The next figure to walk into the room filled Kotys not with horror or disgust, but with pure perverted interest. The monster of a man, muscle and mutated flesh, barely even [i]human,[/i] but instead looking more xenos than homo... She had heard about him. Heard [b]much[/b] about him and the blood she spilled. Her long tongue slipped out into the air, tasting it, and then slowly, almost [i]sensually[/i] licking her lips. he was beyond dangerous, beyond powerful, possibly even more powerful than the astartes standing in this room, but by the [i]Prince[/i] was he a sight to see. 

Of course, sadly but sadly was what she had learned and what she could see merely from looking at him. That awful triangular mark across his chest, one that spoke of how he cared for nothing but blood and death and violence, with no respect for the pleasure of pain and the satisfaction in each slice... And even less care for other things. Yet... Well, she could still want him, working for her, on top of her... She smacked her lips once her tongue had retracted, wondering if he had noticed her lingering gaze, before finally turning back to their host.

They were to retrive an artifact, to be repaid in plunder and in slaves. Her gaze flitted back to the crowd of owned souls in the room, many wide-eyed at the display of so many chaos worshippers and mutations around them, and she could feel a little bubble of glee well up in her chest. There was to be no faliure in this quest. Absolute perfection only. 

She would take a seat and slouch comfortably as the craft began to make its way down to the surface. Twirling her cane in her hand, her eyes would find themselves drawn to a figure whose exploits preceeded them. Princess Natalia- the wannabe Pirate Queen. Standing up, she was about to introduce herself to the woman when the ship they were in was rocked by a shuddering explosion. Her frail figure was sent flying across the craft, dangerously close to the disgusting slug of the nurgulite, and her cane was sent flying out of her hand, clattering into the wall. At the last moment she managed to twist her body so that she wasn't shattered upon contact with the side, but still felt the wind knocked out of her as she was brought to an unexpected stop by the wall. 

Rolling to the floor, hacking up phlegm and gasping to replace the air that had been knocked out of her lungs, she would scramble for her weapon, praying that the hull integrity of the ship would hold. She had no vaccum-safe equipment on her- if there was going to be no air, things were going to get difficult.