Farther Arabar's words pierced Quel's concentration like a bolter pierces flesh. His work slowed and quieted as he listened to Arabar's words, the very thought of what was to come filled his tainted body with vigour and excitement. When Arabar's words ceased, so did the silence of Quel's work, in a relatively quick fashion he managed to get some of the basic functions on several consoles restored. Not wanting to spoil his fun too quickly, he heeded father Arabar's words in reference to the repainting of his armour, additionally Quel had also become curious as to the possibility of further ship damage coming from the Night Lords who had fled the bridge. Fingering a few buttons on the consoles he retrieved what information he could regarding any damage to the ship, besides a few errors from the consoles yet to be fixed the diagnostic returned only very minor pressure imbalances, indicating some very minor interior damage.

Quel moved from the bridge to the halls, assessing the carnage left behind from the coup. As he drifted through the halls Quel took particular interest in one bit of damage on a metallic wall, it was a scratch mark, he pondered it's origin, it seemed too rough to have come from a power sword, yet not rough enough to have been carved by a chainsword. Suddenly it dawned on him, Amphion's creatures might have caused such damage, removing his padded glove Quel ran his bare fingers over to mark. Something about it excited him, in his six thousand years of existence Quel had repaired and destroyed a lot of machines, however, those twisted by the warp, that seemed more beast than machine had always left a guilty feeling in Quel's bowls. He now recognises this guilt as the product of a hidden excitement and urge to want to work on such machines and aid in their manufacture, his previous dedications to the Night Lords spawned such a guilt in him, but no more. Now Quel only felt excitement as he wondered what abominable machines he'd father in his future service to Arabar and Nurgle.