[@DracoLunaris][@DepressedSoviet][@Andreyich][@Hank][@Dead Cruiser][@FinDragon][@Wraithblade6][@Zelosse]



Roa eyed the assembled warriors through the lens of his helmet, his optics picking out every detail – from the most minute scarring, to the mini-expressions crossing their superhuman features – although he had already read enough information on each of them to know all that he needed to; now it was simply his task to get them armed, armoured and prepared to dispense the Emperor's mercy to those who deserved it.

“[color=7ea7d8]It is an honour to see you all here,[/color]” he replied with genuine exuberance , “[color=8493ca]now that we are acquainted, let us proceed with the formalities. From your questions I can see you are each eager to begin your duties.[/color]”

A short burst of clipped comm-chatter could be heard by those standing closest to the Captain, although no precise words were discernible, a conversation clearly taking place within the veterans helmet which did not concern them. For a moment it appeared that he was no more than a black-armoured statue, completely still with only his eye lenses flickering momentarily.

A couple of seconds passed before the sound of an approaching group drew the attention of all.

Arrayed in a single-file column were a number of tracked servitors – things that had once been men and women, condemned to this servitude as punishment for heinous crimes, their lower body replaced by rotating tracks and their bodies morphed into more machine than Man – each of them pushing before them a similarly caterpillar-tracked cross-rack bearing upon it each suit of armour belonging to the assembled Astartes; there the green of the Sons of Medusa, and beside it the yellow of the Harbingers and the blue Scout armour of the Ultramarines, all soon to be of the same colour. Upon the back of each servitor, dangling like some form of glittering prize, was an electroplated pauldron bearing the skull and 'I' of the Deathwatch against a background of catechisms abhorring the xenos for the filth they are.

One servitor, one suit of armour, and one Astartes was how the column eventually aligned, an arms length away from the Marines, an eighth attendant – this one a black-robed serf, a container of black paint in one hand and a swinging brazier in the other  - moving toward the suits, accompanied by a murmuring priest of the Ecclesiarchy distinguished by his crimson robes and tall mitre; each suit was held in place by the servitors as they were painted black for their new purpose, the opposite pauldron retaining the colours and livery of their owners parent Chapter, the hymns of the Ecclesiastical operative meant to sooth and calm the Machine Spirits of the armour in the God-Emperor's name.

“[color=7ea7d8]Now,[/color]” intoned the slightly robotised voice of Watch-Captain Roa, “[color=7ea7d8]step forth and affix your pauldrons.[/color]”

Every Marine was required to step forth and 'suit up', assisted by the same servitors that had wheeled in their armour racks, the freshly painted armour dry within minutes and ready to be worn. Only the Deathwatch pauldron was not attached to the armour, a duty that could be performed by the wearer of the protective carapace themselves.

From within his own armour the Silver Skull watched them, from the reasonable fresh-faced Ultramarine – part of a Chapter that rarely had an easy time fitting in with others – to the battle-brother from the Angel of Absolution Chapter, their entire strength seeming to stem from something inside them that their progenitor Chapter grasped at still; what this was he did not know, and doubted he ever would. 

As for the Black Templar Chaplain...a Chapter of fanatical zealots who worshipped the Emperor as a deity, not unlike his own brethren who were often considered some of the most superstitious Astartes to exist, when others knew from the very blood that ran in their veins that he was but a man. The greatest of men, but a man even so.

“[color=7ea7d8]Now, allow me to introduce you to those that may make things a little easier for you.[/color]”

There was another short burst of communication within the helmet, the doorway from which the servitors had entered now widening again, but this time it was filled by the broad frames of various black-clad warriors. They approached at a leisurely pace, some more upright than others, all as unarmed as those who were finalising the checks on their power armour as these newcomers drew nearer.

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother-Chaplain Berauth should be familiar with the concept of the Initiate-Neophyte system, but in case others here are not, you will be placed in the temporary custody of these veterans until you have completed your first assignment – whatever it may be. They will guide you, answer your questions, and provide support in battle.[/color]”

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother-Techmarine Berumedes, step forward.[/color]”

A Marine bearing the mechadendrites of the Machine Cult stepped forward and placed himself beside Brother Corbite, the black and silver of the Iron Hands visible upon his pauldron, a salute of a fist across his chest being the only sign of acknowledgement for the moment.

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother Cylaris,[/color]” a tall and helmetless Marine stepped forward, his back straight and his aryan features the mirror image of his Primarch, Guilliman.

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother Inri and Ironmarch, Brother Cylaris is a veteran of the Tyrannic Wars and a font of knowledge; I would recommend you learn all you can from him.[/color]”

The two scions of Macragge and the Harbinger – part of a Chapter who's Primarch was unknown to Imperial records – were grouped together.

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother Rathanael of the Consecrators will be your support, Brother Felbane.[/color]”

Dressed from head-to-toe in Mark IV 'Maximus' power armour, something that looked as if it may have just popped out of the pages of the Horus Heresy itself, the Consecrator moved to stand beside his brother-by-blood. They were an odd lot, no record of them to be found anywhere before the 40th Millennia, and each part of their armament said to be ancient but perfectly functioning.

“[color=7ea7d8]He does not speak much,[/color]” quipped Roa to the Angel of Absolution, “[color=7ea7d8]but he may to you.[/color]”

“[color=7ea7d8]Brother-Chaplain...Brother Cornelius...this is First Company Veteran Koldobika of the Crimson Fists, your assistance.[/color]”

Brother Koldobika saluted them both with a clenched fist, gesturing for them both to stand by him and showing especial deference to the Chaplain.

“[color=0054a6]It is an honour, my brothers![/color]” Came the jubilant voice from within his helmet, “[color=0054a6]may the Progenitor watch over us all; if I can be of assistance to you, then I shall do my utmost.[/color]”

“[color=7ea7d8]Finally, Battle-Brother Lartius.[/color]”

Lartius was most certainly a member of the Blood Angels, the winged tear-drop of blood upon his shoulder saying as much, but his uncovered head showed patrician features of ivory delicateness and a mane of golden hair that framed his oddly innocent looking features. A smile crossed his lips as he moved to stand with the Sanguinary Priest,  a look passing between the two sons of Sanguinius – a look of knowing and understand, the sort that can only be shared between two who battle each day of their lives tom keep themselves under control.

“[color=7ea7d8]You are all dismissed for now; you may go to your chambers, to familiarise yourself with the fortress, you may remain here if you wish. Just be at the armoury within two hours, that is all.[/color]”


[hr]


Captain Roa gestured for Sorrow, the only Astartes without a 'partner' to walk beside him as he made his way out of the hangar and back into the central area of the fortresses labyrinth of corridors, silent as they moved away from the dock. The Captain had no place to be, but traversed the corridors with the ease of someone who knew them intimately, until he ceased his pacing and removed his helmet to speak with Sorrow face-to-face.

“[color=7ea7d8]I do not know as much about you as I would like,[/color]” admitted the tan-skinned warrior, his lips twitching into a smile and the tattoos chiselled into his face giving him an unintended malevolent look, “[color=7ea7d8]you are an unfamiliar element and I do not like things I do not know...strange to find me here then, I know.[/color]” His deep brown eyes locked onto the glowing eyes of the Imperator armours helmet and remained there as he spoke again, “[color=7ea7d8]is there anything you would like to tell me before I take you into battle?[/color]”



[hider=PLEASE READ BEFORE POSTING]

Okie dokie, another post done.

Feel free to write your Marine connecting their shoulder pauldron, watching the painting of their armour...I shouldn't need to tell you!

I would advise that you note down the Deathwatch veteran who is accompanying you and use them accordingly. I shall be reacting to [b]you[/b], so feel free to request things, ask things, mill about for a bit, whatever.

I'll have a round (or more, depending on what people write) and then we'll get suited and booted and into a fight...probably. Don't let this cause you to post in haste though, quality over quantity folks.

[/hider]