SomeChap

Valiant Heroes, Vile Heresies [Warhammer 40,000 Death Watch]

Librarian Artenius was largely impassive to all the gallantry and zealotry that was going on about the kill team, he knew too well the fragility and erstwhile fragments of happiness that even the most verdant of emotions could bring. No, the soul is tempered by the unwavering march of steel, not by the weak temptations and corruptions of the flesh that emotions ended up becoming. Instinctively, Artenius lightly flexed his mechanical arm before allowing it to become relaxed once again. He muttered a short prayer of thanks to both the Emperor and to his Primarch, whom in his falling blessed his sons with the knowledge that the flesh was, in all ways, weak.

“The Son of Russ shou-...” Brother Artenius began, though his gaze was soon transfixed by the sight of the mentioned Space Wolf cracking open his brother's skull and consuming the brain within like it was some manner of barbaric delicacy. “By the Throne...” the Librarian spoke, though he knew too well that all Astartes could consume cranial matter the sheer thought of those contained memories constantly shrieking about the mind was...disturbing, to say the very least.

Shaking off his revulsion, Artenus began once more. “While the Son of Russ scouts ahead of us, we should form a tactical formation and retain a swift movement speed. Nothing overly complicated, and remain sparse in our grouping, these Xenos have immense firepower.”

He paused a moment, allowing himself a moment of pondering. “No doubt the arrival of the heretics will cause one of two outcomes. Either our target will flee like the dogged coward he is, or he shall stay and try to fight against the coming storm... Neither is ideal, as such haste is advised here.” The librarian spoke with what seemed to be great wisdom for someone who hadn't actually held command rank in all his hundred year plus of service.

“Brother Bacara should remain in the second rank, where his heavy weapons may serve more useful to us – it is vital he does not get bogged down by the grind of melee., as always. Brother apothecary, you shall remain also in the second rank, your medical talents are far too useful to simply waste due to random luck on the enemy's part. Besides, you carry the sacred lifeblood of the gene-seed, that alone may not be allowed to fall by any means. Brother Fellwalker, you are to serve alongside me in the front, as such it is your duty to ensure that foes are no permitted access to those brothers who talents are at distance.”

Grim Darkness, Only War, You Know The Drill.

Turuk tried his hardest to enter the bunker last, or at least during a time when he could actually get in there properly. The idea of being in a relatively small bunker was diminished, however, as the readily available windows made it somewhat more bearable than normal. He crawled his way through the tiny doorway, being rather careful despite his massive size and general bulk. The presence of both the local commissar and his comrade made the process easier, probably for the best.

When inside the bunker, the Ogryn resorted to kneeling with his weapon at ease. The gargantuan shotgun was clutched in a meaty fist like it was nothing larger nor heavier than a common club while his even larger great weapon was casually slung over his back in a careless manner. Turuk paid immense attention to the commander, he recognised instantly that the man must be important judging purely by the collection of shiny metal bits that was pinned to his clothing. With effort, Turuk saluted without sound. He looked almost proud to be addressed by someone so important, given that Ogryns rarely got the time of day from normal humans as it was...

Tuur had a somewhat easier time entering the building, entering before his Ogryn accomplice and gently guiding the larger soldier into the bunker with a practised set of instructions. The guardsman stood to attention not so much out of fear or training, but more because he deducted that the commander was probably the same as the other officers – stuck up show offs that lacked any sort of common sense save that which money or hereditary privilege could buy. “Sir!” He spoke loudly and clearly, suppressing his natural accent in such a way that made him sound almost, understandable., almost.

Turuk wasn't fazed in the least when the mechanical man, the tech-priest, showed up. The Ogryn simply nodded in his general direction without caring so much – his time in the sapper regiments was enough to tell him that his own instincts about construction were “gud 'nuff.” No fancy man in robes would tell him otherwise, mostly because the people like that often used words too large to even be fathomed by Turuk.

Tuur wasn't as kind, snickering at the priest like he was some sort of circus attraction, but he was...displeased, by the tech priest's easy dismissal of the new gunner. “And w'hat are you gonna be doin' in a foight? Usin' yer ego like a bleedin' war'ammer?” Tuur wasn't most amused but just gave up as it were. He most certainly didn't like the Mechanicus.

hey everyone.

My Hider

Valiant Heroes, Vile Heresies [Warhammer 40,000 Death Watch]

Honestly, it's fine. I know that it's quite a task to find something to really write about in all that.

hey everyone.

My Hider

hey everyone.

hey everyone.

hey everyone.

hey everyone.

My Hider

hey everyone.