The deck shakes. The Legion is here.

Rashad Aedir, the Haematic, is the fourth of your company and representative of the Blood God. He was once a sorcerer of the Fifteenth but scorn for his legion's failure set him upon a different path. The thirty Ruberic Marines that stride behind him are painted scarab black and sunset red, and their armour jerks and struggles as the people trapped inside struggle to escape. About his head orbits an eerie halo of kine-knives.

He is not your friend, and has no history with you. You do not know where the Warmaster found him or to what he owes allegiance - the only thing you know for sure is his affinity for his thick, black choking cigars, and his generosity when offering them to you. He offers them now. 

"Vael," he says, igniting the flame of his cigar with a snap of his fingers. A blood vessel in his temple breaks and a line of blood runs down his face. "I cannot get a straight answer from anyone about what you think we are supposed to be doing to the Mechanicus down there. Are we fighting them or not?"