[color=6ecff6][h2][center][b]Victar Ironmarch[/b][/center][/h2][/color]

Victar paid no attention to what was said. Neither towards him nor around him. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, his mind was occupied by something beyond rage and hatred. A numbing emptiness grasped his mind and soul in iron. His suit, his impenetrable fortress of faith and fury that had sported the Harbingers for his entire life, was coated black now. 
It had been expected, demanded, and he had believed such a thing would not cause him such pain, but it had. For the briefest of moments it was all he could do to squeeze his hand till they went white. A refusal to allow his base emotions play him for a fool for being so sentimental.

Again he ignored everything, the captain, his teammate, and the veteran, to focus on this singular moment. It was a blessing to serve, to be recognized as an elite and become part of something larger than he was or could be, yet it felt wrong. It wasn't until he realized that a single pauldron had kept the original painting that a profound peace returned to his spirit.

My colors have changed but my heart remains the same. Nothing can change that.

The final black pauldron was placed upon his shoulder and at last did he feel complete. The last matter was the two he had been placed with. It would be a short lived moment of friendliness.

"Your pardon. I've no need for advice," He turned to glance at his fellow initiate, "Nor a desire to answer." His tone was firm and clear, before he again returned his gaze to the veteran. "Directions to the armory are enough."