Despite his words being sent forth to the warrior, Rumon would find The Adonis seemed not to react to the goading within his tone, his body language giving off no signals to be read. Remaining silent, within himself The Adonis looked over the situation, coming to varying conclusions of the assembled astartes present. Of The Cannibal and the Hunter, he had little interest, for while both obviously had dwelt within the Hulk for some time, that they'd never come across any sign of one another, seemed to suggest that they did not have an organized hold on the space debris. No, they seemed creatures that slunk about in the dark on their own, killing what they came across, reveling in the action that fought off the insanity that came for all who'd be marooned in this cold hell. They took the scent of Imperials, and had already decided upon going off to slaughter the soldiers of The Corpse-Emperor, a task he would not endure, for, it took time. Time, he would recall, that was better spent on his objectives, and their pursuit. The Son of Lorgar, half mortal, half infernal beast, was of little consequence here to his goals, for as he stated, he rode the Tides of The Immaterium, and thus, had only arrived here through chance. The Word Bearer was content to let fate write his story, while The Adonis would follow his own desires. This left one final option, as the faceless turned his gaze from The Night Lord, and strode towards the last, hulking, creature within the atrium.

Standing before the Greenskin, The Adonis would emit the synthetic sound of the voices taken in around him, pushing forth his message to the creature.

"Been here for many a year now... able to tell...wear...I...should be..."

Truthfully, The Adonis acknowledged that to search through this Hulk for what he sought, could take lifetimes, spent crawling through the corridors, fighting the alien threats, and trying not to go mad. He required one to show him where he was going, to speed up the process, and with two of the three residents looking to go and pick a fight, he'd choose to ignore his cousins from the other legions, and hone in on the final, green, choice. At this point, he'd await a response from the ork, clutching the stolen bolter in his grip, tensed up, and ready to move. Should this alien decide to answer with axe instead of words, then The Adonis would be ready for it.​

Been here for many a year now... able to tell...wear...I...should be...

The Ork had the human right where he wanted him. Orks were made for fighting and winning and he would win. The Ork let out a hearty chuckle as it relaxed its stance slightly. That gesture in particular should not have been seen as weakness however. Should the need for actual bloodshed occur, the Ork was downright certain that he'd bring at least one of the marines down with him.

" HAHA! Its your lucky day, Humie! Iz been on dis 'ere hulk for..." The Ork took a moment to attempt recalling the amount of time he had actually been on the huk. He used his free hands fingers until there were no new ones left to count and, at that point, stared off blankly as he attempted to continue counting. A snarl escaped the Ork only a few moments later as he spoke again, affording no interjection from the Marine.

" Alot. Iz been on da hulk alot. If youz is lookin for sumfin then Iz can help ya find it! I know dis ship like da back of my axe, I do. Follow me! Iz take ya to my camp! "

Without warning, the Ork turned from the traitor marines and began walking through the corridors of the hulk. If they were unwilling to take the Ork at his word, his knowledge of the Hulk might have changed their opinions. Every passage the Ork lead through was marked in some way with a crude glyph or two. Some shafts or ducts capable of admitting the group had several glyphs that appeared to be routinely crossed out. If one was familiar with the markings or survival, they could possibly deduce that the Ork had a working system of sorts when it came to safety. If a glyph wasn't crossed out, then the passageway was safe.

Walking into the camp after what seemed like nearly an hour of walking, The Ork held up his arms as he faced his visitors.

" Dis 'ere is my camp! Youz can sit but dont go touchin my loo - "

Without warning, the genestealer "pet" named Bitey would lunge from the shadows and attempt sinking its teeth into the armored leg of NutStompah. The Ork would turn rather quickly, thump the creature in the head as was customary, and kick it back. It hissed as it backed away slowly and in a somewhat dazed manner. The Ork looked back at the traitors and spoke again.

" Dont mind bitey...He's not used to company is all. "

Raug stomped one of the genestealers corpses head to a pulp which let out a loud crack, just to amuse himself.
"Oh no, I'm no fool now. Terminators are too much trouble. Rather, when the opportunity would present itself." He smiled at the Night Lord and scraped the brain bits off his boot to the floor.

Then the ork spoke. When the xeno left and offered to lead them to his camp, Raug chuckled.
He looked at the others, shrugged and followed the ork.

Once they reached the orks' camp he took the sight of it with a cold smile.
"Training still underway I see." He said to the ork after he had bashed the bug in the head. "Tell me, filth, found any significant Imperial loot in this hulk by any chance?"

The Candle of Faith's hanger bay was bristling with activity. Dozens of battle brothers filled its holy walls and were busy readying themselves and their wargear for battle. Weapons were checked and re-checked and their machine spirits were given prayers of accuracy and reliability. Armor was thoroughly looked over, polished and given rites of maintenance to ensure protection. Techmarines and servitors inspected and blessed the agile stormravens and mighty thunderhawks that would carry their brothers to battle and chaplains tended to their brothers' souls with prayers of fury and rage. The chapter serfs, well-treated in the Boros Paladins, assisted with all the needs of their masters. Menders aided the techmarines in allocating armor and weapons, scribes made sure to record every piece of gear by every battle brother and to make sure they had all they needed and the acolytes, in addition to assisting the chaplains, had perhaps the most important job of all. They were preparing a feast for their masters so they may know the pleasures of food and drink one last time before heading into the space hulk. Perhaps, never to return alive.

Simus had joined his brothers in the hanger bay and was pleased with how things were going. Five massive feast tables were set up and laden with large pots and plates the size of chimera wheels. On these dishes was an assortment of food Simus described to his brothers as "barbeque." A large variety of chicken, beef and pork soaked in several different sauces and spices and with side dishes such as cole slaw, pickles, buns, potato salad, corn bread and brownies. Along with a large selection of beer and what the apothecaries called "flux cores": A highly toxic mixture of fruit, grain and alcohol that has a similar effect on a space marine to Fenrisian Mjod. The space marines were gathering at the tables now that everyone was ready for battle. Simus recognized one of the sergeants that was with him aboard the Indefatigable and headed over to him.

"Report Baroth." He said.

"Everything is prepared Simus." Baroth said, his short black hair and neat beard visible now that his helmet was off. "Stormravens one through four are armed and ready for launch and the thunderhawk Ivory Arrow is going through a final systems check. She'll be ready in four minutes."

"And our battle brothers?"

"Everyone is ready to fight. All wargear has been checked over by the techmarines and menders. all armor has been given repair rites and blessings of protection. we await only your word to begin brother-librarian."

"Then it sounds like we're ready." Simus said, pleased with the preperations. "Assemble the brothers for the feast."

Within a minute all one hundred and five space marines were assembled and ready. Ten brothers sat at each long side of the table with one seat at the head for either command elements or especially honored brothers. everyone was arranged by squad at the tables but no one sat and no one ate. They gave praise to chapter and Emperor before every meal and it was Simus' job as the commander to lead them in this holy grace.

"Brothers!" He shouted from the end of the center table. "We are about to embark upon a great crusade to find boons and relics for the Emperor and the Imperium. We will drive into the Tomb of Madmen as a sword drives into the flesh of an enemy and like that enemy anyone in that ball of floating rust who dares challenge us will be struck down, cast aside and trampled under the boots of one hundred of the Emperors chosen warriors! But before we bring His holy fire to that unholy place we will engage and feasting and fellowship! Song and spirit! For we must have the strength to fight and win all the battles of this campaign until total victory! For some of us, this will be our last time at this bright and merry table, our last time with this holy communion we share as brothers but we do not dwell on this! We are the Boros Paladins! We are space marines! We are the Emperor's mailed fist and for every one of us who falls and joins Him in the warp a thousand xenos and heretic and traitors will fall by our blades and be cast back into the cold void that sired them!"

All the brother's raised their fists and cheered at their captain.

"For the Emperor!" Simus shouted.

"FOR THE EMPEROR!" They shouted back in unison.

"For the Imperium!"

"FOR THE IMPERIUM!"

"For those who are frightened!"

"FOR THOSE WHO ARE FRIGHTENED!"

"For those who are suffering!"

"FOR THOSE WHO ARE SUFFERING!"

"For those with NO HOPE OF A BETTER FUTURE! WILL WE FAIL THEM!?"

"NOOOOO!" They all shouted together.

"NOW WE FEAST!" Simus yelled, his brothers' cheers sending a current of exhilaration through him. Now everyone sat down and began to eat their fill. This was their time to eat, drink and relax. It was times like this when Simus thought about his time in sub-sector Aurelia with the Blood Ravens and the teachings of sergeant Cyrus. Save some of that victorious cheer. Store it away, so you can call on it when the end comes.

***

Stormraven 1's red and white body shined against the cold void of space as it swiftly and gracefully flew to the location of the new naval bastion. The transports and Valkyries that had transported the armsmen had left minutes ago so there was plenty of room. As it neared the stormraven slowed down until it was almost coasting into the large hanger bay, relying only on its ventral and wing jets to guide it safely in. Soon enough a landing spot was clear among the new armsmen camp and the great war machine hovered in the midst of several squat grey structures: the basics of naval camp buildings. Everyone outside these buildings was in sealed carapace armor so the atmosphere wasn't restored yet. It didn't bother the space marines but they too were fully sealed. As was written in the codex astartes all foreign space hulks were to be scouted and scoured by terminator marines whenever possible with the main line battle brothers standing by for backup and this was a situation where this could be accommodated. The hatches of the stormraven parted and six terminator marines, one of them in the glowing blue of a librarian, stepped off and fell to the hanger floor.



The terminators were in the pearly white and blood red of the Boros Paladins but also with the finest adornments the chapter could bestow upon then. Shining silver lightning claws with beautiful gold gauntlets, gold and silver thunder hammers that gleamed with every stroke, ruby red and white stormshields, occular cameras that glowed like emeralds and a faintly glowing crux terminatus on the left shoulder. Simus' own armor was a mix of red, white and blue with a force staff of pure silver and a large kite storm shield with a white eagle on the front. This armor, and the training to use it, were granted to him at the end of the War of the Gift, the terrible civil war that almost destroyed the Boros Paladins and forced their Chapter Master on his crusade of penance over a century ago. Simus and his brothers had worked to redeem themselves on every battlefield since then and today would simply be one more drop in their sea of faith. By the time he died, he hoped, it would be enough. He strode forward towards a group of armsmen and recognized the leader as the young officer he and Commandeer Mortwich had talked with aboard the Indefatigable. Simus was sure the man would recognize him, even if he had a helmet on.

"Report armsman." He said.

In the response to the bellowing words of the Ork, The Adonis would simply stand silently, albeit, radiating slight irritation at the spittle from it's maw spraying on his armour. The beast was, as expected, as crude and blunt as the rest of his kind, but, pleasantly, also seemed to possess a cunning seen in the higher castes of it's kind. As it's lumbering figure turned and began to stomp off, the renegade would follow without hesitation, slinking off into the shadowy halls, caring little for the other traitors and their decisions. He was here to accomplish a goal, and so long as his cousins did not impede his progress, they and their actions were of little concern to him.

Tailing behind the greenskin, The Adonis found himself occupied trying to decipher and spot the various glyphs and markings the creature had carved into the passages. Amusingly enough, the marine found himself enjoying a bit of a game, trying to spot them without the ork pointing them out, a nice activity to pass the time, before they reached the camp.

As they strode into the den of the Ork, immediately, The Adonis could tell it had been here for quite some time. As the beast's "pet" came to greet it's master, one might notice the slight tilt of it's head. Seeing it chained up and cowed by the brutality of the greenskin, the traitor marine would stride towards the center of the room, before turning back at those assembled here. Assuming they had followed along, he would decide it was time to discuss it's objective, reaching to a small pouch at it's hip. Pulling out a small datapad, he'd hand the item towards Raug, letting the fallen astartes peruse it's contents.

Upon the screen, was a simple name.

Flight of The Imperious

It was a ship, a vessel that had been last recorded as a part of this hulk, which sailed the stars during the days of The Great Crusade, and The Heresy itself. A Vengeance-class cruiser, the vessel bore the iconography of Ultramar, a ship of the XIIIth legion, said to have been lost during the battle of Calth, it had somehow found itself among the conglomeration that made up the Tomb of Madmen. Following down the datapad, were instructions and notes, all that could be summed up with a simple objective. Find and board the ship, seek out it's armoury, and recover the relic for the benefactor.

Standing there, The Adonis would look at Raug, waiting. As he himself was unable to speak, he'd expect the renegade to fill in the remaining party on his purpose here.​

"Oh, for me?" Raug said, ever amused, when he was handed the datapad. Silent for a moment he took in the contents of the slate.
"Apparently this hulk contains an Imperial ship. Flight of the Imperious." Raug let out a short hollow laugh when he said the name. "According to our friendly voice box here, there's some bauble in it's armory. Perhaps worth our while to acquire."
Greed flashed in Raug's mind for a moment when he stopped speaking, passing the slate forward to the Night Lord Rumon.


(OOC: I don't mean to be rude toward any of you, Raug is just arrogant like all Chaos Astartes. )