''Sorry mlio- uh, sir,'' the man nervously began. ''We don't know what is inside and the armoury is to remain locked, Lord-Sergeant Threlvar 's orders I'm afraid. ''
"Very well then. Continue with your duty, you do the uniform proud. " A smile accompanied it all and his tone betrayed no anger or irritation, perhaps a bit of disappointment but such was to be expected. Forming the sign of the Aquila across his chest Sho'nohak carried on with the original plan of retreating to his dormitory for meditation, he had long ago gone unto the Chaplain for such matters but as he was told then he reminded himself now that it was a battle he would need fight himself for that was, for all intents and purposes, whom he was fighting.
-Jager Jager went to what was needed for him in the Chapel A prayer to the emporer and his primarch to watch over him and his brothers for the next Battle. He was alone in the chapel. The lanterns on his back pack shining brining light to the spot he was in. He knelt down in front of the shrine and began his prayer Slowly making sure each word was right and all had done correctly. Now it was time to find his brothers. he slowly got up and took his leave Either they would be in the bridge or the sparing cages. sparing cages Knowing them Two of them might be there right now He began making his way there.
(Sorry EU time made me go sleep, so here's a wall of text) With a slight nod and a quiet "well done" Scribe closed his book and hefted the quill to it. His just finishedsketch was his new serf, Jule tending to his masters arms and armor. Depicting a man working the action of a for him oversized Astartes Bolter with utter devotion to his task. It was part or a ritual Scribe always undertook before he got thrown in the fires of war, of course only if time and circumstances allowed. Wandering the ship and taking in the scenes, sketching them down in his book. A group of soldiers, looking rather fresh out of recruitment getting drilled by a sergant: "don't let the greenskins get close! kill them before that happens and you might survive to see this ship again! AGAIN!" They were training movement and fire. Split into two section one was stationary, providing cover fire while the other retreated. Then the roles switched. Giving the sketch a cursory inspection Scribe was pleased and walked on, wondering how many of this mortals he'd see again. Making his way to the training grounds, where he'd without doubt find some of his brothers Scribe spotted the squads chaplain and his aid. Taking a mental picture of the scene he decided to sketch it down later. A towering giant clad in powerarmor and the skull mask of his office exchanging words with a mortal woman, barely reaching his chest. Even though the chaplain's eyes were burning with zeal, they alway were, his body language spoke of affection and respect of that woman. That woman, his serf Enja, Scribe remembered, was full of reverence as she was dealing with the squads will and faith made manifest. Reaching the training grounds Scribe found what he expected. Two of his brothers engaged in combat. Both showed masterful battle skills. Feinting and attacking with all the skill, strength and cunning they could muster. And even though any of these blows could have felled a mortal and it seemed that both brothers were full of killing intent it was clear that they were hard at work improving their skills for the trials to come. Scribe sat down and started to sketch a scene. One of his brothers jumping and leaning into a punch from above, face distorted with concentration and a resounding warcry. His sparring partner on the retreat, preparing to rotate around his axis to deflect the blow and get into an advantageous position. His backmuscles all tense like coiled springs, ready to receive the mighty blow and hammer his brother into the ground. Done with this sketch as well scribe walked on to the ships shrine. Arriving there Scribe held in the midst of his step, seeing one of his brothers kneeling in the chapel deeply sunk into prayer. Scribe easily made him out as Jager, the ever glowing lamps giving him away as his brother devastator. And so Scribe started with the last sketch of the day. A serene picture, Jager kneeling before the shrine. The light from the powerful lamps on his armor reflecting from the chapel ground and walls, bathing him in a halo of golden shine. Scribe looked over his own sketch and all he could think of when looking at it was the saints of old legend that delivered mankind from peril and demons alike. Back in his room Scribe sat down, noticing that Jule took care of everything he needed prepared for the war to come. The personal quarters of this a tad odd marine were equally strange. Over and over plastered with sketches like he just made, showing some mortals but mostly battle brothers. Most of these sketches were accompanied by oathpapers, mementos from battlefields or secondary sketches that show warriors falling in deadly combat with dead foes at their feet. All depicting brothers lost in battle, their deeds not forgotten. Offering a quick prayer to the emperor Scribe hoped that he didn't have to hang up his newest creations amongst them.
The training routine finished for a fiftieth time, Zhu ought to be ready. His armor worked flawlessly, just as to be expected by the master crafters of Nocturne. There were great smiths in the Imperium, but the best would always come from the home of the Salamanders, their primarch after all was the greatest of all. Without the desire to train with melee combat anymore, he wandered over to the ranged training. His preparations in close combat for worst case scenarios completed, he had to make sure to train his support fire. One could not purely rely on a Devastator, despite their superior firepower it was also their weapons which made them harder to move and they would need as much support as they gave to their brethren. He always started his ranged combat training routine with the Bolt Pistol, since it was an addition in melee combat to his Combat Knife. When the first targets of mixed Xenos popped up, he was reminded of his times as a Neophyte. Having been trained in the basics of a smith, the various special weapons ranging from Sniper Rifle to Plasma Gun. Quickly his future as Tactical Marine became obvious, because he was good in everything, but lacked the mastery of one skill. Almost having become an Assault Marine, if it was not for his temper that seemed continuing to erupt like a volcano and could endanger his brethren and the target. To be furious was a trait indeed, but to be uncontrollable, a curse.
Scytella waited and watched the newcomer for a moment before giving a respectful nod and continuing with his own practice. After a few minutes when the other marine was reloading, Scytella asked: "Brother Zhu Li'Ang, no? Your aim does you credit, I wonder if you may honour me by joining in the combat course?" He pointed at the course next to the shooting stands, it was about 200m long with steel plates and barricades for cover. As one advanced along the path different targets would pop up for the participants to shoot.
"Why act as if you don't know me, brother Scytella? Already forgot about our years of brotherhood?" Zhu asked chuckling. "And a course? You choose the scenario, surprise me... If you can" The Salamander holstered the Bolt Pistol after a new training clip was slammed into the weapon and replaced with a Mark IV Standard Boltgun. Like every Astartes he was ready for any scenario. From freeing hostages in the claws of fanatic cultists or the vile Xenos, up to search and destroy. Although he had the feeling this would be an 'Annihilation' scenario and the victor would be determined by the most kills.
"I'm sorry, hopefully my eyes will perform better in the field than here! Anyway, if it's a surprise you wish..." He walked over to the console and punched in the routine: OBJECTIVE>- ITEM TARGETS>- ORK DIFFICULTY>-HARD After waiting for a moment to make sure he had programmed it correctly, Scytella walked over to the right side of te track and waited for the other marine to take his place on the left. "Are you ready, brother?" The youngling had a smile on his face as a canister dropped down from the ceiling about 3 quarters of the way down the track, the objective of the excercise.
"Retrieval, Activation or Destruction?" Zhu Li'ang asked, performing maintenance and blessings upon his Bolter, while the mission parameters would be cleared.
"Retrieval, destruction would be too easy for a warrior of your caliber!" A moment later the first targets popped up, cardboard outlines of ork boyz appeared and zoomed along rails towards them. This marked the beginning of the excersise and Syctella sprang into a steady run, snap firing at the targets as they came for him, keeping the area ahead of him clear as he reached the first quarter of the track.
