Nergüi enjoyed the ride to the fortified headquarters of the Guard on Tarson immensely; in spite of being shoved inside of the rear of the Taurox like a canned food product, he was a White Scar and all of his Chapter enjoyed going at speed. So much so was he enjoying it that he began to feel a pang of yearning for his own Assault Bike – a mechanised replacement for the steeds that all nomadic warriors on his planet would treat like one of their own family.

They filed out of the nearly twin vehicles in an orderly fashion once they had come to a stop, the members of the Celestian's task force crowding around her to be taken into the interior of the fortress and into the presence of the highest ranking officer still left in command. Although the Apothecary received his fair share of stares, some Guardsmen and women even kneeling as he passed, he took such things in his stride and simply ignored them for the most part; this was not out of any malice toward them, not at all, but he had gotten used to such reactions on Armageddon and now these quaint customs of unaltered mortals barely even registered.

Lieutenant Nova of the Tarson Guard was a woman quick to look them over and even swifter to give orders for their most useful dispersal, the look of relief upon her face most evident indeed, her eyes glancing briefly up at his towering form before focusing on the remainder of the unit. Although his helmet has been looking toward the rear of the room, the HUD and sensors registering and recording all it could for a later time – even target locks flickering into life around every biological life form present – his organic eyes looked down at her from within, and a smile twitched at the side of his lips.

[color=ed1c24]"I need someone medically trained to handle injuries in the infirmary, we have many wounded who need the assistance immediately."[/color]

[color=00aeef]"Alright everyone, you know your areas of expertise, carry out your orders then report back here once they are finished."[/color]

“I request a guide to the infirmary,” boomed the voice from within his helmet, a nearby Guardsman sequestered temporarily for his purposes without much of a fuss.

They made good time, the guide – who had introduced himself as “Private First-Class Niells” - obviously knowing the layout of the complex better than most. A layout that was mapped by the sensors of the White Scar, up until and including their arrival to the doors of the infirmary.

“My thanks, Private.” It was a small platitude, but the bald-headed Niells seemed to have been emotionally uplifted nonetheless.

It appeared that the field surgeon and his team of exhausted aides was not to be so easily amused, the bearded and grizzled doctor glaring up at the towering hulk with narrowed eyes the colour of a stormy sea, his thick, hairy, arms crossed tightly over his chest and apron as he approached the Astartes.

“You can't fool me with your airs and graces, Marine. I fought beside your kind on Ebascos Eight! These others may never have seen one of you bleed,” he almost bellowed, “but I've seen your fellows die.”

With an almost casual movement, causing the doctor to take a startled step back, Nergüi removed his helmet with a hiss and attached it to his hip in one smooth movement. Revealed then was a craggy face and wispy beard of aged grey, two dark and deep eyes taking in the man but betraying nothing of his feelings, his mouth moving into a smile seemed more threatening – coming from the over large transhuman face – than comforting, the ritual scarring of his homeworld doing nothing to ease the nerves of any present.

“What colour was their armour?” He asked in a voice like the deep bass boom of a gun or trumpet, wisdom etched into every syllable, but also the clear feeling that he meant no harm.

“They was dark blue,” replied the doctor, quite taken aback, “blue with a white dragons head on their shoulders, and a silver aquila.”

“Your memory is good, Surgeon,” congratulated the savage-looking Marine, “and those were the warriors of the Star Dragons, neither kith nor kin to my own but loyal and steadfast for all that.”

His eyes now swept past the chief surgeon and into the infirmary – a fancy name for a room of sterilised equipment, simple beds and plastic curtains, a room of piss and blood and screams. There must have been dozens of dying and wounded in that one room alone, damage of every sort visible in a glance, it was good to be here.

“Will you be able to mend the wounded in [b]that[/b]?” Questioned the surgeon with incredulity, his tone one of serious scepticism, a hand gesturing at the power armour.

“Find me tools, and I shall save as many lives as I can.”

With a quick glance behind him, where Private Niells was still standing and had not moved, Nergüi chuckled deep within his belly and pointed the man back the way they had come, “[color=ed1c24]please inform Sister Aviza and your Lieutenant that I am here and preparing to assist the Guard in any way I can.[/color]”