The card flipped on here command. It revealed an image of a Sister of Battle, in full battle gear. She held a bolter in one hand and a book in the other. The woman had several people cowering in fear behind her. The woman's face is an exact replica of Jean's face. "The Templar, before your orders time. Devoted to the Emperor, even if it means death. While that might be obvious to you and me, this card existed before the creation of your order. It meant much more to any average Imperial guards men." The Inquisitor collected the card back to himself and put it back in the deck manually. The thick stiff card making a heavy clap against the others. "You may turn the next one." Manner offered.
Jean nodded slowly. The cards likely were a part of a trio she imagined. Each a part of a picture, but together, perhaps they'd make a larger image. Or so she had assumed that they were not to be taken as individuals. She then reached forward and flipped the last remaining card slowly.
With the flip of the card it revealed a dark shadow standing over a podium, preaching to a crowd of loose skeletons and bones. "Interesting... The Usurper: Complete faith, unending loyalty, but a Jealous and revengeful nature..." The Inquisitor stared at the card for a couple more seconds. He eventually made a smile, her reason for being here had been answered. "You were picked for undying loyalty to the Emperor, even if requires you to kill the followers of the Emperor. Killing allies is not as hard as it would seem if they crossed you faith, or try to end it by other means... " "Loyalty to the very end." The Inquisitor began laughing at the readings. "In another life Jean you were supposed to be a Commissar."
She simply examined the card for a moment as she pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "So... You're telling me I was chosen... Because my loyalty and faith." She pondered that for a moment. Perhaps so, some of it seemed to ring a few bells. Some of it wasn't ringing any. Not yet anyway. Perhaps later. But yet... Not all these traits were traits she desired, but perhaps it was already pre-determined? She grinned for a moment and then nodded. "This world is strange." She muttered to herself as she leaned back.
The eversor place one of her fingers to her helmet and pressed a buttion near the jaw. as the top part slid up. "Helmet can come off rarely does though unless mission needed or damaged." the voice changed to that of a womens. Underneath the helmet that was see able was a partially scarred face knife wounds near the mouth and eye and what looked to be a burn across the her cheek as two piercing teal eyes looked out and what looked to be partially be steel colored hair.
<Feron> Isolated within the confines of his spartan quarters Feron sat still as stone, as if he had become a part of the room itself. Door sealing him off from sight of the rest of the world, well sight beyond that of the advanced sensors and spy-eyes in the room, the Salamander reflected upon his thoughts and circumstances about this gathering. It was certainly an odd bunch, odd only in that they were so few, these various military arms working together wasn't that alien a thought it was just the mere fact they were able to be counted on hand as opposed to across battlefields that struck a chord with him. If he didn't have evidence to the contrary he might assume that this was just some ambitious ploy by an Inquisitor, yet considering the one he had seen before arrived as a guest and the representation of both Hereticus and Xenos arms went a long ways to ruling that out. Tapping a finger to his forehead,, at the furthest edge of his hair strip Feron could only guess at what they would be fighting, yes fighting it had to be, few would dare call upon any Astartes without some violent intent at hand, even roles meant purely as intimidation or warning weren't always without blood shed. A familiar friend found it's way into his hand, his bolter. Muttering a litany to the spirit within the weapon he began disassembling his comrade for cleaning and maintenance. In his time with the Death Watch he had made good use of the weapon, a constant favorite for it's reliability. One didn't take a bolter to destroy tanks or topple cities, you had ordnance and bombs for that, one took a bolter to face down flesh. Any size, any armor or weapon the bolter could face if applied properly, sometimes that meant a round to the face, others a mass reactive shell plunging into a power unit or the weapon itself clubbing someone rather deliberately in the face. Facing the Salamanders in combat was an interesting prospect, most might assume that the best parallel was comparing them to their home worlds fiercest beast, yet that wasn't entirely fitting. Their champions were drakes, but an entire company or squad of Nocturnean Astartes bearing down on you was more akin to staring down an erupting volcano, bodies acting as the shower of unyielding stone that flattened defenses while flamers and melta-guns brought forth the ensuing flow of fire and magma. Much could be said on the defense as well, eternal heat of weapons fire withering away the foe as they try to surmount murderous rocky slopes, walls of Storm Shields and Thunder Hammers stacked behind a freshly made curtain of the enemy force's remains. It all brought a bit of a grin to his face thinking of it and all he could do was ruminate on it a bit longer as he ably fitted everything back into place, setting his bolter aside to move onto the smaller but no less fearsome side armament mag-locked to his waist.
"Wow ive never seen such blue eyes" looks in amazement and holds out a smoke " if you want a fatty youll have to wait its in my luggage and as for the ale?" Lights his own smoke and takes a puff
"Not till we enter warpspace, as I understand it, so we have plenty of time," says Draconion smoothly as he rolls his shoulders and does knee-bends to warm up, giving Steinar time to doff his armour and limber up also. That done, he then does something peculiar - dropping into a deep, wide stance, he then raises one leg out to the side high enough to go right overhead into a standing split before bringing it down to the dust of the fighting pit with the force of a small earthquake. Repeating the gesture on the opposite leg, he crouches low with his fists in the dust, fixing Steinar with a calm, steady gaze. "Ready?"
The data-slate had wiped itself clean at the slightest bit of tampering from Tavec, as if the machine spirit within had been offended that the man's curiosity had not been sated with what had been on the surface. So he had wanted to see what was last on there. Big deal? Tech Heresy wasn't Tech Heresy if there were no Mechanicus around. Perhaps he could pilfer one from a quartermaster aboard? No, best not to offend his gracious host quite yet. The man lowered his feet from where he had kicked them up on to a desk, grabbing a trio of his own personal dataslates, each with the latest reports from his contacts spread throughout various urban planets. There were dangerous signs from a system in the Ultima Segmentum. Admittedly with the sheer size of that Segmentum, there was often more than just signs or dark portents. Well, we all do our part. Next time he could make it to a civilized planet, reports would have to be made to the Inquisitors who were currently paying for his services. Enough work, perhaps now there can be time for pleasure. The "Businessman" hopped up from the chair he could quite frankly liken to some barbaric torture device from the dark ages of mankind and checked his gear. Foehammer pistol across the small of his back, twin bolt pistols fit snuggly under his arms, and an especially devious firearm concealed away. "Time to stretch my legs", with that Tavec made a beeline for a mess hall. He'd memorized the locations he had clearance to and had made very special note of the blank spaces which were marked as "Restricted".
