Medeis was glad to have Skyrax on his side. The Vanguard Captain was often more abrasive and rash than the Chief Librarian liked, but at least the man had his head screwed on straight. Both the Master of the Forge and the abomination he'd been tasked with babysitting advocated retreat in the face of resistance, however, and the idea brought him as close to physical illness as he'd ever been brought by something someone had to say. The left side of his mouth curled up slowly, forming an unforgiving snarl as he listened to their traitorous words. "Cowards..." he grumbled, having to fight to keep the Voice of the Legion out of his whisper. Then, as if to throw the veterans' loyalty back in their faces, the Chapter Master agreed with the horrific construct sitting across from them. Now he felt physically ill. It didn't last long, thanks to his physiology, but he'd never been closer to throwing up in his entire existence as a space marine. Not only had he been saddled with a sickening psychic automaton that he was supposed to keep alive and functional, now the Lord of Battle he'd followed without question for decades, the one person he respected above all, was refusing his advice in favour of that most heretical thing he'd ever seen in the Light of the Emperor.

"Ships get lost in the warp all the time." he observed casually, but with a tone that implied he wasn't talking about some disappointing news he'd heard from someone who's friend's distant cousin had mentioned it in passing over drinks. There was barely-veiled venom in his words as he continued to speak, though no supernatural power entered his voice yet. "The [i]Opulence Excelsior[/i] incident wasn't all that long ago... Maybe they got caught in an aftershock or something?" purely conjecture on his part, but a decent story, and once that the Inquisition wouldn't have much choice but to buy, assuming the evidence was disposed of properly. Even the best ships could succumb to the warp, seemingly at random. 

He wondered how obvious it was that he was now fighting simply to prevent the repugnant atrocity that served as a Forge Adept, from being right. Lucky for everyone involved, he had yet to be able to physically manifest his hatred. The closest he got was feeding it like promethium into his psychic flamethrower, but he couldn't very well unleash that in the War Room. Instead he was stuck hoping that something else catastrophic might happen if he focused hard enough. Even if he could just get that abhorrent obscenity's excuse for a psychic hood uncomfortably hot, maybe the thing would get the picture. Then again, it was still here, and he was pretty sure he'd made it clear his stance on the whole issue. 

Letting his humours get the best of him, Calvaria stewed silently in the depths of his robe, the air in his immediate vicinity roiling quietly and beginning to smell faintly of ozone. The Chapter Master had said this would be a meeting, but he was beginning to think it was going to be much closer to an issuance of orders. The man in charge just needed a sounding board before he interacted with anyone in an official capacity. Slowly containing the rage he normally attributed to Skyrax, the Chief Librarian resigned himself to yet another ignominious duty, and hoped this one might get the loathsome, heretical construct hiding behind the Master of the Forge to disappear.