of this plague surgeon. He doubted the others would be pleased to hear him putting things as he was, but there was not much to be done for it, so needs must. Once they were ready, they could ill afford to wait around for someone who may never wake up again.

Unheroic: The Backwards Castle

Walker couldn't necessarily claim surprise when gypsy woke up, grabbing the formally dressed one, and barking some madness about having been left behind, allying with some nightmare, and the subsequent back and forth between her and her current hostage. Frankly, Walker was too bloody tired for this, but he still forced himself up to his feet, though he didn't do anything brash like charge forward, try to disarm, or otherwise risk some sort of murder happening. He had not, literally, hauled her ass all this way just to have her murder another person that could be of use to him. "Yes, you have the long and short of it. Different places indeed..."

Once Kaath had said her piece, and mentioned how that puke of Keepa's had likely tilted and befuddled gypsy's mind, and considered the situation at hand. Considering what had been said, and given the nightmare visions that she had experienced, his tone was surprisingly even, and one with sharp eyes for the sort of thing could see he had, once again, locked down and begun damage control, putting off his own for later. "As unpleasant as those waking nightmares sound, humor me and consider the following. Do any of us look like we've the skill or ability to heal the kind of damage you were forced to imagine? Believe it or not, we all woke up here after the plague surgeon looking one pulled...some sort of stunt while we were fleeing that dumped us here. She was there when I came to, so found us rather than us finding her. Also, would we have bothered bringing that crystal ball of yours along if we only planned to mock and taunt you? I personally hauled you out of there, with your crystal ball as well."

Given her antics, Walker had pragmatic reasons for helping as well as the more easily flaunted heroic ones. Between the accusations and responses from Kaath, who, given his first gut instincts, could butcher them all in a heartbeat, well, last thing he needed was to provoke her enough to step in. "Look at it this way, if we were planning to enslave or otherwise use you as some sort of trophy or toy, why would you be unbound? Especially if she was in on it too? Not saying 'oh, just blind trust', that's madness. How about just sitting down, catching your breath, and taking a minute to think clearly, aye? Before we continue with all this hostage nonsense..."

Warhammer 40k: It's A Wonderful Life! An Imperial Guard (40K) RP

Unlike others present, Sgt. Cestarn was relieved to maintain custody of his old equipment, uniform included, though he still would likely need to restock on munitions and other general supplies, something that he could do once released. The command squad seemed to be an odd mixture of people he'd seen the prior night, and notably their company had received the relative short end of the stick when it came to supplies, since it seemed no one in this part of his new tribe had been given the same garb and kit as the rest of the tribe carried. Still, it seemed they were going to be receiving orders as his new commanding officer turned to face them, and dispatched orders. Forty five minutes, then report to the training yard to assess the present skills. Smart, better to know what each person could do before the next conflict arrived. Or, they arrived at it, but regardless, the Sergeant had his marching orders.

First off, he needed to restock, and a quick run to the kit master would see to that. Since he wasn't angling for new kit, it wasn't hard to resupply, just replacing lost ammo and managing to talk the man into enough basic supplies to last for a reasonable amount of time. Beyond that, he'd have to scavenge, but that was common enough practice for the man. After all, his own current armor and supply of explosives was pretty much salvaged and repainted kit from the dead. Not like any of them needed it anymore, after all, so no sense leaving it about to be wasted or spend Father knows how long wasting away in some storage building before maybe, eventually, ending up reissued to another tribe. Wasteful, so Rojack and others of his old tribe would salvage what they could get their hands on and make good use of it for the Father's sake.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, the Sergeant figured he would head for the training yard early, shake some of the stiffness out of his limbs before everyone else arrived. Wouldn't hurt, and wouldn't do to be flat footed when being tested by a new tribe leader. Upon his arrival he would set his kit within quick reach, before going about stretching and working off any previous stiffness or rust from last night's festivities. Would be poor form to get out of practice so soon, when they were being sent to war in another part of Father's realm. He may not enjoy the sky ships, but he went where called. With that, he'd focus on his drills, mostly in close quarters, demonstrating a mix of well drilled, and the feral savagery, of a tribe world guardsman.

Veritas Lux Mea

Ansgar Staudinger

Once the mechanic was left alone in the engine room, he paused for a few, scant moments to ensure there was no sudden turn around, then wearily leaned against the nearest sturdy piece of machinery that wasn't going to scald him and groaned under his breath. He ached all over, more so where the insulated clothing had been impacted by sparking equipment as it had been breaking down, and he desperately needed this scant few minutes of catching his breath. With a grunt he forced himself back to work, expression resettling to his usual, almost eternally semi irritated look that he had been wearing as of late. With the engines at full stop, he could at least implement some emergency patches and reworking, grumbling under his breath the whole time. First was patching the god forsaken electrical system that had nearly burnt out from that merry hell he'd done to it from the shield emergency, working on live wires was dangerous, but they really couldn't bring them offline right now. Not without risking pirates again.

Making sure he was grounded and properly dressed, Ansgar ducked back under the deckplates with a non conductive set of tools, grumbling and cursing amidst the sounds of sparks and other general indications that both electrical and mechanical systems were not in a good state of repair right now. They would remain functional, but functional and good repair were two completely different things. Anyone coming into the engine room looking for the mechanic would likely have to track the sounds of improvised repairs, cursing, and the like to wherever he was beneath the deck plates of the engine room floor. For the time being, that was the priority, then he would begin working from there. And that didn't even include the necessary repairs and such that would be required for the last leg of getting into port. Once there, then the real sleepless nights would begin.

Unheroic: The Backwards Castle

Whether or not Walker ever dignified the Keepah with a response would be lost to the past as things shifted and faded, throwing them headlong into oblivion. Something that the man would never get used to, never be able to fathom or even grow accustomed to, was this nothingness that happened, beholding the depths that stretched out so far, so impossibly far, the man would give himself a few moments, mentally, to finally freak out. Facing ever grinning monsters, impossible depths, strange visions and concepts cutting reality, this was beyond him to a degree that he could never fathom or even admit, even if he wanted to. Coming to finally, to the familiar smell of cooked fish, and accented voice, and he wheezed as he came to, the ranger captain forcing himself upright just enough to see who was talking. Still...something, and he coughed, falling back onto his back long enough to blink, and take a deep breath. No, no rest for the wicked, he couldn't afford it, there was work to be done.

"Finally, someone who looks halfway reasonable! No rest for the wicked lass, I've got things to do..." Walker rolled off the slab he was on, grunting pain as he hit the ground with absolutely no dignity or ceremony what so ever. His shoulder still had a bolt in it, and he grimaced as he picked himself up, seeing he was the first up and moving, and he grabbed the bolt embedded in his shoulder, closing his eyes and wrenching it loose with a hiss of pain. Panting, he composed himself and stuffed some loose, spare fabric into the wound to keep it from bleeding as he stuffed the bolt back into his quiver. Picking himself up, his stomach screaming complaints and unpleasantness at being jostled so soon, he had to do an inventory. The gypsy, plague surgeon, and ms. fire shooter were all present and not awake yet either, meant he was the first. Great. The one least equipped to handle or fathom what was going on, from what he'd seen at least, was first up and moving. God's spite indeed.

"Right, questions, sure. Pain is enough proof I ain't dead, where in god's spite have we ended up now? I'd say the thing we dealt with was beyond description, but you seem to be rehearsed in all this. Why?" Despite, or perhaps in spite of, the borderline sleep paralysis feeling, Walker was forcing himself to move and act, one step at a time, first, checking on the gypsy. Goop was gone, hopefully that meant whatever in spite's name had her screaming like that was gone too. Last thing he needed was a delusional mad woman with a flaming crystal ball making life difficult. The other two, beyond looking far too still for comfort, had not sustained any overt, attention needing events that he had been aware of, and hopefully would come to on their own. The man was moving deliberately, given the recent events, he had to either do that, or just collapse again, and he wouldn't afford himself that kind of luxury.

"Names Walker, by the by. Only fair I offer my own before asking for your name. Doesn't seem to be any quick way out of here, does it?" The lack of panic or even concern over the horned woman was indicative of his own home, where such traits in those born from Church experiments was not unheard of. Such a degree was rare in and of itself, and the ranger captain had always treated their kind well. Hell, even bailed one of em out of a death sentence at least once, hopefully that karma would come back to repay him at least a little bit. Assuming karma even worked in wherever the hell they were, and it was probably obvious he was forcing himself to stay on his feet, at least for now, until he could ascertain how the others were fairing. Old habits died hard, one would reckon.