<Feron> Locked away in the shallow depths of his Quarters 'Uncle' underwent his normal rituals whilst meditating on combat duty. Sacred unguents, blessed weapons polish and of course the weapons they were meant for surrounded him. Piecing apart his bolt pistol through memory alone his mangled gap of a left eye locked with the right on a thin flame flickering before him, a wax candle that should be able to serve for at least half a dozen sessions of his therapy. In times such as this he reflected upon any number of things; Goals, Hobbies, Home, Brothers, Life before being an Astartes or what he had pieced together of it, yet today it would be his dream. After such a close encounter with raw energies of the warp it was doubly important to inspect them, some sign of perhaps hidden taint or an inkling of a weakness might be within to identify. As his ship tossed upon the ocean of shifting flames it soon became eyes to a predator, a fin of rippling colors breaching the surface for but a brief moment before his eyes before submerging, taunting him. In an instant its minions were hauling themselves on board. They resembled shambling skeletons charred to naught any color other than the deepest of blacks. Where they approached he met them with lunges and thrust of that blazing spear, rendering them ash on burning winds. Foes slain without much thought, he turned his view of the dream about to his own face finding a callous expression upon him, the first ripple of corruption to be purged. Every thrust brought down two or three of the fiends, crewmen lost to this same ocean of brimstone trying to plunge him in to share their fate. Every broken bone rendered to dust released a wailing soul that bit at his sanity as their darkened teeth and hands bit into his body, yet he soldiered on a life time of such test having turned his mind into stone against such assaults. A great shock wave over took his ship from below tossing him from his feet and over the edge of the crow's nest, clinging to it's iron railings even as they threatened to buckle beneath his weight. His expression set in terror over what could of been his end, the second ripple upon a puddle of taint. Trying to pull himself over would only buckle his hand hold, he needed a landing pad of some sort...before any was identified half a dozen of the lost were climbing over to weigh him down, tearing away at his grip until he at last fell and crashed through the deck, landing somewhere in the hold along with his crushed adversaries. A single claw raked open the side of the ship before its owners head crashed through the weakened hull to leer at him, uncaring of the molten flow drizzling in around it to consume him. For a moment all but his arms were submerged as he struggled to stand, hopelessness and despair taking over to submit him to death, a third ripple. So long as some part of his body remained intact Feron was determined to rise and pushed himself above the waves, grasping firmly a hold his spear his mostly skeletal form made for the beast. Smooth segmented carapace like that cresting a Trygon's head met him, horns protruding here and there giving it the look of such a bio-monstrosity as imagined by the denizens of the twisted warp. Not that he was much a sight better with a body mostly skeletal and only two fully fleshed arms that would of been comical if not so morbid in sight. With a hollow cry of wind between charred jaws the spear was thrust forward, lancing through eye socket and into brain ending the beast. In but another gleaming flash that died in his prey's eye was Feron returned to his home city upon Nocturne, sitting alongside his trophy, alone and body almost entirely bionics like a veteran Iron Hand. Despair tried to worm sink claws into him once more, far more removed from his humanity than even his Brothers and their shared appearance that brought to mind daemons amongst those whom were not acquainted. Four. Eyes shifting open in time with a fresh clip being inserted into his bolter Feron pinched two fingers together and spat upon them, that small puddle of taint within cast out in a gesture of spite. With that dampness he brought it to the flame and snuffed it out between two damp fingers, leaning forward to inhale the purified steam.
<Angelous - Armory> "Draconion lost an arm and had severe wounds as far as I know. Steinar seemed fine, besides the loss of his arm. They are Angels of Death, such losses are just... Another story to share." Angelous managed to smile but turned around to continue his work on the armor of Dorallius. A race? That would be interesting to watch. Wolf versus Horse.
"Thank you, I will" The agents said, moving past the Apothecary to the Librarians 'room'. He stopped at the curtains, an Astartes is the last thing you want to piss off, but then add one of those psykers mixed in with it... Before checking all of his masks systems he pulled open the curtains, "Hello, uh Draconion is it? I am a Acolyte of the Inquisitor Manner Aspin, sent here to investigate his corruption or how deep he had set the roots. May I have a few moments of your time(to talk about are lord the Emperor) to ask some questions about the Inquisitor?
"No problem brother, the Alpha Legion is known for its devious ways, especially those members connected with the Unholy Alliance. I was too long on their trail and I suspected them sending their assassins to try and kill me. Anyway, I think that problem is over now that you are here," Marmaroth smiled. "Indeed, you are correct in every way. That is one of the reasons why I summoned you here. I know about you and the warriors of your chapter. So far, you have proven me right. But like you said, this cult is more dangerous than anything else, therefore I must know if you are willing to go all the way to get the Unholy Alliance crushed. There is no greater threat to His Imperium than this. This and Abaddon's wars..."
<Sirius Jules + Steinar Greywold - Med Bay> With the man leaving, Sirius remembered the urgency and little window he had with Steinar. The Servitors gave him another injection of narcotics as he wiggled a little already. The OR was now locked (just in case Steinar gets conscious and breaks free....) Without hesitation a buzzsaw came to life and cut off the stump in a straight clinical way, the Larramans organ has been treated with an inhibitor so it would not instantly cauterize again, but rather go down to human terms, allowing the operation. With the 'Human' arm in his hands he closed his eyes and bade for forgiveness of lying to Leman Russ and for protection from the wrath once the lie would surface, so that Steinar might not kill him. The Apothecary let out a deep sigh as the 'plug' was finished installing by a Servitor. It was within the arm so it would not peak out and would require a rather deep wound to reveal. The nerves were connected like wires into the metal-disk that would serve as connector between arm and body. Then the 'Human' arm was attached and mag-locked before the installation program was started remotely, causing the installed bolts to drill and deadlock. Then the calibration test was run and then the difficult part. There was actual a very thick layer of flesh and skin between metal and outside, with an internal blood system so that it would act as if it was normal. Connected to the black carapace the arm was, monitoring the body so that the blood would work accordingly. This process alone took twenty minutes. And then the moment of truth.... The Larraman Organ inhibitor was removed and the Apothecary grabbed a scalpel. The new arm was grabbed and the scalpel inserted. Blood flew..... The Apothecary sighed in relief, even though the larraman imitation worked only at a quarter of the efficiency, due to the rather compact systems, it still would be believable enough. Another downside was that unlike usual Bionic Arms, this one was 'only' the same strength of a regular flesh-arm. "We better go now." Sirius said to the Servitors and left the OR, leaving the hospital-gown dressed Space Wolf to himself. OOC: Bionic Arms are usually stronger than usual parts, in order to fake this arm I simply compromised strength for realism. If anything is too much, feel free to complain in the OOC thread
<Feron> Preparing to leave his room to leave his Quarters Feron did a double check of his equipment, blade sharpened and polished, bolters properly put together. All was well and right, only thing missing was his armor still in need of repairs and tending which he had personally made a request to tend to if his medical treatment didn't go on for too long. Sliding open his door the Salamander stepped out in his grey body glove, greeting immediately an attendant Scribe Servitor. Without a word he took the missive from the flesh slave and hummed as he read it over. A brief sheet informing him he had been granted expanded use of the Angelfall's Armory, specifically increased threshold for special munitions requisition. That brought a smile to his face and the warrior tucked it away in a chest pouch for better study later. "Scribe Unit, I require a message sent. " A quill was produced as the Servitor readied itself to dictate Feron's words... At some point Draconian would find that same unit outside his Quarters with a note on it's tray marked for his eyes only. "I hope this letter finds you well Young Drake. I'll be making my way to the forge sometime here in the future and wanted to offer my hand at tackling your own armor if our Tech-marine hasn't already tended to it. Know the paper work stacks up and you'll be recovering for a minute with what wounds you sustained. Let me know at your earliest convenience. Uncle. " Meanwhile Feron had found his way into the Chapel, time for yet another round of introspection, prayers for the fallen and otherwise. Finding himself a quiet cloister of incense and candles before an open panel depicting the Emperor and his loyal sons his head bowed and he retreated into his thoughts once more.
(OOC: First off, I'd like to apologies for my recent posts. I feel like my work in the real world has degraded my ability to dedicate my attention to the RP as I feel it deserves. Like not noticing Manner' betrayal, which I have edited to reflect that fact. What bothers me a lot was that I messed such an important post, and it has opened my eyes to how I've neglected reading EVERY post. I'll try ever more to be as active as I can.) The Arbite sat silently within the cathedral like room, its chairs and shrine location matching that of major churches within the cities of Forge Worlds. Almost as large as one too, at least at first glance. But it lacked the life of an actual cathedral, without a choir or artistic glass windows. It felt artificial, without a spark that made attending church feel empowering rather than confined. But that didn't take away the single statue at the front of the room, just behind the preaching stand. It showed the Emperor standing tall, looking straight ahead with ambition and hope. It made him feel secure when he felt the opposite, lacking something to believe in. Lysander was supposed to stand for the Imperial law, to protect and serve the people the Emperor sacrificed so much to help. As he remained quiet on just one of the many benches, hands in front as if in prayer, Lysander closed his eyes. "God-Emperor... I have served loyally and without question for the entirety of my life, as have countless others regardless of position. I have faced dangers of all kinds, seen it all. Been through it all, the horror and insanity that life brings. But I always thought that we won out in the end, insuring the safty of its people under the protection of the law. Why, then, have we failed so in the defense of that world? Have I failed? Has the Imperium failed you? Have we not lived to follow you example? I don't know if you can hear me..." His last words drifted away, as if lost in translation. He had asked the Emperor the same thing, on that fateful day all those years ago. He had wondered, feeling lost. Yet he remembered the words told of him by his protector, that man he'd have called a hero. The Arbite, whose words he'd take with him to his grave. "The Emperor is with us all, watching over us as to guide our path. It is not he who has led us astray, but ourselves. It is up to those who maintain the course set before us that shall be heard in the end. Remember that, and you shall feel within you a spark unlike any other. Let that flame fuel you with the passion to do what is right, even when all else fails." He felt conflicted still, even with such found memories seeking to aid his plight. He would stay a while longer in prayer, letting the quietude consume his senses as his mind played the choirs of old from days long since past. Given time, the Investigator would no doubt collect his thoughts and return to his normal self. But was not now. His Cyber-Mastiff, who Lysander had let stay within the safety of the Valkyrie, now laid comfortably at his feet in rest mode. Sometimes the circuitry had a hard time exiting rest mode, which was the case of its absence in the fighting. He would need to get that looked at before the next mission, least he be without his loyal companion for a second deployment.
After nodding to the chaplin about providing the information about his team mates he then went to the sparring cages down into the training room he slightly twitched when he heard that there was salamanders but it was something he didn't even notice. Deciding to train he decided he would take on a melee challenge of 3 combat servitors. as they came out he readied himself for combat by raising his combat knife.
[OOC: Playing catch-up] "No need to shout, Steinar, I can hear you just-WHOOOOOOFFFF!!!" Draconion's mouth contorts in a string of silent curses in Nocturnean dialect, unable to breathe for a moment thanks to Steinar's carelessness. "...jewels...anvil...hammer...swear it," he manages to wheeze out just as the medicae servitor drops Steinar cold. Heaving a sigh of pained relief, he manages to hear Sirius' words past the blood pounding in his ears. "Just now, Brother Apothecary? He's the man I would dearly love to emasculate for attempting to make my new transplants explode. Otherwise, we only just met on this recent mission, but he has proven himself to be a good friend and sturdy comrade. Forward, fearless and ferocious in battle...also loud, hyperactive and immature all of the time, in case you haven't already noticed. My thanks for installing the new arm, by the way. I shall have great need of it, and that's just before the next mission." [OOC: A little later.] "Certainly, Agent Beerle, is it?" says Draconion, having overheard the man's introductions outside the curtain, "Acolyte? Interrogator? I fear I know nothing of the late Inquisitor Aspin, aside from what transpired this recent mission, but I will tell you what I can." By now having removed his surgical mask, he turns a gaze like glowing coals on the hard-looking man in a mask as he enters, his brow furrowing faintly as he senses something faintly...amiss about the man. Nothing he can put a finger on, but he suspects the mask has something to do with it, and the whole matter goes much further than a simple piece of clothing.
"If you have the time I'd like you to do some checks on my bionic ear. It did malfunction a bit lately. But I see you have patients with more dire problems in your care, so I will just wait until you have time; I'll be in the adjacent chambers." @Draconion "Astartes. Librarian; a Salamander I presume?", Amraphel said while shifting his sight towards Draconion. "What is your name?", he said with his plain voice hiding his misstrust of all psykers.
