If he were honest, Nergüi had phased out once they had landed on the pad and began to wait for the remainder of the squad that they knew to be coming; not for the last time did he wish he were back in the cold corridors of a Deathwatch watch-post, in the midst of a raging battle, or gunning an Assault Bike over the flat terrain of the Chogorian steppes. Ah, to be back upon those grasslands, the wind whipping through ones hair, the vast Chapter monastery visible in the distance as it rose high before you...

[color=00aeef]"The mighty golden age Titan Forge, a sight that few of us have ever seen, or have ever been this close to. I look forward to walking through its halls and discovering what secrets it holds for us, perhaps we may even find something to help us along the way."[/color]

Hailing from a society that continued to live the majority of their lives within yurts of animal hide, roaming in their nomadic fashion across the plains, he had never really been one for architecture. Not that this would have caused the lack of connection that he now felt, turning his head to take in the structures all around – the edifice he assumed that their Sororitas leader spoke of. If it had not been for what he [i]had[/i] seen already, well, even then he was forced to admit internally that – as with all the great works of the Emperor's servants – this Forge was a masterpiece of engineering.

What had he seen? Now [b]there[/b] was something else.

While still part of a kill-team he had walked upon the smooth surface of an Eldar Craftworld, trod through cities made entirely of physically twisted wraithbone and marvelled at its stark splendour. He had hacked his way through the belly of a Tyranid bio-ship, disgusting and alien, itself formed of a living organism – perhaps not a 'structure' in the customary sense, but a form of building nonetheless. With sand whipping about his feet, and intense heat thrown out by an ancient sun, he and his brothers had marched through the triangular wonders of a Necron tomb-world in order to bring down those very marvels of xenos engineering.

Oh yes, the Forge was as magnificent as any that graced this universe, but it took those of narrow scope – or of stern religious faith – to look upon it the way that their Celestian commander did.

After watching Aviza make her way to the doors of the Forge and push them open, clearly in need of no assistance from either he or the psyker, he turned his head and partially his body to take in the sight of the damaged Valkyrie making its way to the landing pad to disgorge the remainder of their task force. Whilst a sturdy enough transport, and not unimpressive gunship, he had always favoured the dangerous and solid Thunderhawk, although this could simply have been innate Astartes bias.

As with the now united team, he turned and stalked into the isolated interior of the Titan Forge, no weapons present in his hands for the simple reason that he knew they would not be attacked at this precise time.

How did he know? 

For the same reason he knew their leader was in a heightened state of alertness, or that both the Krieger and mercenary had been involved in a scrap in which Ork 'technology' had been used, because of the simple fact that he was a living weapon altered to a state of being that no-one else in the group possessed and that, if he was honest, thought was being severely abused; he could already smell blood and weapon discharge in the air on entering the Forge, so he knew that there had been a fight and – although no psyker, and unaware of exactly what Adrienne was seeing – he could [i]feel[/i] the oppressive sense of corruption as well as any other.

His footfalls made surprisingly little sound as he consciously ignored the conversation between the psyker and her power-armoured guardian, slowing his pace as the Celestian gestured for them to remain quiet, and stopping completely as they arrived at the door to the armoury. It had been torn asunder, bodies scattered about the place and only one life-sign reading on his helmets HUD, which he click-blinked into nothingness as they entered the inner armoury and found someone remarkably still breathing.

[color=00aeef]"Stabilize her, I have already sent for emergency extraction, her knowledge of what happened here is indispensable."[/color]

His superior she may be, but it was in placement by the Inquisition alone; had this been any other time or place, he would have become a lot more riled than he felt at that moment. He was not some blunt instrument, unthinking, unfeeling, and just there for the ride – he was a centuries old purveyor of death-dealing and the healing of superhuman warriors, a warrior-sage who had fought and seen things that this Sister could only conjure up in her nightmares. The blackened armour and metallic pauldron he wore were enough proof of this, and with any other would have garnered at least a little bit of respect. At this point he did not expect so much as rudimentary manners from her, not even a curt word of gratitude to a living figure of legend that entire regiments of the Guard would kneel too for just being in his presence.

This is what he thought in his mind, outwardly he simply gave a sigh into his helmet and made his way over to analyse the condition of the frail human he had been commanded to save.


[i]Second-degree burns, non-life threatening...

Left arm, severed at the shoulder, blood loss considerable...

Right left, damaged beyond repair, bionic replacement recommended, further blood loss sustained...[/i]

Nergüi switched 'views' inside his helmet as Aviza unwisely prompted the woman to continue speaking, informing them of what she knew. It was nothing that the white-haired Astartes really needed to hear, listening to subconsciously as he scanned her internals and watched as a cough of blood flashed clearly onto his display, internal injuries evident. She was in a bad way, but the Apothecary did the best he could, stopping what little bleeding there was left with an infusion from his narthecium and – with astonishing gentleness for one so large – placing a skin patch over the primary burn areas of her body.

If it were up to him he would have given her the Emperor's peace, the reductor feeling a little bit heavier on his wrist as his thoughts turned that way.

[color=00aeef]"Take her to the landing pad and make sure she makes it there alive. The rest of us will search the armory for any sign where the Orcs may have gone next, shouldn't be that hard. Once you are done, come back and meet us down here for further orders, now move swiftly."[/color]

[i]Who the Warp do you think you are speaking to?[/i]

[color=ed1c24]“As you wish,”[/color] came the robotised voice from behind his helmets vox-grill, [color=ed1c24]“you are welcome, Celestian.”[/color]

Making sure not to shift the Guardswoman in a way that would cause further damage, he lifted her effortlessly into her arms, the sight much like a giant carrying a doll – a bloodied and slowly breathing doll – which was honestly what it was. 

With all haste, but not too much, he made his way to Landing Pad D-1283 and deposited her with the recently arrived medical team, approving of the way they deferred to him and giving his thanks to them before turning back to make his return to the armoury.

It seemed that preparations for an assault were well under way by the time he arrived, the first thought entering his mind being why Aviza was holding a weapon specifically crafted for the Custodes of the Emperors personal guard. An Adrastus Bolt Caliver, a perfect piece of mechanical engineering and an even better weapon, something irking him inside as he looked at the over-sized weapon in the hands of the Sister.

He was back in time to hear [color=00aeef]"I found out where the Orcs went, and they seem to be gathering around the Titan..."[/color] the very fact that the filth now swarmed about one of the Emperor's own god-machines making bile rise in his throat.

Unlike the rest of the group he did not much change his armament, refilling on frag and krak grenades, and only grabbing another weapon once he found the marked section of the armoury. Once inside, out of all the marvels therein, he took a dust-coated boltgun and enough magazines of various-tipped ammunition to last through what was bound to be a rather impressive fight. Brushing a hand over the side of the weapon, he was happy to find the word [i]Mortis[/i] etched into the sublime metal and judged it suitable.

Stepping back into the room he took a short look through the hole in the wall, a grunt escaping his lips and the fire igniting in his veins even as he dragged his eyes away, clutching the bolter readily in his hands and awaiting the call to battle that was bound to come.

[color=ed1c24]“If I may suggest,”[/color] he said with a slight pause as he gave a nod toward Vala, [color=ed1c24]“the mercenaries skills as a sniper would be of great use, provided she can slay the Warboss from this elevated position; it would be an opening that would send those lesser Greenskins below into a state of confused – albeit heightened – aggression. As is standard operating procedure, those referred to as 'Nobz' should be targetted next, dismantling the Orkish command structure piece-by-piece.”[/color]

In a leisurely movement, one that other Astartes often found vainglorious and even dangerous, he removed his helmet with a small hiss and mag-locked it to his waist. As with every time before his senses became sharper, and the smell of so many Greenskins gathered in one place caused his nose to wrinkle with revulsion, his dark almond eyes moving over the rest of the party as he spoke.

[color=ed1c24]“I do not need to tell anyone here to aim for their heads, most wounds incapable of doing more than debilitating an enraged Ork, or that even a severed limb will do little to slow them down...but it always helps to remember.”[/color]

Lapsing back into silence he did his best to calm the fire in his blood, even giving a smile that creased the self-inflicted scars on his face, a smile that probably looked more like a crazed grin than anything. There were foes to kill after all, and he would kill them.