"Yes I am a blackshield, for my service is now fully dedicated to the deathwatch and the emperor. Does me not belonging to any chapter concern you? If it does let me assure you that my loyalty to the emperor knows no bonds."
<Outside the Apothecarion> Draconion's eyes remain closed a moment longer after Sirius addresses him, flicking open with a startling suddenness as he rises smoothly to his feet, his hollow eyes staring from his ghastly, sunken face with a feverish intensity. "Aye, I am here for a reason," he says, his voice a quiet growl growing steadily in volume, "And you will you not touch me with your butcher's tools, Sawbones - not till you give me satisfaction." Levelling a finger fairly trembling with fury at Sirius's face, he roars fit to vibrate the walls. "Sirius Jules, for your conduct unbecoming and insult not to be foreborne at the battle of the ship's bridge, for your presumption and for threatening me with death in the face of the enemy for doing my duty, I name you an honourless cur! I name you a vainglorious braggart who would put himself before his brothers! I name you a base hypocrite, who himself does what he castigates others for doing, and a slinking coward, fit only for raising hand against one who would not strike back! I name you false Astartes, and no brother of mine! You wanted my life? Now come and take it, if you dare! By sanction of Lord Marmaroth, I challenge you to meet me on the red sands for sanguis extremis! Accept and let the Emperor judge between us. Decline and I will spit on your sword and call you bastard of Guilliman's get forever more!" Spitting on the deck plates at Sirius' feet, he walks past the Apothecary in the direction of the ship's arena. "Lord Mamaroth awaits us in the arena," he says, his voice as suddenly calm as it was enraged a moment ago, "Come however you like - with your war-sword, with the biggest gun you can find, with Terminator armour, for all I care. I will meet you exactly as I am, for you do not deserve my sword - only a club, like the base churl you are. I am done bandying words." With that, he falls silent, continuing on his way.
"You not belonging to a chapter means a feat of dishoner, i know you are surely set to correct that, but still a dishoner great enough exile you with a need to remove all chapter and honour symbols. So yes, it slightly bothers me, but i do not doubt your steel, but no man can run forever from the past. But you are here now, and i am sure you are as brave as you are skilled." Dorallius said, his stout way of speech carried his words aloft.
<Feron> Averting his eyes toward the ceiling several torches flickered on, a pair of crewmen at his side starting to weld the reinforced sheet up against the make shift walling on the Angelfall's damaged flank. A servitor above on stilted limbs had extended beyond to work on the levels that weren't quite as accessible to those unaugmented flesh workers beneath him. With casualties amongst crew being both in men and lobotomized slaves the slack needed picking up, jobs that might normally be reserved for the menials put upon bone tired and weary survivors that were ordered to have the ship as close to a hundred percent as could be managed in far less time than they would of liked. Here and now Feron was putting his own prodigious strength and freshly attached mechanical limb to the test to hold up slabs of metal that would normally be saved a pair of servo-limbed Servitors whom could manage the job without the strain and maintain perfect accuracy in applying the bandage. "Hup hup boys, we've still got five more of these to do before meal time, lets see if we can't push out a sixth and spare us extra work later. " Grinning some he was doing what he could to keep spirits up where he could, over time he had learned that generally seeing an Astartes perform manual labor wasn't quite so inspiring as seeing them help repair a destroyed city or smashing down Xenos or Heretics. It had some effect and made things quicker but just didn't have that glorious edge to it that everyone loved to talk about.
"Why do you think me having no chapter has something to do with dishonour? You don't know anything about my past, so why do you presume? Has it ever ocurred to you that there can be valid reasons for leaving ones chapter? Wouldn' it be right to leave a chapter that turned from the path of righterousness?"
"Then you are or was the brother of traitors, as said, i will not be the jugde oof you, merely your actions, but if your brothers, you oown genes, turned away from the path of rightiusness, then that is also a problem, what wouldent you say if you met a *loyal* worldeater? he might think different, but his brothers speak of their reputation."
<Sirius Jules> "No." The Son of Guilliman started, turning around to look at the man. He crossed his arms and stared at him. "I have sworn an oath to my Chapter Master and I have sworn before Roboute Guilliman on Macragge. I am not going ever to even attempt kill a loyal citizen of the Imperium. And given that Marmaroth sanctioned it. I would like to have a talk with you, in my office. Privately." While the walls were vibrated and also the Apothecary a bit shook by it, he was not surprised. Yet intimidation seems so unusual for a child of Vulkan. "After the talk, I shall grant you your fight to the death, if you still wish to. But as Librarian I assume you are smart enough to learn before murdering your victim." <Marius the Serf> "Greetings there. Why so harsh? We are all humans." The Chapter Serf tilted his head, speaking quite soft - an attempt to solve this diplomatically.
Draconion's estimation of Sirius' character falls even lower at the man's blatant hypocrisy and smugly patronising manner. Yet, none of this is news to him - he is simply annoyed that Sirius is not falling for his own provocations. "Fine words, coming from the man who was so eager to take a sword to my neck while a battle raged around us, while I offered no resistance for the sake of unity" says Draconion calmly, half-turning to look Sirius in the eye, "Getting second thoughts now that I am free to defend myself, no doubt. I was right to call you coward and hypocrite, though it seems you know not enough of shame for it to matter. As for your invitation to parley in private..." Turning back suddenly to stride till he is face to face with the Apothecary, he holds his eyes with his own for a moment before, very calmly and deliberately, leaning to the side to spit a wad of sizzling venom on the chainsword sheathed at his side. The Betcher's secretions leave an ugly scar on the ornate finishings. Though the gesture - a killing insult - is unique to the Tahken and other warrior cultures that draw from the ancient Nihon of Terra-that-was, Draconion trusts that the insult will be appreciated by whatever shred of warrior dignity remains in Sirius. "...there is my answer. I will hear nothing from you that you will not speak before the Commander also - bandy your crooked words in earshot of him on the sands, or be silent." With that, he turns on his heel and strides back to the arena, where he sits on his knees on the sand, removing his suburito from his belt and laying it down on his left side, the side symbolising the killing edge facing towards himself. Facing Marmaroth, he bows formally with his forehead to the sands and speaks in the clipped, formal language of the honour-duel of his birth lands. "My Commander, this one has issued challenge to the one named Sirius Jules. He refuses challenge and prevaricates with crooked words and veiled scorn. I have reiterated my challenge in the strongest terms and come to await him here, where I will remain until ordered to do otherwise. I have spoken."
<Sirius Jules> + @Colapse He did not move, neither had any emotion when Draconion erased the first 'u' in Durandal. Sirius after letting go Draconion ahead, walked after him. "Marmaroth. I know you sanctioned Draconion in order that I break my silence over my own life to enlighten the ignorant and arrogant Salamander. And I shall do it here and now, given that he wants a fight to the death rather than to damn talk about it." Sirius said furiously to the Chaplain and then turned to Draconion. "I am on a Death Oath to find a cure for Guilliman. I rather am put as a coward and hypocrite, judged by a man who has no right to do so, than to die before fulfilling my duty. The Codex Astartes dictates that duty comes first. While we shall have honor, respect, endurance, courage, and so on, duty stands above all. So if you want to kill me just so you can live with calling me a hypocrite and coward, then go ahead. That is your apparent duty?! THEN FULFILL IT! Just because I know my priorities, does not mean I am a coward. If you want to fight, good let's fight to the death. Because I already am a dead man!" The Son of Guilliman grabbed Durandal and marched into the center of the Arena.
[OOC: I suggest we make a third roll for Inits every round, too. Giving things a bit more form will help with crafting posts.] Draconion's eyes slowly slide open at Sirius' footsteps. A faint smile touches his lips, and it is not a comforting thing, rather akin to a predator's baring of teeth. "The coward shows his face at last, deciding he would rather die a braggart," he says quietly, still looking straight ahead at Marmaroth, though his words are very obviously addressed to Sirius. Reaching down to pick up his suburito - the deep imprint in the sands giving some clue as to the crudely-carved object's immense weight - he rises smoothly to his feet. "My Commander - this one requests your approval to commence," he says, standing to attention and holding Marmaroth with his eyes.
