Alexander Garrick was as silent as ever, rolling his shoulders and turning his head to silently judge each of the other squadmates - even now despite his youth, he was taller than all but Tiro himself, the fellow Olympian; he remained a bit under him in height, though with still ample musculature.

He was always a quiet one, in his youth, and as a Neophyte it was no different; he never had spoken unless absolutely necessary, using body or hand gestures whenever it was possible instead. Even mild head movements or the shrugging of shoulders were loud enough, only things such as vocal coordinates being things that would get him to speak.

One hand always rested itself on his side at where the Astartes combat knife would be resting, the index and middle fingers continually tapping themselves on its handle with a repetitive 'rhythm'.

Tiro's cockiness did little to get much more than the slightest of eye-rolls from Garrick; they were not the closest of people, but he knew at the least his presence through life, and now he was the only truly familiar face that remained. That didn't make him any more enjoyable, of course (not that he despised him), but simply one of the few things that reminded him of home. A constantly less and less bothersome lump in his throat as the days went by, his focus turning once more towards becoming what he'd joined to be; a Space Marine.

Still, he knew that this new task was going to be a simple one: get in, get the readings, updating parameters and resetting old ones. It was the unpredictable that made this seem far more complicated in practice; what if they were attacked by the insane? None could stand against Astartes but many still tried. Would that affect their trials? Would they come upon a part of the city that was inhabited by scum and monsters? Would that need culling, or simply be ignored and let the Marines themselves do such deeds?

It didn't matter; Garrick simply squeezed down on the combat knife's handle, and took in a breath; all he wanted to do was win this, as he knew he would every other trial. His calm brown eyes turned to Aridan, already looking expectantly for orders and any stratagem he may have for their insertion and mission success.

Aridan got off the transport and immediately began to sweat, but not due to nerves or fear.

Aridan had taken note of what the various extra equipment had been provided for them, as well as those amongst their numbers already wanting their hands on each without saying anything and the assignment of some of the gear. However, Sergeant's Kenemon's decision to make him caught him off-guard. Saying nothing but nodded at the declaration, the neophyte jumped out of the transport as soon as Kenemon barked his order, and quickly inhaled the first of the dense and humid air of the jungle.

Evidently, the jungle represented the exact opposite of Aridan's origins. Whereas the mountains had fresh, crisp but thin air, here the very atmosphere itself seemed to wish to drown them in its humidity. Whereas the mountains one could see miles ahead given the right conditions, here, one could barely see more a few feet in front of him due to the foliage. Whereas the mountains lacked much life and life-sustaining resources, everything and everyone in the jungle teemed with life, and most of those would try and kill him and the rest of the squad given the chance.

Aridan looked over to the thunderhawk, the other squads had already either moved out or were squabbling over the equipment provided to them. The Sarge had saved them some time by assigning a leader and a good portion of the gear, something not shared in every squad. Seeing that Tiro, Barron via Tiro, and Charon had lobbed up the gear, the neophyte took a measure of Squad Aridan's strengths and weaknesses. He didn't enjoy the fact Barron and Tiro both held two of their valuable gear, as losing either of them in the field would require the rest of them to recover two pieces of equipment, rather than one. Still, Aridan would deal with it. Seeing many already looking to him for direction, he waved the rest of Squad Aridan over and began giving out instructions.

"The jungle's dense, full of danger and easy to get lost in from what we know, so we'll be moving in single file. Except for Arrauth," Aridan met the eyes of the Quirian Neophyte, indicating that he would give him his instructions in a little bit, before looking to the rest of the members. "Barron, you take point with the chainsword, but like most of us, use the combat knife as your first choice. Tiro, you'll follow and give him support with the flamer after him. I'll be behind you as the third man, Alexander will follow me and Charon, since you got the shotgun, you bring up the rear." He looked at the eager Olympian, and waved, "Tiro will be the only one of us who may use something else aside from his knife as his first choice since the flamer's not as loud as the bolter or the shotgun."

"There's a lot of things in that treeline that will try to kill us, and a couple that might actually succeed, so, if I had my way, I rather we never fire a single round between now and when we complete the mission. However, that's also wishful thinking, which is why I said the first choice. If the bear crap hits, open up. On that, I'll leave judgment to Charon and Barron, since they have the distinctive weapons. If you hear a chainsword rev up or a shotgun blast, it's weapons free." The first squad amongst them had already disappeared out of their line of sight, and the other squad seemed to have finally stopped their squabbling after a few punches and bloodly noses. Aridan continued. "As said before, single file. Space yourselves out so that a grenade only kills half of us, but no more than three paces behind the guy immediately in front of you. Do not lose sight of that guy. Outside of Arrauth, we lose sight of one another and our chances of survival, but more importantly completion of the mission, drops dramatically, and I'll rather leave one of you behind rather than fail our objective."

Now, Aridan turned to the jungle native, trusting his instincts honed in living in such strange environment his whole life. "Arrauth, you'll be our forward scout. Move ahead of the squad, and mark out any dangers we need to know ahead. Doesn't matter how you do it so long as we get the message without giving our position away. Regroup with us every hundred paces so that we're on the same page." The interim squad leader turned to the Olympian with the Auspex. "Tiro, you're our immediate eyes and ears. Keep an eye on that Auspex and give us forwarning if anything tries to eat us." Now, he looked over all the members around. "We're to collect the data on the wendigos and reset the sensors, that's all. Not to do it before the other squads, not to do it before sundown, but to collect the data and reset the sensors. So, while we're not going to be crawling through this, we're not going to rush either. If the opportunity to save time involves us going through a possible trap or endanger the mission appears and the only other choice we have is to follow a river another couple of miles down for another crossing, then you best believe we'll be walking. If anyone here thinks the alternative is the way to go, then like I said: I'll be fine with leaving you behind so long as our mission is successful."

With all that said, Aridan stood up and pulled out his combat knife, though in reality was more like a short sword or a machete for the neophytes, and looked over all of them. "Now, any questions?"


@Vulpas
@BruticusTheGoreHound
@Vlayden
@RuinaImperii
@Redthirst

The Neophyte was losing more and more of his wariness in regards to this new 'squad leader' assigned to them; already able to see that like Alexander, this Aridan was infinitely more concerned with a mission success than any life or glory. Those could come after as a result, after all. With the last words of being 'any questions', the taller recruit stood himself up as well and took out the combat knife, now reaching over to poke at the flamer.

Naturally it was not in any harmful way, but more indicative, as though gesturing to it - and far more towards the canister and the pilot light that was at the end of its barrel; less worried about the fuel itself and more of the flames.

They were in the wilderness, after all; what if they set things alight and caused a forest fire? Not any worrying about the environment, but.... Well; that certainly would throw subtlety out the window in its entirety, especially since you can't "stomp out" Promethium.

Alexander looked to Aridan expectantly, to see his response to the subject.


@WanderingJester​

@Vlayden

"What's the matter Alex, can't handle the heat?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke from his lho-stick, the young man watches the tapping of his weapon with an almost casual swagger to his gaze. Letting out a chuckle, he cradles the flamer in his arms, with the care one would reserve for a child, as he continues to speak, his tone only amused at the prospect of a full fledged inferno in the jungle.

"We are Dawnbringers, fire is as much our ally as any of us here, brother."

Indeed, Tiro heeded little warning nor caution when it came to the thought of letting loose torrents of fire. The young man knew of fire's destructive power, to grasp the primordial light and use it against their enemies, and he relished the opportunity to command it. Of course, the silent reflections of his fellow city man would only be seen as a step of unneeded caution in the brash boy's eyes. Following this, Tiro would reach out with a single finger, mimicking the gesture Alexander had made with his knife. Yet, instead of tapping a finger, he instead bopped the forehead of the other aspirant, before continuing to speak.

"Just stick with me, and we'll see all our enemies burn."​

Aridan pulled at the collar of his outfit, already feeling every inch of his flak armor soaked with sweat. As Alexander gestured and poked at the flamer, as well as Tiro's response to the silent city dweller, he turned and looked at the flamer, considering what Alex was concerned about. After a few moments, the interim squad leader thought only a few things would anyone would be concerned about when it came to that weapon, and replied, ignoring Tiro's response at the moment.

"While promethium is undoubtedly a potent fuel source, our surroundings should alleviate any chance of the flamer turning everything around us into an inferno. Remember our studies on the jungle: the humidity here rarely gets below 90%, if ever. That means everything is wet. Wet things don't burn well. So true that the promethium would light, and maybe some close by foliage as well, but I doubt anything beyond that would catch. So the danger comes only if Tiro decides to aim the weapon recklessly, which I have no question that he wouldn't endanger the mission or waste fuel for the weapon." Aridan finished the last sentence with a pointed stare at Tiro, the length of which conveyed the implied command within it.

"What I am concerned about would be the smoke from the shots breaking the canopy. Fortunately said canopy above us would be thick if our studies are correct, and since we have a flamer, not a hellhound, the smoke from the lit promethium should be relatively manageable. In any case, the very engagement would have disturbed the surrounding area enough without the flamer's usage, so I intend for us to be long gone before anything comes to investigate, let alone for the smoke to finally float above the treeline." Then Aridan thought about something, before remembering that he had indeed missed an instruction.

"Alex, you're second in command for the mission. Anything happens to me, you finish the objective and extract with the rest of squad. Arrauth, you're third after him. Same thing if the chain of command ahead breaks: finish the mission, extract." Nodding to himself now that he had covered all the basis, Aridan gave little thought to the other remaining squad, who finally looked to have shaped up and now readied themselves to head into the foliage after the first squad. He gave a look over to the rest of Squad Aridan. "Any other questions?"


@Vlayden
@BruticusTheGoreHound
@Redthirst
@RuinaImperii
@Vulpas

One More Thing
"Oh, and boys? Be back here for pick up in a month. Fail that and you had best be dead, otherwise if we end up finding you we will turn you into Servitors for your failure. Good luck."


Treading the Jungle: Overgrown Paths​

The Quriq swallowed Squad Kenemon whole. Sky warrior, native, or stranger in a strange land, it mattered not to the voracious jungle and its incredibly dense undergrowth. Overhead onlookers were hard pressed to distinguish between what trees made up each section of the canopy as limbs crossed over into each other and third party growths like molds and moss eagerly clung to and clumped together leaves and branches. On the ground one would be lucky to even see the dirt as all manner of fungus and smaller flora carpeted the jungle floor with the same enthusiasm as above, and with a great deal more color. Mulched mixtures of greens, blues, yellows, and more marked the passage of the Neophytes whose tread was otherwise easy to miss thanks to the muffling effects of damp foliage underfoot. These were the things Arrauth used to guide them, smearing crushed plants against bark or stones to keep his brother's on his trail.

Knives were the squads' most constant companions following the hidden jungle paths that Arrauth spied out for them. Where native moved like a wraith through the environs the others were more akin to Grox shambling through the brush and hacking away at palms and fronds that the Qurian slipped through or beneath. The jungles would not bow to them yet, not until they had several hundred pounds of power armor stacked on their backs. It made for slower going than if they were in heavy plate ironically enough. Where the Quriq's flora made no accommodation for them, its beasts were far more weary and left them a wide birth.

Auspex penetrated deep walls of nature around the Neophytes' passage, blinking on occasion when a creature of worthy size and life force approached. Sense of being watched would flare up in standing hairs and crawling flesh, then just as quickly vanished as whatever predatory creature decided that the herd of enlarged humans was not worth the risk. At a glance it would seem surprising that a biome so rich in plant life would be predominantly populated by carnivores, yet multiple studies since Zeussar's second colonization had confirmed that much of the flora was inedible either due to toxins or negligible nutritional value. This left only a select few herbivorous species to populate the environment, all of them universally large, heavily armored, possessing robust digestive systems, and decidedly terrible to the taste. These qualities made creatures like the Groxlate and Thassalodon poor choice of prey and thus quite numerous to the point of perceived overpopulation. Even with healthy numbers on their side these creatures barely made a dent in the prodigious growth of the Quriq.

Several days passed, each one much the same as the last. On the fifth day Arrauth reconvened with the group, squad wandering up to the native Neophyte crouched over a slain insect. It was roughly the size of an adult Cerb, a hardy breed of hunting dog raised by many a farmer and woodsman. Flipped over on its back a soft segmented underside was exposed to the men, eight legs snapped and bent aside so that Arrauth had been able to cut open the bug and harvest pheromone glands, having cast them far off so they would not infect its death stink with a signal for others to swarm and attack. It did not take long for them to identify Arrauth's quarry as a drone belonging to one of the jungle's handful of massive Barbed Head Ant colonies. All the worse they could hear the distinct click-clack of more Drones at work harvesting bark from nearby trees. Volume of the activity meant they were in or near an active harvest sight, which mean that warrior classes would be near to protect the horde of workers, former deadly in their own right, and latter plenty dangerous in sufficient numbers. This left the squad faced with its first real conundrum: continue their path, the most direct and swift route to the objective, straight through the Ants' harvesting operation? Or would they find an alternative and no doubt slower path to cut down on the risk and hopefully conserve energy for the real trial awaiting in the ruins still several days out from their position?

Aridan had finally come to accept his constant state of wetness after the third day of trekking through the jungle, and by then they had long left behind the landing site. He hadn't thought that the Sergeants would give them indefinite time to complete the mission, but he didn't expect a month's time. Depending on how far the objective was. The interim squad leader guessed it would take about a week to get to their objective, and a week back, give or take a day or two. Though given the danger of the jungle, who knew how long it would actually take them to get there.

They had just hacked a small clearing with their combat knives when Arrauth came back to report and make sure they were still heading in the same direction. Having tasked Charon with keeping an eye out, Aridan joined the others. Staring at the dissected insect on the ground, he listened to the jungle native before nodding his head in agreement. "We go around then. Can't complete the mission if we're tied up here fighting a colony, or dead. How far does one of these parties harvest beyond their hives Arrauth? Don't want to accidentally walk straight into their nest trying to get around one of their swarms." The interim squad leader also gestured at the cartograph in Arrauth's possession. "And mark this site down in case we need to come back the same way, yeah? Might have to move fast for extraction and running head first into this mess would be the last thing we need in that situation."

Aridan then looked to the others as he took a sip from the water canteen in his ration pack to re-hydrate. "Anyone got anything to say before we move out?" he asked mechanically, having asked the same thing for the thousandth time after each regrouping post every 100 paces.


@Redthirst
@Vulpas
@BruticusTheGoreHound
@RuinaImperii
@Vlayden

"It would be impractical to try and cut through," Barron spoke up for the first that day, his usually good-natured voice rasping slightly from disuse. Though the unfamiliar and incredibly humid environment had done nothing to dampen the boy's spirits, the arguably more familiar task of cutting through the thick foliage had returned Barron to a subconsciously more subdued and silent state. The instinct of quiet travel hadn't left him yet. He took his position of pointman seriously, his usual jokes, jests, and general banter fading to nothing as their journey stretched on, day after day. There was a kind of relieving monotony to the task, the demand of constant vigilance keeping the boy's senses sharpened. It reminded Barron a lot of the hazy memories he once had of home. As much as his muscle memory tried to tug him through the thick underbrush, however, the jungle still proved to be an entirely different animal to the lad's native woodlands.

For one, it was always... moist. There was always a layer of dew on everything, his skin chafed uncomfortably against the rough fabric of his clothing, and his already awkward bolter constantly seemed on the verge of slipping out of his grip. The jungle, Barron decided, was stupid. Dear God-Emperor, not a day had gone by before Barron's greatest wish became a towel--or a dry shirt, if that was too much to ask. The constant dampness had been nearly unbearable at first, occupying the boy's mind with every disgusting step he took, but as the hours dragged by he began to forget the slick on his skin and the squish in his boots.

No, then the claustrophobia came.

The jungle wasn't like the forest. Where the looming figures of the evergreens and aspens enclosed themselves around you, the snarling vines and gaping maws of the jungle's darkness encroached you. The forest watched. The jungle hunted. The jungle snipped at your fingers as you reached to shove a moss-laden branch out of your way, it pricked at every inch of exposed skin you were foolish enough to leave unattended, it unsettled your dreams with creaks and crunches in the night, and it sat, patiently in the hungry darkness to snag you with unfamiliar claws and dig its razor-sharp teeth into your flesh to leave what remained in your brethren's trail to find.

The jungle is fucking stupid.

Thankfully, Barron's position as the pointman gave the boy plenty of opportunities to take out his frustrations. He felt closer to his trusty tool than ever as he wielded his knife with evergrowing ease to slice his way through drooping curtains of vines and greenery (and, of course, the occasional creepy crawly that crept too close for comfort). The chainsword hung restlessly at his side, Barron's finger flinching subconsciously to iys trigger every time an odd creak or crunch knotted his brows in tension. But as eager as Barron was to prove his skills with the weapon, the logical part of his being was also relieved at its lack of use, and he wasn't exactly keen on breaking that streak for the sake of some anthill. What use and pride was there to spend valuable time and resources stamping out one pile of bugs out of literally millions. "The flamer would be the only thing even half efficient at killing the buggers anyways--" He had grown used to the heft of the explosives in his rucksack, as well as to ignoring the temptation of using it on every bug that croaked too loudly." --I suggest we move on."

For the thousandth time in response, Alexander Garrick simply raised his combat knife at the acting sergeant's question, as though that was his answer; he was ready to kill when needed.

Admittedly, the jungles themselves were not as horrid as he'd thought in the first few days, even as the humidity and sheer... vastness of it set in infuriatingly. Even then Garrick held his combat knife firmly in a reverse-grip, his eyes darting from left to right to make sure that nothing came at their flanks. It was the job of those in the rear to be sure they were not followed.

He certainly did not envy the pointman's position, having to always chop away at the foliage to clear their way; Garrick preferred reserving his strength for when it's needed, whenever that might be. The problem of which route to take was not something he even bothered to waste time debating as everyone else did, simply taking a step to the side towards what would be a route around the beasts; he would not venture far of course, not much more than leaping distance, but he would still at least make his opinion quite clear.

They hadn't the ammo nor the combat skills to deal with an anthill that they actually can consider dangerous, and even with that he would not wish to tempt his luck.