Jarron Hugg endured the bickering without complaint - he was a melancholic figure, rarely one to speak in a raised voice, and rarely one to draw much attention to himself. The chalk-white, leathery skin and the stoic expression gave the impression of an old marble statue. Or it would have, if not for all the little stripes of scar tissue criss-crossing his body. Strangely, all the scars looked fresh, and they pulsed crimson, like the veins of an agitated man. It was obvious that the tense atmosphere of the room had an effect on the mutant, even if he did not vocalize his frustrations like the feral worlder.

The Hammerhead Alien kneeled down in front of her and grabbed one of her fingertips gently, to kiss the back of the Eldar's hand. "Indeed, your kin is superior to mine. But it is not my fault that my civilization failed. In fact, their failure, makes me only so much more... Great. I am one of few, I indeed excelled all of my other kin. I am the best of us that still exist... And I am here to humbly serve Erythea, and as such, I shall also serve you. Forgive me for aggravating you, but... I indeed wanted to know that the fire of the Arena still burns in your heart and that not the disgusting politics of Comorragh have conquered your desires."

He turned slowly his head sideways, almost in 90 degrees to look in the direction of the other person, speaking in Gothic once more. "I am one of the few last of my kind, of course I am strange to you. For you have never met anything like me. And the only dominance that exists here, is that of Mistress Erythea. Nobody and nothing will rule over her, for she is the true ruler of all, and soon enough the galaxy will learn that truth." A wide, devious grin grew across his lips, showing his pointy and white, light reflecting teeth.

"One must show respect and deference in another's hall," Jarron intoned after the hammerhead had spoken, speaking with all the serenity of a devout monk. His voice was deep and morose. He was quoting a Brontian custom, a community where a clan leader was practically king in his own home. Moreso than a word of caution or correction for his comrades, it seemed as though the mutant was reminiscing.

It was then that Erythea stood up and descended from her throne. A single blade emerged from her gauntlet, extending just passed her hand as she approached. The moment she passed the hammerhead he would feel a twinge of pain in his side as blood flowed from her blade. The blade sheathed itself for another to take the position next to it. She approached Khelthea and paused for a moment, then blood began to flow from her cheek as a light cut appeared, the Farseer's second blade now coated in the liquid.

Just as the first had, the second sheathed itself, for a third to emerge in the final remaining position. Finally she approached Isaac and looked him up and down. "Even you..." The blade found its way between the plates of the Marines' armor beneath his arm. With that she turned and sat down on her throne, all three blades having emerged now. She tilted them so that as the blood dripped, it would fall from one blade to the other, and then inevitably pool together on the floor.

"What is it this blood has in common despite each being from a different species?" She asked rhetorically. "Regardless of the source... It is the blood of Chaos. And it is mine to spend as I please. Not yours. From the moment each of you stepped on this ship, your blood was mine, your lives, all mine." The blood continued to drip, now having formed a pool that had slowly begun to flow down the steps.

"Know this. Each of you are alive right now by my mercy. Nothing more. Every breathe you take is by my own generosity. You will attack when I say, and at those I command. If I say fire at an Imperial soldier. You will fire. If I say fire at an ally. You will do so. And your lives will also end... Because I demand it. If any of you have quarrel with this, feel free to try me." She chuckled. "Though I must warn you. None of you come close."

She felt her point had been made, and if any wished to challenge her at this point, they would feel the cold hands of death before they could make it to the first step.

"Now then... There is an Imperial research center nearby... It has been destroyed once by Abaddon and it seems the Imperials are trying to reconstruct it. They have only begun recently and to put it plainly, it hurts my eyes. I'd like for you to paint it in Imperial blood and adorn it with the mark of Chaos." She looked to the tech priest and the tech marine. "And refit it for our own uses."

She then leaned back in her chair, having finished for the moment.

Hamadias laughed at the action, after a low growl of the feeling of pain. He dipped a bit in the blood with his hand and licked it off, tasting his own blood. "I dare never to forget your gratefulness, Mistress." The Hammerhead chuckled low, rising to his feet once more.

"It will be a pleasure to show the Mon'keigh that there is no safety from the Kaela Angau. All will bleed to death as they scream and curse your name, Mistress Erythea. Only to conclude, that they were dead the moment you made it your goal to extinguish all of their lives." He grinned in delight of the upcoming battle and shot his head toward the Wych (@Maleth ) from before. "I only hope you leave some for me to slaughter, it will be difficult to keep up with a Comorrite eager to prove her worth."

The mutant priest sat, alone, in his quarters. Fumes of blood-incense surrounded him. When the ship emerged from the blessed Ether, however, he was snapped from his meditation.

Feeling at his head, he realized that he was bleeding his forehead.

Damn this weak body, he thought to himself. It was common knowledge that the Materium and the Warp were Anathema to one another. This material form was disgusting. It was just another sin that needed to be cleansed.

He slowly stood and redressed himself. Black armor and midnight robes covered his flagellated flesh, the daemonic runes and sigils carved into his skin covered by his hooded garments.

He picked up a Combat Knife which, like most of his equipment, was covered in Colchisian runes and quotes from the blessed Book of Lorgar. Finally, he put on a mask of black, obsidian glass. This mask was featureless and blank, if not for the runes written upon it as well.

He exited his bedchambers and walked towards the Throne Room. He could hear the others bickering. Fools, some of them. In time, his sermons would guide them to the Light.

He entered the Throne room just as Erythea finished her speech. All his features were hidden under his armor and robes, except for his hands. They were freakishly pale, the veins beneath the skin as black as pitch.

He looked over the others. A blind Xenos creature, a Khornate, and Eldar Wych, two Mutants of the Pale Throng, a Plague Marine and a Heretek. A strange crowd, to be sure.

Sensing the blessings of the Plaguefather in the air, Izakdor inhaled deeply through his nose, before sighing with relish.

He then smiled, beneath his mask, and bowed to the Eldar upon the Throne.

"Apologies for my tardiness, Mistress." He said calmly.

the ogryn knealed before the farseer "as you comand my misstress" his voice was deep and sounded slightly wheezy from beneath his mask "point me to a breaching torpedo or a portal and they shall die by glorious poisons"

"You. Weirdling queen. Want it destroyed."

It was supposed to be a question, but as Dyrhildr stopped in her tracks to look at the farseer, it sounded more like a happy realisation. How fortuitious it was that her very first mission for this aspiring champion was so perfect to further her own faith's agendas. "It will burn! We will crush it. And everyone inside. Will die. Slaughtered." The anticipation ruined all calmness that had managed to settle inside her mutated, chalk-white form, her body once more shivering and twitching in anticipation of proper battle.

Turning to her smaller companion (@Kalle ), she began to grin, exposing filed teeth and a breath smelling coppery. "We will kill. Them. All. Mercilessly. Will we not? And you. Prove your worth. To the cause."

Having heard every word of this Malrak quickly brought up his book agian using his powers and his cloak began to glow agian. He flipped through the pages until he came across the several plans that detailed the best ways to take such a station while he didn't know the exact size of the station he knew what bits of his plans could be used to take it. "Yes Misstress I shall attempt to organize boarding parties so we can affectively take the station with out causing very much damage to the it. With your permission of course." He walked closer to the end of the steps leading to the throne and knelt down waiting for a response. ( @Shadhunter )

If he were still capable of doing so, Thermidor would have smiled at the 'refit it for our own purposes'. The research station would surely have an adequately equipped workshop to make his own.

"If you do not mind my asking, mistress, is there an armory or workshop onboard this ship that I may make use of until our arrival at the station? There are several projects that I wish to begin construction on, ones of which I believe may aid all of us."