Flying over the Black Arc, seeing nothing requiring his attention, Pholax saw the skies were clear or being dealt with, without needing his support. That was a shame, Pholax was rather enjoying the slaughter of the Xenos.

The shots fired at him were less aimed it seemed and more like the desperate shots of a wounded creature in its death throes hoping to wound or kill its attack. It did nothing more than make it look like an ignoble death as one flails. That is one thing, Pholax hoped he could do when it was his time, die with some grace.

Least Pholax could do was put them out of their misery, and who knows, they might have even got lucky and hit him or one of his brothers' flyers.

Swinging around for another run, Pholax unloaded precise Bolt Rounds into the turrets. Like all things these Xenos made they were weak, their only hope seemed to be speed, the moment they lose that they were made weak and useless.

Seeing the gunners burst as easily as their turrets, Pholax smiled.

Landing onto the Black Arc near the corpse of the Arc's Captain, leaving his jetbike humming, Pholax gathered to Sidon's side. "Do you want this blight sent crashing to the ground? I've still got a full complement of missiles that'd if put in the right spot take down this flying wreck, I reckon."

The word of Minteril filled him with pride as anyone being complimented and praised for their actions would.

"I might take you up on that offer after we've finished clearing out these Xenos, I never realised the thrill of taking to the skies in one of these flyers." Pholax said to Minteril as he bowed slight at the praise.

Sidon's words to Elymas were a mystery to Pholax, he knew the witches could do terrible things, but he'd missed whatever he'd done it sounded like it was something only the horror a witch could do though. He knew there was good reason why other Legions like the Death Guard had a distrust of them, everyone had seen a horrific witch at some point or heard a tale of how they were able to turn others into their puppets and turn them on their own like they were nothing more than tools.

Everyone knew one day they'd have to be limited in their powers, no doubt someone powerful enough could do something terrible, intentional or not that would break open the thinly veiled peace between psykers and non-psykers. If Pholax was to look upon, he'd probably be able to see lines already drawn between brothers, cousins, fathers and sons, but greater things like that were not of Pholax's concern. Besides Fulgim would decide what'd happen to us, we're his sons and as always a father knows best.

"Understood, Sergeant. Looks like you could do with a lift. Unless any of you want to stay on this Rancid Xenos Structure." Pholax practically spitting the last couple of words with venom.

Jendons sword cut through the xenos neck like a knife through butter, Catching the head before it landed on the Ships deck. "Almost perfect needs more work." Jendon said as he looked at the head of his dead opponent, Taking the head and the hat that was nestled on the dark eldars head he attached it to his belt along with the belt satchel that carried the feathers, Another enemy defeated and a trophy this time. One with some work he could actually learn something from and maybe even gain something from beside a nice hat.

Snapping back to reality he was ready for orders as he heard Sidion, Looks like he would have to patch his brothers wounds up after they landed. "Yes sir. I'll have my bike up and flying and ready and 10 seconds." Jendon said already activating his jump pack he would quickly get to his bike and fly to pick up any brother from his squad that needed a lift. "Welcome aboard air Jendon brother, we will be off this xenos coffin in no time flat," Jendon said to his squad mate.

After landing he and another apothecary would be tending to his brothers wound the apothecary leading jendon as they worked on their brothers, Siphoning poisons, Repairing flesh, mending torn sinew and sowing closed entry wounds a step and beat like a ballroom dance or a swordsmen maneuver, they would be done in no time before meeting the captain and sergeant Sidion Receiving praise for a job well done and a humbling from Sidion to not get there heads to high in the sky they still had work to be done on this mission and they didn't need to get too cocky.

It was good to receive praise form there superiors, for a job well done, though they still had another target to eliminate, The head of the snake they had to be fast to help out their brothers who were slogging it on the front lines. Responding to Sidion he looked to him. "Yes, Sir If anyone of us falls I'll be sure to get them back onto there feet, " Jendon said he was certain with a bit more hard work they could do even better than their raid on the Arc. His own hearing picking up on the private conversation between him and Elymas caused him to raise an eyebrow under his armor, He had thought Elymas technique would only affect the dark eldar, But seemingly it was different then he perceived more like a explosion it must of hit all those that were in range, which made him wonder how Elymas controlled it and how dangerous it would be if Jendon was nearby elymas and his own techniques.

From the symptoms, their sergeant was describing it sounded like it had to do with pressure possibly some type of technique with the air? Or maybe even sound was used to cause some type of sonic bubble or noise that caused the effect on the xenos, It made Jendon ponder for a few moments if sonic weaponry was more effective against these creatures if Elymas technique had such a powerful effect, Something he would likely ask Brother Vitaily if he had time if he had heard word of any sonic weapons being used on these xenos and their effectiveness.

<Arkfall>

As the Black Ark begins its stately, inexorable plummet to the surface, Vitaly is thoroughly caught up in the mad rush to extract. Being as he is the only one with a working - albeit barely - jetbike, he finds himself giving one of his brothers a lift to the surface. One that turns somewhat erratic and spluttery as the abused machine coughs, wheezes and farts in protest at the maltreatment it had received during the battle.

<Entry Through the Rear>

As the joint strike force makes an administrative pause at the foot of the waterfall, Vitaly acknowledges Minteril's praise and offer of training by snapping to attention.

"Sir! Further training would always be greatly appreciated, sir!"

As Sidon promptly brings the rest of the squad back down to earth, Vitaly finds himself not in the least resentful. If anything, he quite appreciates the sergeant's level-headed and cautious approach. It takes maturity and wisdom to not get caught up in the fleeting glory of temporary success, and to maintain the productive cynicism necessary to both bring men back down to earth and formulate an ops plan that takes into account every possible worst-case scenario.

In short, Sidon is, in many ways, the perfect sergeant.

"Perfectly clear, Sergeant," replies Vitaly, "Will endeavour to exercise greater due care in the future."

"Never lower your head again," Sidon grunted and removed his helmet, the suppressed air hissing as the clamps were removed. They already knew his tanned face and short dark-yellow hair, the heritage of Ionic Plateau, the trimmed beard and his numerous battle scars. But at that moment, there was something in his green gaze, hard to describe but it was there, like a mountain finally casting its shadow over the valley. It was both imposing and sudden, the type of pride born from life spent fighting for something you believe in.

"And this means for all of you. Never allow to be brought low by anything or anyone. The blood that courses through your veins is of the noblest of lines, each of you carries a legacy that cannot be allowed to be put to shame and one day, when all of us are nothing but ash, others will continue where we left off and like you, they too will learn what it means to be the Child of the Emperor."

"So when I speak to you, I don't come from the place of arrogance or intend to mock any of you. You are still young and have lot to learn, so I'm here to guide you through this process and help you better understand it, for if you fail at this it is I who is to be blamed, so your success is my success as well. And like Captain Apox said, my success is the success of his company, and then our Millennial and ultimately, our Legion Father's as well and none of us will ever even dream of putting Fulgrim to shame."

Into the den of murderers
​

Respite was short, the Apothecary from the 31st Company worked fast with the help of Jendon to get the majority of the brothers back on their feet. Despite the darkness of the cave and the previous clash with the Dark Eldar, each legionary cleaned his armor and polished his weapon, no matter the place the warriors of the Third had a way of carrying themselves in combat and the tradition wasn't about to be ignored now. Captain Minteril gave signal to march and he went first, leading like a true Chemosian should, into the pitch black of the mountain's interior straight towards its bleeding heart.

This metaphor would turn out to be more than apt, because the deeper they moved the water that slowly dipped through the caves became something far more familiar. Senses of each legionary flared, the copper stench of blood registered by their helm's sensory systems. The more they walked the bigger amount of the red vitae greeted them, the cave's interior looking more and more like a belly of some enormous beast than simple stone and earth. Minteril called for vigilance, but it wasn't needed. Every Emperor's Children legionary was ever ready for battle but despite their readiness, no foe came to greet them. Not before they reached the end of their path.

They saw faint light at the end of the caves and heard voices murmuring. Strange sensation overcame them as they came closer, the unsettling feeling of something creeping out on you from the darkness of your mind, the red haze at the edges of their vision became more focused, more intense. Elymas suffered most of them, his mind pressured by an unknown and unstoppable force, as if the weight of this very mountain was placed on his shoulders and he couldn't breathe. All of this was amplified as they set their eyes on the dark edifice ahead.

Moving like an organized group, but openly and with nothing to hide, twenty five purple-clad legionaries stumbled upon something any of them hardly saw before. Caves gave way to a great dome, supported by pillars of blackest stone covered in murals depicting what can only be alien history. Scenes of carnage, lust, prosperity and destruction were intertwined with runes which hurt the eye if you tried to hold a gaze for too long. Braziers shined with erubescent hue, illuminating the coven that gathered in this lair of murder.

Everything in the dome seemed to be focused around a great dais, circular stairs leading to it from two sides, on top of which stood a figure that looked as if it was born from the same material this entire place was. Standing somewhat taller than any Space Marine present was a black-clad figure, overlapping plates of chitinous armor covered with long dark red robes with the same mark that dominated most of the scenery, while its face was hidden by an elongated bone-white helmet, the skull-plate perhaps similar to what Chaplains of the Legions carried as their symbol of office in a sense it represented death, only this one was infinitely more devious in its very core. There were bodies at his feet, human, Space Marine and Dark Eldar, all seemingly joined and same in death while the masked creature held a bleeding object in its hands, letting it drip into the pool of blood that was located below in the base of the dais, surrounded by the steps.

Cauldron was almost full or at least it seemed so, numerous lines of red flew from it in some unfathomable pattern all across the marble floor and heading into the earth, feeding the mountain with its precious fluid. Below the dais and surrounding the pool of blood were more of the aliens. Some of them wore nothing but white robes that were smeared with blood at the edges of it, while others seemed to be female in majority, scantly-dressed and carrying all sorts of wicked weapons, they seemed to be following the masked-one's every word. First one to shout, or rather roar, a warning was a hulking grey monster, bipedal monkey-like creature with too many eyes and teeth to count towering over everyone else, it seemed too crude for this gathering but apparently the aliens didn't think so.

"Enter Mon'keigh, enter the house of the Bloody-Handed One. Enter, so we can greet you as it is right," all eyes were upon the Emperor's Children now as the robed priest beckoned them forward, stepping aside to reveal a statue at the far side of the temple, connected to the dais by a long stone walkway. Statue was made to resemble the deity these Xenos worshiped, a monstrous face with outstretched hands, one holding a curved dagger and the other one what seemed to be a heart, mimicking the posture the masked priest had just couple of moments ago. However architecture on the side, what was important is that below it, where its lower torso and legs should be, was a shimmering portal, glowing in bluish haze.

At that moment the entire mountain shook and a group of Dark Eldar warriors hurried into the temple, these ones looking pretty much like the rest of the Kabalites 4th Squad fought before, entering the place from one of the adjacent tunnels that led into it. They shouted something in their vile tongue but the masked priest waved them away, his white visage fixed on the enemy in their midst.

"Sons of a foolish godling and defenders of an upstart empire, know this," priest kept on talking, butchering Gothic just enough so they could understand him, "You have arrived at the temple most hallowed. The place of ending and bloody rebirth. The place of glorious death and the greatest of virtues. Rejoice! The last thing your eyes will see will be Khaine's glorious creation and your blood will be spilled in His name so that His teachings may continue to thrive among the chosen of the galaxy!"

"I cannot listen to this crap any longer," Minteril spoke, a murderous edge entering his before that calm tone, "I will present this creature's head to Leonis as a tribute, for the Legion". He took hold of his twin blades and swiftly advanced forward while his men seemed to be struggling a bit, overcame by the strange sensation. White-robed aliens rose up faster than that, three of them standing guard at the base of the each stairs, six in total, carried long curved swords but as Minteril came they slipped aside, letting him pass through and up the dais. Heading straight for the head, the Captain with his trailing silver cloak and a pair of beautiful short swords looked like a true hero of the legend, the finery of his armor matched only by the perfect facial features he inherited by their father. However the look in his eyes was getting more intense with each step getting him closer to the masked priest, which by that time held a great two-handed blade of strange craftsmanship, seemingly a mix of a glaive and a sword.

"I thank you for your willingness to sacrifice your fragile flesh. Know that it was Harkon the Red who walked you down the red path and who brought your offering for the Lord of Murder to taste," the Dark Eldar said joyfully, Minteril managing only a beastly howl as he swung his weapons at the alien's head. However the degrading Chemosian warrior seemed to be a match for the alien only at the first second as his powered weapon cut a small line on until then a perfect skull mask. But then the creature moved with pernatural speed, its own two-handed sword too fast for even an augmented eye to trace. Arm was cut off, then with the return strike leg as well. Minteril didn't seem to even register the loss of limbs, simply staring dumbly into the face of his executioner. Bladed pommel smashed into Captain's face and the force of it threw him off the dais and into the pool of blood below. Landing with a splash, his body was lost in the cauldron, the surrounding aliens rejoicing with murderous screams of their own. "Come, come, any of you is welcome!" priest shouted, beckoning the Emperor's Children forward, "Come and join the festival of murder!"

"Emperor's Children, advance in proper order. Blades at the front, bolters at the back. Don't let them get into your head and remember what I told you about glory," Sidon spoke, his voice strained as he too fought whatever was influencing their mind. Some of the brothers from the 31st Company obeyed, bringing their bolters up and starting the firefight while others shook their heads, stricken by what just happened to their leader they charged forward heedless of any danger, straight towards the blades of the murderous Dark Eldar.



Scions of the Bloody-handed God:

Harkon the Red: 25 Wyches: 20 Harkon's Disciples: 8/8/8 (L) 8/8/8 (R) Clawed Fiend: 17 Kabalite Warriors:15

Emperor's Children strikeforce:

15 Legionaries of the 31st Company

Camille:8 Martyn:9 Jendon:11 Pholax:11 Vitaly:8 Elymas:12 Aleph:11 Extrovious:11 Sidon:15

Combat Advantage: Minor Dark Eldar advantage.

Each turn, each of you can allow yourself to be engulfed in murderous rage that will bring with it some attacking bonuses and defensive disadvantages as well as future ramifications. Wyches and Disciples are engaged in bloodlust and the more of the blood is spilled, the greater their damage will be. (L) and (R) tells you on which stairs each group is standing guard. Anyone who wants to fight the boss will be allowed to do so in melee combat without interference. Portal behind Harkon the Red is active and he will leave the combat if he becomes bored of it.


@Jorimel @WanderingJester @dx144 @DeranVendar @Draconion @Vulpas @Uriel1339

Advancing quietly with the other sons of Fulgrim, Pholax thought he'd be greeted by the outer defenders hoping to protect their final fortress, but nothing. It was putting him on edge, to face no foe as you stride through their territory.

Perhaps they didn't have the manpower to fight on the frontlines and hold here. Pholax was put on edge by this, perhaps this was a trap, these Xenos seemed to love the idea of hiding away and then striking when your back is turned.

The sound of voices had taken him out of his musing, they were here or someone was and whoever they were they were going to feel the Emperor's Judgement. Checking his Heavy Bolter was ready as he knew it was in a way to calm the nerves.

The urge to discharge the Heavy Bolter grew and grew, to see it tear something apart, to see the blood splatter in such pretty patterns, to make such art... With a shake of his head, Pholax shook off those thoughts, they were his but weren't as well... Was this the witchcraft he'd heard others speak of?

And then we saw him, as if he demanded attention or knew of us arriving here. A Xeno was more decorated, if that was the right word, than the others and surrounded by more decadence. The urge to fire was overpowering here, to spray that Xeno with a hail of bolts and watch it choke on its own blood, to see if exploding limbs, to see nothing more than a bloody mess left.

"Witchcraft." Pholax hissed under his breath. "I want that Xeno's head for this." Any action Pholax was willing to take was stopped when the cretin started to speak in it's hideous tongue. He'd have to cut that out as well it seemed.

Half listening to the Xeno's words the other half his own thoughts demanding he shoot and kill that creature now, to tear it apart...

As the mountain shook, the warriors stormed in, more to tear apart, more to kill, more blood to spill...

To see the Captain move forward, Pholax envied him, to draw first blood, to be the firestarter, such envy of him...

Seeing the blinding pace they moved at, to then a moment later see the captain reeling, it was enough to knock sense into him again, spilling blood and committing murder, these were unbecoming of a warrior of the Third, he was here to slay the Xenos and do it not for himself or the thrill of it but for his brothers, for his father and his Emperor.

The anger at seeing a hero of the Legion torn apart still burnt the fires in Pholax, he was going to still make that Xeno pay or at least the rest of his misbegotten kind.

"Laying down bolter fire." Pholax boomed as he began unloading rounds in the direction of the Kabalite Warriors.

OOC

All out attack on the Kabalite Warriors, resisting the murderous rage.

Martyn had remained silent during their assault into the interior of the mountain. Then they arrived at this temple and all hell broke loose shortly. Captain Minteril had been laid low and there was no possible way of emptying the pool below them effectively to mount a rescue. What the young space marine noticed was his fallen arms. If his gene-seed could not be recovered, then his arms must be tended to. Hearing Pholax laying down fire on the vile xenos, he would charge forward, seeming up the stairs and towards the enemy leader.

"Cover me, brothers! Moving in!"

With that, Martyn would open fire on the captain's murderer, though he was, in reality, going for the fallen limb and weapon. His boltgun firing, he would weave left and right before doing a baseball slide towards it, aiming to recover the power sword and what was left of Minteril to deliver back to the legion, even as the rush of bloodthirst attempted to exert itself over him.


OOC: Attack on Harkon, defense on self, attempting to recover Minteril's arm and sword.

Jendons face twisted into one of horror and rage as he saw Captain Mineterail cut down with such ease by such alien filth and heathenry. He bit his lip as he heard orders to try and control themselves he felt the rage but words from Sidion helped him hold on for now. "Brother we must make Avenge Captain Mineterail!"

@Draconion 'Brother Vitaly Can you bring down that Portal We must make sure none of these bastards leave alive." looking over to aleph @Jorimel

"Brother Aleph I need Cover I am going to attempt to see if i can Save the Captains Geneseed or body!" Jendon said Taking out his Chainsword and bolt pistol Jendon would attempt to making his way to the bood cauldron and attempt to see if he could spot the captains body and if so possibly recover it. If any interfered the would meet the wrath of the Chemosian apothcary as he went to do his duty.

OOC One defense on Jendon, Secound action attempt to see if Captains body is recoverable.

Extrovious's silence became grave, where before it had been born from quiet introspection from Sidon's humbling, now it was a reflection of his disbelief. Surely Sidon dropped them into a training simulation, they were being tested. A Captain of Fulgrim's Third would never die so easily to a craven heathen like this. They had taken the Black Ark too easily anyways, it was all one elaborate training exercise, senses duped by Mechanicum wizardy. In his hearts of hearts he already knew his hopes were futile; that barb dug deep and teeth set against each other as crimson fog began crawling over everything, warrior unaware that it was not an environmental effect but his own sight being tainted. The only clear path through the murk centered on the alien leader: Harkon the Red

Sidon's voice and the subconscious triggers present in the orders are all that keep Extrovious from throwing himself wholly into the fleshy core of their foe. Without any words to scream that would bring anything other than dishonor to their unit he throttles the engine of his chainsword, as if he were a common World Eater. They would come to him, bleed at his feet, and they would march to victory over the corpses.

"I am getting something bigger and deadlier than this miserable sword. It shall be forged of these cretins bones." Eyes widen as one of their own bursts forward. "Martyn no!" Second link in the chain is drug out with the first, Extrovious activating his jump pack to gain ground. Already the other's destination is known, a grenade sails forth as a vanguard for both men. Frag detonates amidst the Disciples on the left stairway, Extrovious arriving with a crash as he lays about himself with chainsword and bolt pistol, intent on keeping the path clear for Martyn to pursue his goal. Fuel expenditure climbs higher as warrior uses jets to shunt himself away from the fight, keeping himself close to the foolhardy Martyn. Whatever rage possessed him moments ago is forgotten as the towering battle brother's watch dog ethos leaps to the fore. "Martyn you idiot!" Demands of battle keep his rebuke short and succinct.

OOC: Defense on Martyn, Frag grenade attack on left stair Disciples.

@Colapse @WanderingJester

~~ Earlier - Pre-Deployment ~~
Elymas heeded the words of Sidon, but disagreed internally to a slight degree. For even Fulgrim would kneel before the Emperor if it would be demanded. Just like any of them would bow and kneel before their genetic patriarch. Sidon played both sides of good and bad drill sergeant. Effective, but too much of a cliche for the librarians taste. Hephestus pulled that trick out of his hat once too often. Nonetheless, he couldn't deny to feel inspired to do better. After all, having lost his librarians respect, he might as well put his efforts instead into standing on Sidons good side.


~~ Earlier - Before Combat ~~
The Terran of the servant house of Velodonus had trouble breathing within the safe confinements of his armor and knew immediately it was a supernatural pressure. He hoped that his presence would attract more of it onto him than his brethren. Although his hope would be utterly crushed as he saw the others struggle comparable to his own. It was a passive aura from decades of treatment to the mountain itself. Yet, he did not feel the same origin of his own powers per say. It was similar, yet so different. These aliens must have found a different way to harness the same potential. Just like the Crucible of Malediction, as he nicknamed the artifact used against him in the last engagement. And when hearing his brother speak, he vocalized his concern.

@dx144
"Not..." He gasped heavily, fighting for every bit of air, only emptying his lungs further. "Witchcraft..." Elymas said heavily, not having more air to spare for a proper explanation.

At some point without even truly remembering when it happened, he found one of his hands supporting him on the wall, the other clenching around his staff used as walking assistance. Somehow he managed to keep up, not daring to die or become unconscious before the fight even started.


~~ Now ~~
Horror overcame Elymas as fast and furious as any assault of the Third. Even now, the others around him seemed to move at a pace that he could never reach in his current condition. Nonetheless, he would do something that none of the others could. And even if his mortal body would fail him, there was a greater sacrifice to be made.

[@Every4thSquadMember]
"I. Get. The. Captain. Focus. On. Aliens." Elymas growled in the vox, going on one knee, head lowered. Left hand stretched out towards the cauldron, while his right held the staff on the ground. With every single fabric of his mind and body he channeled whatever powers he might have. Not in offense. Not even in defense. But utility. A technique so simple that the first of all librarians learn it. His mind opened a narrow tunnel, attempting to close off any outside influence.

But in fact, as his astral-hands were reaching out through the invisible tunnel, it was not the cauldron he was going for. Instead they would pass through it and cling to the only thing that was unique to the soul of their captain. Combining the telekinesis with telepathy, he would attempt to reach out to the captain. Whether he would approve or not, Elymas cared not as long as it meant that the shining beacon of a true Emperor's Child would yet glow with the intensity of a phoenix.

The mind-message would carry a tune in itself and yet another verse of Elymas composed song, Warriors of the Third, followed by the refrain.

"We own the right, to live the fight,
We're here for all of Mankind.
Now swear the blood upon your Aquila,
Will never dry.
Stand and fight together,
Beneath the metal sky.

Brothers everywhere,
Raise your hands into the air.
We're warriors, warriors of the third.
Like thunder from the sky.
Sworn to fight and die.
We're warriors, warriors of the third."

If the captain would be able to hear him and his mind react just the slightest to the tune, Elymas would easier be capable of locating him within the cauldron and scoop him out.


OOC: Telepathy-Telekinesis Combo All-In to get Captain M(isery)interil out of the cauldron.

As the waves of tainted bloodlust ripple through the air, Vitaly finds himself not unmoved by the assault of unclean savagery upon his mind. For all his airs and graces that put one in mind of a particularly keen and well-mannered schoolboy, he is at heart a scavenger, a nomad of the dust wastes. A son of thirst, of hunger, of the knife. His vision clouds red at the edges as the xenos leader mocks them on arrival, in his mind a thousand ragged tribal warriors shaking their homemade weapons in bloodthirsty acclaim as Captain Minteril strides forward to meet the alien's challenge. Even as the first cut is thrown, however, the deepest, strongest, most fundamental part of his mind - the part that has always watched with cold clarity when all else was chaos, that observed, analysed, and parsed the path to survival and victory in every situation from the very earliest years of his life - knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Minteril will fall.

It is ever so when a Legionnaire abandons discipline. For discipline and ethos are what separate us from the dark things of the galaxy.

Even as the felling cuts dismember Minteril with blinding speed, time appears to slow to a crawl, things appearing to move through deep water around Vitaly, their voices slowed to deep, slurring drawls as though in a comical movpict. The red-tinged haze falls from his sight, his vision clear once again, and more than clear - indeed, painfully sharp and unbearably detailed, as though everywhere he looked was through a high-index zoom lens. Faced with competing demands and seeing several of his brothers making competing bids to rescue the Captain, he decides that the squad needs covering fire in depth.

"Laying fire on xenos leader. Do what you need to, brothers."

Bracketing the alien leader - Harkon, self-styled 'The Red' - in his sights, he selects a Krak missile and lets fly. Nothing quite like an anti-armour charge on your principal commander as a distraction.

OOC

Action Summary

- All-out Attack @ Harkon w/Krak missile