The Confessor nodded as he was lead to the vessel of choice, still waving his censer left and right. As they embarked, he lifted it up and clipped the chain it was dangling by to his belt before finding his quarters and sitting down pensively and meditating over the next period of time, his thoughts going slow and unhurried. There was much work ahead, but there always was. He knew that only in death does duty end but Horacio nevertheless wanted something more concrete than that. The fact that he now saw several impediments to seeing his short-term task completed only made his long term aims for the universe seem harder and harder. 

As the Confessor started to feels his eyes get heavy and start shutting he heard a yell, something about being boarded. Biology took over and he started to again lull into sleep before he slammed his eyelids wide open and arose. "Boarded? By the throne...." he muttered, quickly struggling into his carapace armour. He had no time to dress properly so he put his gear right over his sleeping clothing, ramming his hat of office clumsily on top of his pom-pommed sleeping hat, the offending puff of cotton still sticking out. Now more awake he took in the information he had just been told and processed it quickly. With kroot and similar raiders on board, slugs were of no use. Flechettes and pellets were what his shotgun needed and he indiscriminately loaded both types of ammunition into the thing, before placing several shells into pockets of his armour and slinging the weapon over his shoulder. Afterwards the Confessor grabbed his bolt pistol in his left hand with all the magazines he had placed into separate pouches, and he took his power-maul into his right hand. At last, Horacio grabbed his rosarius and lit it be visible about his belt to give him an air of formality despite everything else.

At last, he calmly opened his quarter's door to step out, closed it, and then stood waiting for the younglings to come out. The enemy could be right around the corner however, and he pressed the activation studs of his bolt-pistol and power maul taking the former off of safety and activating the faintly shimmering power field of the other. He'd seen kroot once before and knew what they could do, but he also knew how to fight them. The fast buggers needed to be taken head on with overwhelming force and firepower; precisely what was in his personal arsenal. If that failed, the Emperor Protects.