[@Ollumhammersong][@Andreyich][@POOHEAD189]


Assault Ram Sigma-2 was quite literally [b]spat[/b] from the [i]Warspite[/i] in a blaze of flame, black and white livery gleaming as it shot through the space between the two duelling vessels, adrift in dark nothingness before slamming into the side of the [i]Emperor's Folly[/i] almost as abruptly; time seemed to slow within the Chaplain's helmet, even as his breathing matched his twin heartbeats and recycled air filled his mighty lungs, one gauntlet closing tightly about the haft of his [i]crozius[/i] while his enhanced hearing listened intently to the Magna-Meltas puncturing the thick metal skin of the Lunar-class cruiser.

"Prepare yourselves," he voxed to the half-dozen Templars making up his personal squad, Klaus' deviation from the assigned mantra not going unnoticed if he believed it was, "five...four..." the internal helm-chronometer ticked down until it hit 'zero' and the ramp that made up the front section of the ram lurched open and slammed into the interior of a corridor some three sections down from the bridge of the vessel.

With an approximate compliment of ninety-five thousand crew of assorted type and designation aboard the standard Lunar-class, it came as a bit of a shock to the Chaplain - the first out of the ram and into the breach - to find that the corridor seemed deserted. 

It appeared to lead off in two directions, both as dark and uninviting as the next...

"Brother Obryn," he voxed to the red-armoured giant he assumed would be moving into formation behind him, the sound of his servitors unmistakable, "please asses our situation - I need to know the swiftest route you can suggest to the bridge, we must cut the head from the snake."