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For Brother Gregor** spoiler omitted ** Radavel:
Does it look like there is a route to Lordsholm via the south? Regarding the withering weapons fire and explosions ripping apart the city of Lordsholm, Brother-Captain Gregor points toward the south. "The city's defenders are hard-pressed, we will flank to the south where the way is clear and then bring the Emperor's fury to our foe from a position of advantage. With me, brothers!" .
Brother-Captain Gregor adjusts the fittings on his helmet, surveying the blasted landscape that was once Lordsholm's outer districts. Testing his internal microbead, he turns to his battle-brothers. "Battle-brothers, form up and provide your post-drop status!"
As Venris completes his recitation of the articles of faith, Brother-Captain Gregor claps him on the shoulder and makes eyes contact with each of the other marines before donning his helmet. "We go forward now under the auspices of the Golden Throne. Stand true battle-brothers, for soon we will have our chance to bring the Emperor's fury to our foe. It has been left to us. Mourn them, but know: their lives and noble service will be avenged." Gregor straps himself in. "The Emperor Protects!"
Brother-Captain Gregor barely reacts to the terrifying revelation, merely calculating the potential threat of the tyranid presence. "Captain, have our lander readied immediately, it is imperative we are planet-side at the earliest opportunity."
"Can these anomalies be resolved further, ensign?" Gregor leans forward to examine the auspex display himself. "Are they craft of some kind?"
Brother-Captain Gregor remains coldly calm, listening to the white noise growling from the communications console, realizing there is no hope now for the people of Lordsholm. His face still an impassive mask, he turns slowly to the captain. "What do the auspex readings tell us?"
Brother-Captain Gregor nods in satisfaction. "Then, Inquisitor Burke, if this briefing is concluded, my kill-team will adjourn to the armory to make ready for departure. As you no doubt understand, my marines are eager to begin the Emperor's holy work."
Brother Gregor looks around at his battle-brothers as they digest the rest of the briefing, proud of their attention to detail and failure to show any trepidation as the scope of what they are about to face is made clear to them. As Inquisitor Burke concludes his briefing, asking if there any further questions, the scarred Brother-Captain nods in assent. When he speaks, his hissing voice is flat, emotionless, and to the point. "Yes. One." "When can we begin exterminating our foe?"
True to his detail-oriented nature and desire to have every tactical advantage possible for his kill-team, Brother Gregor poses another question to Burke. "Was Inquisitor Kalistrade able to provide an assessment of the extent of the planetary assimilation by the tyranid infestation to this point?"
Brother Gregor poses the obvious question: "You have made clear that Inquisitor Kalistrade was investigating further with her retinue. Has there been any contact since her last transmission? Is her warband in danger?"
Noting Brother Elyas pointed silence, but confident it shows the quiet marine truly has nothing further to add, rather than aloof indifference, Brother-Captain Gregor deems it time to address Inquisitor Burke himself. When he speaks, his voice is a hoarse, sibilant hiss, but no less powerful for the lingering effects of pharyngeal injuries he sustained when exposed to the toxic atmosphere of Braddock's World so long ago. "Honorable Inquisitor Burke, let me begin by thanking you for the honor of allowing this task to fall to us." "We will validate your decision and succeed in our mission for the greater glory of the Imperium and the God Emperor, or perish in the effort." He considers what the others have already asked before choosing his own interrogatives. "What is the current disposition of Imperial forces planetside and in Lordsholm? Are there presently any elements of the Imperial Adeptus planetside that are aware of the taint, and if so, what intelligence, if any, will they be able to furnish?" He pauses, making eye contact with each of his brethren, verifying that all are invested in the tactical briefing. "Does Inquisitor Kalistrade know the present location of the hulk that ferried the vile xenos to Avalos? Has it been quarantined or purged since the discovery of the taint?"
Brother-Captain Gregor folds the gold-leaf page on the weathered copy of the Tactic Imperialis he sits studying, and secures the weighty tome in his lap using hands scarred with white traceries from countless wounds incurred in bloody battle. He sits stoically, allowing his battle-brothers the opportunities to ask their questions first, relishing their astute observations and incisive queries of Inquisitor Burke. He has trained them well, and his pride is evident. The thin slash of his mouth, pursed pensively at the mention of the horrid xenos he knows they will soon face is lifted slightly into a thin fissure of a smile at the prospect of his kill-team having another opportunity to prove itself. Folding his thick arms across the chest of the plain black bodyglove molded to his chiseled form, he places one hand superstitiously over the shield and lightning bolt sigil embossed upon it. While covering the symbol of his chapter, the Storm Wardens, he intones a quiet prayer to Saint Drusus, all the while keeping his flinty grey eyes on the proceedings, his perpetual scowl now returned unbidden to his face like a storm cloud crossing over wan-lit sun of his momentary grin. As is custom, he awaits the last of his kill-team, Brother Elyas' turn to speak before taking his own, closely scrutinizing all of his brother marine's interrogatives while allowing them the chance to have their say. For the most part, he was one to lead by example, a quiet and introspective man who strove always to grant his subordinates the chance to learn and grow, be it in briefings, battle-training, or tactical instruction. His calm, ordered, and brooding demeanor, only punctuated by fierceness in battle and righteous anger when provoked, had given him the sobriquet 'Thunderhead' among the other members of the Deathwatch, an appellation that he despised, but described him to perfection.
I'll also keep the same name. Helmet-less profile pick (obviously). I hope you don't mind Ellipsis, but I blatantly stole your character sheet formatting. If anyone else wants to use it tagged up as shown, drop me an email and I will send off the blank outline to you. |
