Among the other Deathwatch members, cloaked in black stood Brother-Sergeant Tyros Maxim - he wasn't in prayer before a bronze aquila nor was he attempting to comprehend the existence of why he was here. The only thing identifying his 'former' Chapter was the symbol of a green dragon his shoulder. Although even that was open to debate - as one of the Primaris Marines, he had been far older than some of those serving in the Salamanders Astartes Chapter.

They had locked away thousands of men like him, those whom had been augmented beyond even the capabilities of the legendary Space Marines. Their past eons ago, that it might as well have been a time of myth by now. But they now stood as the newly forged blade, ready to cut down the enemies of Man. They in particular, had been serving in the many numerous Chapters that had been desperately needing reinforcements.

Tyros had been delegated to the Salamanders, as Sergeant in a Tactical Squad. Whereas the regular Space Marine made any human seem like a mere insect, a Primaris did so for the Astartes. He hadn't been there long, since it hadn't been long before Deathwatch had needed replenishment and he had been one of those picked from the Salamanders - but he had been there enough to pick-up certain...quirks that had been common for that Chapter. 

Namely, he had been taught how to handle his war-gear on his own, without requiring the aid of Tech-priest or Techmarine. As the Salamanders had taught, any Marine could be stranded, any weapon could break on the field and any armor could be pierced in heat of battle. For an Astartes to be beyond that of mortal men, he would need to know both his body, mind and arms to be an effective shield and sword for the Emperor. Thus, compared to others - he was currently making sure that his bolter was in working condition and checking it for any defects or damage. Almost like his own ritual and prayer - except this was for the lord of practicality.