Thrallindor looked at the bare, grey ceiling in his room. He knew he was late to the meeting but he wanted to contemplate the roads of life. "[u]I could've just grabbed the maiden and went[/u]" grumbled the squat "[u]I could've left all a this behind me but noo, you had to be off yer rockers Thrallindor and join a bloody Inquisitorial team. Or I could've gotten that bloody Administarum desk job, that would've been fun instead of facing bloody daemons. Frak me, Throne forgive me for being a stupid idiot.[/u]" Our local sour, ginger bearded squat muttered more obscenities under his breath as he put his combat gear on, kissing his Aquila as he walked out the door.

Thrallindor was a certain type of squat. Oh he was a lazy one. Lounging around, never one to be on time but on the battlefield.... He was furious. He speeds around, firing his shotgun at everything, stabbing and slicing with his over spiky armour. He had a love for fire as well. He took out an Iho stick and shoved in his mouth, lighting it up. He took a long drag and blew the smoke in the air, making sure he made rings while doing it.

The squat hated going on these ships. He couldn't control what was going on, what was happening on the ship. He had no control. And if some bigwig captain decided to close the Geller Fields (which he doubted any sane Imperial man would do), he would have to clean it all up. Chaos is an ugly thing.

He reached the door, and looked lazily into the eyes of the others and began his throne forsaken list of excuses he has accumulated over the year. "[u]Sorry, I got lost on the road of life, then there was a orgryn grandmother who I had to help go into the elevator and then there was this ork who wouldn't shut up so I had to shoot him and then there was a girl in bar that I had to buy a drink for but then she declined and poured water down me face. Sorry for being late.[/u]"