[center][h2][color=7B68EE]Castigus[/color][/h2][/center]
[center][h3]Bridge of [i]The Awoken[/i] - ???.M41[/h3][/center]

The journey had been a longer one than Castigus could rightly stand. It had almost driven him mad with how little his skills had been used. No practice cages, no hunts, no screaming pounding combat stims flooding his veins as he swooped down on terrified prey only to rip them to bloody bits and vanish into the darkness. It was the Alpha Legionnaires fault, though he had to give his brother credit. It had worked. No one had noticed them come and go. He was unused to using stealth in such a fashion. For the Nightlords it was a prelude, the soft sickly notes of a song which would end it bloody screaming crescendos. For Laszlo it was the heart of the song, the nature of the prowl. To be unseen, unheard, undetected, and for only the remnants of one's acts to be found. If that. It was not unlike the teachings of his father the Nighthaunter. With the exception of the fact that one could never really tell if it had been the Alpha Legion. When it came to the Nightlord’s campaigns, the enemy always knew what howled in the night and road on the wind. [i]Let ten thousand howls promise ten thousand claws. The Night Lords are coming. And no soul that stands against us shall see another dawn.[/i] The words of Malcharion’s work resounded in his head. 

Laszlo stepped from the shadows of the room snapping Castigus back to the present. It was so brazen and forthright. The silence was meant for him to announce his own presence but the moment went on for a second before the doors were slammed open. Still wreathed in the shadows at the corner of the room Castigus’ blade went from its sheath to his hand faster than any mortal or most augmetic eye could track. It was a liquid motion honed over centuries of war. Instantly his helmet’s display flashed several dozen threat ruins into existence in a dizzy flood of information. The Ogryn if that is what it was that crashed into the room was waving a ripper pistol. It was a huge brutish thing clearly warped by the effects of chaos. The rampant mutations alone were enough for Castigus to want to tear its head from its shoulders. His vox grill clicked as he breathed within his helm “[color=7B68EE]Preysight”[/color] Instantly his visual field flicked to a mass of heat signatures as his right hand primed the blackout grenade on his tactical webbing. The movements were short and controlled but when the Ogryn finally came to a halt and nothing more happened he could feel his muscles itch. The spirit of his power armor had flooded him with a wash of combat stims and they were now going to waste. [i]Pity[/i]. Clearly this was just another member of a warband of mutants, mortals, and bottomfeeder scum. As the newest mortal finished his question Castigus audibly clicked the Legion Combat Knife back into its sheath at his hip. The noise ominous in the room though he doubted many of the things in the room were either intelligent enough to feel appropriate fear or had ever even encountered one of his kind. They were an increasingly rare breed within the eye. Relaxing his grip on the blackout grenade he released the primer. Relaxing back into a casually ready stance. 

As far as he was concerned they had gone [i]“In Midnight Clad”[/i] There was no reason for him to speak more than a single phrase. The words were heavy accented low gothic. He was Nostoman born and the universal language had never really lost of the lingering effects of the fact that his Legion spoke almost exclusively Nostoman. 

“[color=7B68EE]Castigus, of the Night Lords.[/color]” Unlike Laszlo, his armor remained the dark blue color of midnight and brass. The bastard legion held no appeal for him. Though in truth he doubted Laszlo was doing anything more than sowing confusion and concealing his true nature. Such were the Alpha Legion. The Night Lord didn’t leave the shadows, it was less a matter of being ominous than it was the fact that even the dimmest lit sections of this ship were far brighter than even the Twilight decks, which housed legion serfs, of a Night Lord cruiser. The light was distasteful and without his helmet, it would have been painful.