"Oh you're just too cocky for you're own good Brother! I promise I'll have you out by the third blow, if you're lucky. " Chuckling deeply he slaps him on an armored shoulder clearly not bothered by the lack of a fight in the slightest. "Guess I'll just have to run a training program on my own as you did. " Smirking he stepped aside and entered a training cage, drumming his fingers across the panel to 'summon' up what appeared to be a four armed serpent creature, a race of xenos that were sometimes in the retinue of Dust Wraith Archons.
Tsen'Tal walked the halls with both obsidian gauntlets clasped behind his back, his salamander scale robe being brushed to the side with each step, showing the lovingly crafted armor of a Chaplain. He peeked in momentarily on the training rooms, he had been there earlier when it had been empty, no easy feat given the squad of Astartes currently aboard. A pair of his brothers practiced below after some small talk, some banter that saw them both in better spirits. The Chaplain stepped out and continued his walk before they took note of him, Tsen'Tal did not wish to be a foreboding specter currently looking over the squad, as much as it was his duty. His involvement with them was minimal by necessity, always needing to appear a figure of fire and wisdom, a symbol of the Promethean Cult and it's ideals. A tenet of that cult was the capacity to lead a solitary life and for one of the Reclusiam, that came easily. "Enja, you are free to go about your business. You will know if you are needed."
"Interesting choice." Was simply said as Zhu walked back to his free area - continuing to perform the martial art rhythms and movements. As if one would learn dancing through repetition over and over, so this Salamander indoctrinated himself by forcing himself the same movements over and over. Almost detaching himself completely from the outside world, he focused on his movements and to keep the fire within his soul controlled.
''Inquisitor Leogon, of the Ordo Xenos. Are you familiar with him at all, brother?'' the sergeant asked.
"An Inquisitor I have met, yet they did not go by such a name. I suppose it within the realm of possibility that such men change their names often, but I would not hold your breath, Sergeant. Why the sudden interest in our actions?" The Chaplain continued to walk through the halls slowly, serfs pausing in their duties to beat a fist against their chests in salute, to bow, or even kneel. Before Tsen'Tal's recent induction into the ranks of the Reclusiam, he would have been embarassed by such displays. His humility and the Chapter's preference to live side by side with the tribes of Nocturne left him unable to stomach such.. Deference. Yet when he donned the black armor, he had created a gap between himself, his brothers, and the rest of Mankind. Every moment of his life was devoted to living up to the image of the Primarch, a living embodiment of something more than himself. His humility was reserved only for the God-Emperor and the rare moments of seeking Enja's advice. Out here in the halls or walking the bloodstained grounds of the battlefields to come, he would have to become an ideal. Unstoppable will, unmatchable skill, the fires of battle and the anvil of war both. Whatever this Inquisitor had in store for them, Tsen'Tal would prove to be greater than it.
''Come, brother, we both know that the Inquisition are not fond of sharing their goals. He is due soon, if you would like to accompany me to the hanger to meet him, then would be most appreciated. Perhaps he will share his intentions with us,'' the sergeant said. The green-clad giant strode from the bridge, heading toward the hanger bays--which housed the various transport and fighter ships aboard the vessel.
Tsen'Tal altered his route to eventually guide him to a lift and get on the level containing the hangars within the ship. "I will see you there, Sergeant. Vulkan willing, he will at least give us half-truths." The Chaplain set his Crozius in his belt, ensuring it was snug as he entered the elevator. While many weapons were kept in the armory or were being worked on in the forge, a Chaplain was never without his badge of office and weapon both. ((OoC: Have a good night, lads! Work early so unsure as to when I'll be able to post. Hopefully in six hours, if not.. Fifteen. *GASP*, apologies.))
Sho'nohak dueled with the Sslyth for many minutes as the pair engaged in an almost ritualistic dance of blows. The squat Salamander was being pressed to his limits to dodge blows from four limbs that were all synchronized with the precision and blinding speed of a coiled serpent. It wasn't that he couldn't strike down the opening moments would of been his time to strike and see the simulation ended but this was merely his way of testing his reflexes and developing his skills. A trio of punches were aimed his way forcing him to suffer a block rather than try to move away as the fourth was prepped to catch him. Using his arms to absorb the upper most blows his knee rose for the bottom left then swung over to knock the fourth on course but by then the Sslyth lunged in with fangs bared for his face. With a sudden war cry coming to his lips he dropped his feet out from beneath himself and fell back whilst swinging his right foot up to strike his foe's neck. The advanced sensors in the room that studied every single possible angle registered it as powerful enough to finish the xenos off and like that it disintegrated. Frustration not joy greeted the victory, Sho'nohak rising to his feet with grit teeth. It was no physical discomfort that caused this but a sting against his pride at such a failure as submitting his super human form to basic human gut feeling. When the beast had gone for that final lunge instinct had kicked in as he saw those fangs, fake as they were, closing in and he had reacted on that rather than his mind. Such recklessness was something a canny foe could exploit, his mind was meant to be tempered against such things as an Astartes. Many different voices had told him many different things about such an issue; some said it was the sign of a warrior born and that such instincts were to be embraced, others chastised him for such a weakness whilst many more told him it was a blessing of sorts, a way for him to hang onto an extra part of his humanity. Ahhh yes the most important of lessons and greatest paradox of staying human when one became so much more. All Space Marines were forged of the basic man, that core would always remain though it was so easily lost like everything else and the Salamanders with their coal black skin and burning red eyes lead to an even harder go of it as they truly appeared to be something else in their very nature. Looking back to the training terminal he found his frustrations guiding him away and out into the halls. Supposing Zhu had something of the right mind in regards to his armor Sho'nohak retired to the dormitories taking a slow stroll through their vessel to reach them taking in the various sights and happenings. Taking a slight detour he brought himself past the Armory to see if it had opened yet or not.
''Lord Sho'nohak,'' the armoury guard said, standing to attention. The other three guards stood to attention in equal measure.
"None of the Lord nonsense today my friend, or any other for that matter. Any word on what's kept the Armory locked tight yet? Is it opened up? Would wish to visit the forge sometime soon. " Crossing his arms behind his back for lack of anything to do with them he looked on at nearly eye level with the guard, a slight smile having formed.
