Kaerel Fellwalker, vanguard against the Orkish horde and Watcher of Weakness, was stood in full black Astartes Mark five Power Armour. It's helm had since been refurbished into a snarling animalistic visage with a piercing gaze, he carried this relic in his right hand, loosely holding the helmet. He listened with rapt attention to every single world that the High Inquisitor uttered, letting himself be overtaken by the zealous passions that came with a desire to slay all manner of Xenos in the name of the Emperor. Such was a fiery passion that he shall forbade any of his fellow Astartes from even thinking of taking a single damning step back, blasted be their honey-coating lies and tactical acumen. He watched hawkishly as the Inquisitor slowly limped from the launching bays, his massive chainfist-covered hand forming a zealotry fuelled fist.

Kaerel boarded the small stealth shuttle with his brother Astartes, the vessel that would sally them forth into the meat grinder of the world below them. Kaereal however did not falter nor show any signs of discomfort at this, he lived for the thrill of the kill, to feel the hot vitae of the enemy splash across his bare flesh and caress him with the same stench of iron that he had come to so maddeningly crave. He looked upon the rest of his comrades and saw them lacking. He saw Astartes that had probably never bisected a man, that had probably never had to fight tooth and nail for their very survival. 

With great disdain and a barely suppressed loathing, he heeded the words of the Space Wolf among them, a man he recognised as a 'real' brother due to his massive jump pack. "I have had the honour of letting their blood before. They are pathetic and weak however, for they see the true beauties of war as barbaric!" He was frantically frothing with rage and vibrating with zeal at these words, truly there were no foe more maddeningly infuriating than those blue-skinned Xeno scum.