Eisenhorn — Roleplayer Guild

It seemed he was the only one to react poorly to the abrupt arrival of the teleporting psyker, and was alerted to the minor fact that there were, indeed, two psykers with them. Ansgar suppressed the urge to sigh, unconsciously reinforcing the mental barriers that had kept him sane on the daemon planet. They were equal parts his own survival necessities and indoctrination by the Inquisitorial forces after the campaign after his purity tests and checks were complete, to ensure no outside force could simply read his mind and learn of things better not known to other people. It made reading him a far more involved process, since the Inquisition had made sure that one couldn't simply glean details of their deepest secrets idly from a Guardsman at some point. It made things fuzzy, at times, especially those last few weeks of the campaign when most of the Death Korp presence was dead or wished they were, and he was more exposed to things that most Guard would never desire or dream for.

Still, having someone a good foot taller than him wielding dangerous, unstable powers from the Warp did not settle terribly well with Ansgar. Even if she jested about perils such as daemonic possession and mutation, which got no overt response. Ever thankful for the mask that so defined his people, the Krieger instead returned the Hellgun to its place on his back, leaning on the wall in the closest thing he could get to a relaxed stance. He did give the freakishly tall psyker a response, looking towards the Inquisitor as he spoke before the brief started. "Well, rest assured, should you become some many mouthed abomination of warp twisted horror, I will be there to put you out of your misery." It was a rather casual response to her joke, and for all appearances, completely serious. If he were a Death Korp Quartermaster, well, it would have been completely literal. Rather, he would merely put her out of her misery should the warp lash back against her.

The brief was short and, unsurprisingly, not terribly informative. Controlling world of the system, chaos cults infesting, all the problems that usually lead to the Guard being sent to put the world down and back into the embrace of the Imperium. So, instead of storming into a figurative or literal hell and putting the enemies of Man to the torch, he was going in before they could rise up. And still putting them to the torch. Well, he could certainly get behind that. Made him miss the heavy flamer from his Engineer days, really, that thing cleaned up messes, daemonic and mortal, right quick. A fond smile formed under the impressionless gasmask, briefly as it existed, before it faded again. Thing was also heavy as hell and made one a target for sharpshooters fancying their chances at a rather explosive shot at a squad. Rather, he only really had one question. "So, how loud are we going? I'm not much one for subtle movements, really."
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