Warhammer 40K: Socialising

(This thread is open to any of the Kings and Plunderers characters that are in Lord Taarn's base! Feel free to join in whenever!)

It had been a couple of days since Squad Asterozoa had finally returned from the mission to the moon of Tephu. Dawn was slowly approaching the western jungles of Sothis, though very little hint of it could be seen in the dark, cloud-laden sky. Rain had been falling almost all night, and showed no sign of letting up any time soon. The interior of the lonely stone fortress that Lord Taarn had claimed as his base smelled of rich wet earth, rain, damp wood and damp stone. The muted drone of falling water was occasionally punctuated by the low rolling rumble of distant thunder, or the faint cry of some jungle bird.

Inside the fortress's thick stone walls, Atash sat in a corner at one of the tables in the main area. He was still clad in his crimson armour, his helmet mag-locked to his belt, and he had an unnoticed smudge of machine grease across one freckled cheek. Several small piles of data-slates were scattered haphazardly across the tabletop, and in their midst a half-empty plate of various fruit pieces lay alongside a pitcher of water. Another plate, now empty, had been banished to the far side of the table at some point and promptly ignored.

The armour-clad book that normally hung at Atash's hip lay open on the table before him, its current pages almost full with drawings and tightly-scrawled notes that weren't in Gothic. The notes surrounded precise sketches of what looked to be various sections of a Storm Raven, and a little cartoonish doodle of a sad-looking Rhino lurked in the corner of one page.

Atash was dividing his attention between adding to the pages of his book, and reading off a data-slate held in his other hand. Every now and then he'd absently tuck his pencil behind his ear and snag a piece of fruit from the plate, his eyes never leaving the data-slate as he popped the fruit in his mouth and retrieved his pencil again. From the looks of things, he'd been here for hours.

In the courtyard of The Keep, Packleader Kevian Lance and Young Pup Durance Haket were in the midst of a fierce brawl in the rope ring. They had been here for a few hours, testing each other's speed and power and get a better feel for each other's combat style. They were bare-chested and only dressed in the strange brown and green fatigue pants that had become the colours of the War Dogs. Durance missed the simple blue and white of the Legion but, as Packmaster Taarn said, times had changed and the World Eaters must change with them.

Lance and Durance grappled with each other and tried to shove each other down into the mud. With the rain pouring down, it was hard to get a solid grip and Durance resorted to kneeing Lance in the gut. Lance saw it coming and managed to bring an elbow down to block it before sweeping his leg out to catch Durance off balance. Durance stumbled and slipped before he splashed down in the mud.

He wiped the mud off his brow and glared at Lance who was laughing heartily at this misfortune. The rain continued to pour down as Lance extended a hand to assist the young pup.

"Not bad," he growled at Durance. "You almost had me but you're as obvious as an Ork truck. That low blow would have worked on anyone dumber than me."

"Very funny Packleader." Durance grumbled as he took Lance's hand and hauled himself up. "You're a dirty fighter so I can see why you're Packleader."

Lance fixed himself with a stupid grin and clapped a hand on Durance's back. They made their way towards the inner Keep and dried themselves off in a small antechamber. The antechamber was filled with spare training clothes and had small training targets that could be used in more pleasant weather. Durance cleaned off as much of the mud as he could before donning a fatigue tank top. Since the mission to Tephu, this planet had refused to have anything close to a clear day. The rain sometimes fogged over the tree line in the distance but Lance had still managed to claim a few Ork heads, even in this weather. It was a nice place, all things considered.

After he had finished toweling himself off, Durance headed into the interior of the Keep. The common room was filled with the large dining table and it was positively adorned with data-slates and small mounds of food. Atash had managed to immerse himself in some task of some sort and was busy scrutinising a data-slate. Durance sat down heavily in one of the sturdy wooden chairs and reached across the table to pluck a piece of fruit.

"What interests you so, Brother Atash?" he asked as he bit down on the luscious fruit.

Atash was halfway through another sketch when approaching footsteps caught his attention. He looked up from his data-slate and book in time to see Durance drop down into a nearby chair and snag some of the fruit.

"Many things, Brother Durance," Atash replied to the question with a lopsided grin, and he gestured with his pencil to each pile of data slates in turn. "The data we recovered from the Inquisitorial ship, information on Eldar and their twisted kin, the readings from the listening post regarding that damnable portal, and servitor programming - among other things." He then waved the data-slate he still held in his other hand. "But right at this moment... Storm Raven schematics. Our bird got pretty bashed up on Tephu, and I was working on repairing her before the rain started. I'm not entirely comfortable with keeping her opened up while it's raining though - at least not until I've had the chance to set up some cover - so I'm brushing up on some of the finer details of the inner workings for now."

He set the data-slate back down on top of some of the others and tucked his pencil behind his ear, then took another piece of fruit for himself. "So how did your workout go?" Atash asked before taking a bite. He hadn't missed the traces of mud still clinging to Durance, nor the faint scent of sweat and exertion, and it wasn't hard to guess at what the young War Dog had been up to.

"It was a good few hours and the rain introduced a few complications to liven things up," Durance replied. "Packleader Lance is a devious fighter but I guess enemies in this time are far more cunning than I am used to. I'm still yet to fully appreciate how much has changed."

Durance gestured towards the piles of data slates. "I admit, there is much that I still have left to learn about what has changed. At least war remains the same, to an extent. Those xenos that we encountered on Tephu were strange indeed. I had not encountered their kind before on the Crusade and their battle styles were unusual."

Durance stood up and leaned over to grab another piece of fruit while also stealing a glance at the technical data on the airship. A confusing jumble of numbers, machine data, and other mechanical specifications loomed large on the slate but it made little sense to Durance. He had never paid much attention to the instructions of the Martian priests when he had returned the Rhinos to their care.

"Tell me," Durance began as he eased himself back down onto the seat, a small dribble of fruit juice trailing down his chin, "I've read of some of the history of the War Dogs since Packmaster Taarn was awakened and you, Packleader Lance, and Brothers Taric and Rainer feature prominently in defending our future. I've learned some of Brothers Taric and Rainer and their chapter, the Blood Ravens I think they were called. I admit I've searched for more information on you and your chapter but it seems our records are incomplete. Now that we've faced the fires of battle side by side, I want to know what drives you and what you aspire to.

You are a proficient and capable warrior and your skills with the machine are far greater than my own. I want to fight alongside you in the future but, in order to do that effectively, I need to know: why do you fight?"

"It's always interesting sparring Brother Lance," Atash commented lightly. "Speaking of sparring, I look forward to matching blades with you at some point soon. It should be educational for both of us, comparing our fighting styles."

He nodded understandingly as Durance gestured at the data-slates. "You and I are in the same shuttle, when it comes to still having much to learn. I'm still unfamiliar with many of the local Imperium customs, among many other things. There is so much to learn, so little time to learn it in." He flashed Durance a quick grin. "We can exchange notes."

At the comment on his chapter, Atash grimaced slightly. "I'm not surprised you didn't find a lot. There really aren't many records on my Chapter to start with. We have lost much over the years, unfortunately. I'd be glad to fill you in on what I can though."

Durance's last question made Atash pause, and he hummed thoughtfully to himself as he considered how to reply. "In the greater scheme of things... my Chapter and I fight to defend humanity. We fight to protect mankind from all the evils in the universe, to keep people safe." He gave a wry smile. "It sounds so ostentatiously grand and noble when put like that. On a more personal level though... I fight for survival. The survival of my chapter, of my battle-brothers, of my allies and comrades - and for my own survival, as selfish as that sounds." He huffed a soft laugh of wry amusement through his nose. "It's a little difficult to continue protecting anyone when you're dead, after all."

"Your style on the moon was reflective of a keen wit and a desire to maximise damage to your enemies. Yes," Durance grinned, "I look forward to seeing more of your fighting, whether in practice or in battle."

Durance listened to Brother Atash speak of his own chapter's lost knowledge and his own attempts to understand the galaxy. It gave him hope as well to know that it was not just the War Dogs that struggled against such a dire threat. "I would appreciate that," he said in response to Atash's offer of assistance. "Reading through data slates and scrolls was never something I sought out when I was among my brothers."

Atash's joke resonated with Durance and he chuckled at the brutal macabre of its meaning. He thought for a moment on what he sought to achieve and how his understanding of his place in the universe had been upheaved ten thousand years ago. What was his purpose now?

"I believe," Durance began, "that even a grand goal such as that is noble in its intent, if not realistic in its execution. Survival though, that makes more sense. I guess I too must fight for survival of myself so that my future brothers have a chance of fighting and glorifying the War Dogs' name."

He looked down at the table briefly, considering his past and how that had shaped him. "My training before I slept instructed me to always go forth and fight to expand the Emperor's domain. The universe belonged to humanity and the Astartes forged the paths along which lesser men would come and dwell. That was always our goal, ever onwards into the stars."

"We were to scour the stars of the xenos filth and humans who would not accept the Emperor's truth. We were to push on to the very boundaries of space and then continue forever on, for that is what the Astartes were meant to do. The reality in which I find myself, with xenos openly interfering on the worlds of man and even the almighty Astartes forced to entreat the lesser races of the galaxy rather than crush them under heel, seems unnatural to me."

Durance's eyes hardened as he looked at Atash. "My brothers and I failed on this planet. We failed our Primarch and our Emperor. Now we are to be reduced to hiding inside our walls while our enemies cavort just outside, taunting us with their continued existence. Packmaster Taarn and Banner Master Scarab have told me that to fight on while we stand so diminished is the height of idiocy. But the thought of doing nothing infuriates me."

He stood quickly from his chair and moved to leave the table. "My apologies for needlessly burdening you, Brother Atash. My struggles are my own to overcome." Durance walked towards the central chamber and looked back over his shoulder at Atash as he approached the steps leading down. "If you have need of me, I will be tending to my equipment in the armoury. I look forward to sparring with you, Shadowed Sun."

Atash laughed at Durance's description of him. "I believe that's the first time anyone's described me as being quick of wit," he commented cheerfully. "It's usually quite the opposite. The maximising damage part is very accurate though!"

He then nodded at the young War Dog's comment about reading. "Luckily for us, reading is something of a thing for my chapter," Atash replied wryly. "Knowledge is power, and all that. It'll be nice to put some of that knowledge to use."

He went silent as Durance began speaking again, listening without comment or judgement. He could both sympathise and empathise with the young War Dog's frustration - but he couldn't admit to it without giving away too much.

When Durance abruptly stood up, Atash blinked a little in surprise, but recovered quickly. "Hold on a moment - I'll come with you. I should probably check up on the servitors, anyway." He turned off the data-slate with the Storm Raven schematics, but left it on the table amongst the other slates. He closed his armoured book and slotted the pencil back into place along its spine, then reattached it to the chain around his waist. That done, he hurried to catch up with the young War Dog.

"And do not worry yourself about burdening me, brother," Atash continued sincerely as he fell into step beside the other Astartes. "A burden shared is a burden halved - and you should never have to shoulder such a burden alone. It's what battle-brothers are for, right?"

Durance heard Atash's words of support, words that he had not heard before from any other Astartes that he had known. Even Scarab and Lance had kept to their militant tongues and encouraged restraint and meditation. Atash, though, advocated a different path.

His jaw tensed and he felt his teeth begin to grind.

"Brother Atash," Durance began as they walked down the staircase, "I must apologise. You are welcome to join me in the armoury but I must ask you to refrain from helping me. You are my battle-brother, that is true. But you are not a blood brother, and you never will be."

"There are only three War Dogs that yet live, and Packmaster Taarn is adamant that the chapter can be revived using the old ways. Packleader Lance has taken on our skills and heritage, but he is not and will never be a War Dog. It is my duty to carry this burden, along with Lord Taarn and Master Scarab. Not you, not Lance, nor anyone else. That is simply how it is. Your concern is born of pity, for the War Dogs are piteous indeed. Even new Dogs are to be pitied. They inherit a legacy of failure and a desperate attempt to reclaim something that was lost. That is not something I wish on anyone."

Durance and Atash descended in silence after that until they entered into the vast armoury. Ancient weapons, some still bearing the crude savagery inflicted upon them by the Orks across the millenia, lined the walls and weapon racks while parts and pieces of machines were strewn about, waiting for someone to reconstruct them. A number of servitors buzzed around, cleaning and maintaining what little had been restored but so much remained to be done.

Durance turned to Atash and bowed sharply before turning and heading off towards his armour and his weapon. Three new notches were inscribed in the haft of Warden, his mighty chain axe having finally tasted blood after his long sleep. His armour, if he could even call it his armour, was still filthy and grimy with the dust of that xenos-tainted moon, showcasing his recent deployment as it hung off the display. He sat down on the bench beside it, took down one of his greaves, and began the task of cleaning his armour, from toecap to helmet.

Atash was somewhat taken aback by Durance's response, and he could feel the coals of his own temper beginning to flare. But temper wouldn't help the situation, so he took a calming breath and damped it down, continuing along with Durance to the armoury in silence.

As the young War Dog began tending his armour, Atash focused his attention on the servitors, checking their progress and updating their programming where necessary. Even as he worked, he considered what next to say to Durance. He wasn't comfortable leaving the conversation where it was, and more than anything else, he wanted to make himself understood.

After a few minutes, Atash finished with the last servitor, then glanced around the armoury to see what else he should work on. Several of the recovered suits of armour were still in dire need of cleaning, repair and maintenance, so Atash headed over to one on a rack a few spaces down from where Durance was seated.

"I believe you were asking me about my own chapter earlier," Atash said conversationally as he selected a muddied, battered chestplate, holding it delicately in place with his servo arm as he began carefully undoing the damage of centuries. "Now seems as good a time as any to fill you in."

Atash took a deep breath, then began talking in a calm, carefully modulated voice, using the same vocal tricks of tone and pacing that his own teachers had employed to keep his attention. "The Shadowed Suns have lost much information about our origins - we know only that our chapter was founded in response to a new xenos threat, many centuries ago. At some point, the entire Chapter Fleet deployed to face this threat - but were swept up in a violent warp storm, separated and scattered beyond any hope of ever regrouping. We do not know what happened to the majority of the fleet during the Scattering - including the ships that held almost all of our records - but a fragment ended up far beyond the borders of known Imperial space, badly damaged and very, very alone."

He paused, his brow furrowing as he focused on a particularly delicate piece of the armour's internal workings. After a moment, he continued again.

"They were far out enough from the Astronomicon's light that the Navigators could only guess at which direction to go, and the astropaths were shouting futilely into the empty void. The damage to the ships was more than they could fully repair with what they had on hand, and restricted them to only short, cautious jumps, barely skimming the surface of the warp. It took generations for them to limp back anywhere near Imperial-held space - and with every passing generation, with every conflict against the various enemies that came across those ships, more people - more knowledge - was lost. In the end, only three ships out of the original handful made it the entire way. They reached this sector about six years ago, and having finally reached a safe haven, they decided to stay in the area, at least for the time being. Much has changed in the Imperium since the Scattering, so there has been a lot to catch up on."

He smiled faintly down at the armour he was working on. "I was about fourteen, still in the midst of training and implantation, when the word filtered through the ship that we had finally made contact with other Imperial forces. The feeling of relief was indescribable."

The smile soon faded though, and he let out a quiet sigh. "However, we soon learned that none in the Imperium now had ever heard of our chapter before. We truly had been lost and forgotten, and time has not been kind to our remaining numbers. Not counting the scouts currently working to earn their black carapace, the Shadowed Suns number less than twenty. We have lost almost everything of who we once were, and it is very unlikely that we will ever get it back. So now, with the help of our brother chapters in the sector, we are working to rebuild almost from the ground up, and forge - or reforge - a new legacy, independent of whatever came before."

He paused then and looked directly at Durance for the first time since he'd begun speaking. "So it is not pity that drives my concern, but understanding. Our situations are not the same, yes - but they are not all that different, either." He tilted his head towards Durance. "Still, I shall respect your decision and refrain as you have requested. But if you ever decide to change your mind... you need only ask, brother."

Taric Tarsonus stood upon the parapet atop the modest tower that formed the current Chapter Keep of the burgeoning War Dogs. 

He was watching the two young War Dogs train. 

Lance was Fast, and easily as strong as Haket. But the Former world eater had shown his skills in melee were in a whole different league from Taric and his Brothers. 

And yet, Lance had held his own for several hours now. 

In part, Taric could tell that Haket struggled with Lances more... Adaptive style. 

But still, the Warrior sparring in front of Taric was not the same killing machine he saw against the Dark Eldar. He was either holding back, or he was missing something... 

True battle bred something greater in all Astarte's, But it seemed that Haket truly thrived in real battle. Something the could not be simulated hear. 

None the less, Taric was resolved to train with him, learn from him. 

He just had to figure out how to properly ask...

With a Knee to the gut, the fight ended, and Haket walked inside. Taric unloaded the Stalker bolter he had been using for "Live Target" Practice, and walked into the Tower.

Taric descended the stairway to the Bay, seeking out his brothers, Haket in Particular, And as he did he made out the terse clipped growl of the young Dog.

Taric  did not make out the words, he was not listening for them, but as he reached the entrance to the Bay, he lingered, and corrected this. 

As Atash listed his chapters history, Taric took particular interest, parsing what was said by what he knew, and what he was told. Once the conversation drifted on, he snapped out eavesdropping, thinking to himself Some habits were too ingrained to ignore. 

Taric entered the Maintenance bay, wearing his full war-gear having cleaned and repaired it immediately upon reaching the base, right after giving his report, and right before eating and going out to shoot. 

Taric walked past Atash with a nod, and removed his Helmet as he reached Haket. 

"Brother Haket, may i have a word?"

Durance listened to Atash's tale and how the Shadowed Suns had struggled through adversity to reach where they were today. He heard of how they had been sent on an important mission, how the entirety of the chapter had mustered to face the threat, only to be swept aside by the poor chances of fate. It was amazing that they had survived in the Warp and in the darkness for as long as Atash said, but nevertheless, Durance felt that it was altogether foolish to compare the Dogs and the Suns.

He opened his mouth to speak but he bit his tongue. His face grimaced as he redoubled his efforts on cleaning with his armour. Atash had chosen to answer his query and to spit in his face about the inequity of his personal situation was uncalled for. No, that is something he would deal with alone. Durance nodded at Atash's final offer of aid but did not respond, nor did he call out as Atash returned to his duties with the servitors.

Situations played over in his mind. The Shadowed Suns were rebuilding their forces, struggling against whatever cruel twists the galaxy had in store for them. They numbered five times greater than the War Dogs and had ships and vessels and far more war gear than the War Dogs had. Durance spat on a piece of his gauntlet and dutifully polished the stubborn adamantium.

That was the great failure of the World Eaters. The Shadowed Suns were undermined and savaged by the darkness of the universe, fighting back against forces outside their control. That he could understand. The World Eaters though, when they arrived with their expeditionary fleet numbering ten thousand Astartes and countless thousands of human warriors, fell to the brutality of the Greenskins. They could have won, they should have won. But they didn't. And now, ten thousand years of slumber had shown them just how worthless their sacrifice had been. The alien still resided; humanity still dwelt in fear of the horrors of the void. His face snarled into anger and hate. They had failed, not due to anything else but their own weakness. That is what Atash and all the rest could not understand. Only he, Banner Master Scarab, and Packmaster Taarn would know of their supreme failure.

Taric's words shocked Durance out of hateful reverie and he turned to face him, his face struggling to assume a more pleasant outlook.

"I'm sorry, Brother Taric. I am in the midst of maintaining my equipment. Perhaps later in the evening I'll be available for a discussion."

Taric saw the contortions of Hakets turmoil. He could almost feel the tension in Haket as he bit down his brooding rage. 

"Perhaps later then, Brother. But i should let you know, i have read the squads reports, and i may be able to assist you." 

Leaving the warrior to his brooding, Taric walked over to Atash, a raised eyebrow signifying his query about the mood of the War Dog. 

"Atash, For our base of operations, I am looking at the site of Taarn's Ressurection. If they the War Dogs do not with to claim the site as Sacred Ground. Do you have any other locations we should consider before i talk to the Chapter Master?"

Atash waited for a reply from Durance, but all he got was a tight nod - and it was obvious that he'd get nothing else right now. At least the young War Dog hadn't ignored him entirely, or tried to start an argument. He waited a moment more, then set the armour he'd been working on back on its rack and went to readjust a servitor.

As Taric entered, Atash returned the Blood Raven's nod with one of his own, before returning his gaze to his work. He couldn't help but overhear the brief words between Taric and Durance though, and when Taric approached him again with one eyebrow raised, Atash just shrugged slightly, his expression bemused.

He considered Taric's question for a moment, frowning slightly as he thought. "I can't think of anywhere else really more suitable on this planet," he replied eventually. "That ocean platform comes to mind if only for its defensibility, but I doubt it would really be large enough for our purposes."

"Hmm, with some work that may be a wise idea. We would require submarine construction to make a proper base of it."

Taric pondered over the idea for a moment, enjoying the flavor of it, the rightness to serve with his brothers where they earned their ascension. 

Turning back to Atash, Taric said "It will require work to be tactically feasible. Especially after what we did to it. Draw up sketches, and when Rainor returns you two look over its current state. For now, i have a different job for you. We need non-powered firepower. That Haywire field was a problem, a weakness we must plan for. For now, take the Auto-cannons and see what you can do to cut them down to something more practical."

"That place would require a lot of work," Atash replied dryly, though he was already considering all that could be done. "Still, I think it is definitely a possibility. I'll see what I can come up with before Rainer arrives."

He raised an eyebrow curiously as Taric mentioned a different job, then nodded understandingly. "Un-powered weapons are a good contingency. When Rainer gets here, I'll also discuss with him possible ways to shield our armour from such effects in the future, too. Haywire fields would cause me far more problems than just unresponsive weapons and unpowered armour."

He mused over that for a moment, then looked back to Taric. "And I assume by 'practical' you mean 'portable'," Atash deadpanned, then grinned. "Shouldn't be a problem though - I've had some experience with a variant of autocannon that should suit our needs quite nicely. I'll get started on schematics for that right away." He closed the access panel on the servitor he'd been adjusting, then began heading towards the area of the armoury where their few autocannons were kept.

Taric nodded, Satisfied. 

"See what you can do. Look over the other gear when you have the time. Leave the explosives until Reiner returns." 

With a nod, Taric went to leave the machine bay. He had more to read up on, and needed to find more intelligence on the ancient elder races they had found lurking in system.

Atash nodded as he retrieved one of the autocannons and set it on a bench, then unclipped his book from his chain and set on the bench as well, flipping it to a new page. "I'll get the schematics done, but I don't have the equipment to actually machine it just yet. And I'm perfectly happy to leave the explosives to Rainer! I'm still trying to get that Rhino working."

He tossed an absent salute to Taric as the Blood Raven began out of the machine bay, his attention already fully focused on the job ahead of him. With the autocannon on the bench to refer to, it didn't take him very long to figure out how to adjust it for their purposes. Once he had finished drawing up suitable schematics, Atash eyed them critically for a long moment, then gave a satisfied nod. "Not as pretty as a reaper," he murmured to himself, "but it should do."

As he returned the autocannon back to its rack, he looked around to see if anyone was even still in the machine bay with him.

Durance finished polishing off his helmet and placed it back on the stand. The brown and dark green colours still didn't seem quite right to his eye but such was his fate as a War Dog. At least they hadn't taken his armour and weapons from him yet. All other memories of the World Eaters and the War Hounds before that would remain with him and the other awakened Dogs.

As he glanced around the armoury, he noticed that quite some time had passed and that Brother Taric had left to attend to his own musings. Only Atash and the servitors remained, and even then Atash was in the process of putting a rather brutish looking gun back on its wall mount. Durance made his way over towards the techmarine.

"Brother Atash, do you care for a little brawl to ease up after labouring so long?"

Atash brightened at the question from Haket, and he nodded. "I'd be glad to," he replied cheerfully. "I must admit, I haven't had as much chance to spar lately as I would like." He rolled his shoulders with a theatrical grimace. "And hunching over the books does tend to leave a cramp in my neck."

He returned to the bench and fastened his book back to its chain, then looked back at Haket. "What type of sparring did you have in mind? Hand to hand, blades, fully armed and armoured? I have no preference." He paused thoughtfully for a moment, then continued wryly, "Though logic dictates the last is probably not the best idea, if only to spare our armour from needing even more maintenance afterwards!"

Durance chuckled. "I think perhaps simple hand to hand might be best. We're both unsure of each others skills so it would be unwise to chance blades or other weapons. The Packmaster would not approve if we seriously injured ourselves." He rolled his eyes as he made that last comment.

"And besides, maintenance and learning are both important but nothing quite compares to a bit of sweat on the brow after a hard fight. I'd frankly fall back into slumber if not for this physical training and Packleader Lance's preference for dwelling in his tower does not appeal to me."

Out of Character Message:

Atash chuckled in response as the two headed out of the machine bay. "Never mind Lance's disapproval, I'd be more concerned about earning the wrath and ire of Apothecary Nikkos! So simple hand to hand sounds like a most wise idea."

He nodded sagely at Haket's further comments. "Aye, there's nothing quite like working up a good honest sweat. But don't let Brother Lance's laconic manner fool you. Despite his mannerisms on-base, he is a fine brother to have at your back or by your side in a real fight."

As they reached the top of the stairs from the machine bay, Atash paused and nodded in the direction of the courtyard. "I'll meet you at the ring in a few minutes - I need to get changed first." He rapped his knuckles against his chestplate, then gestured with the servo arm attached to his backpack and grinned. "I don't think you'd much appreciate fighting myself and my armour." With that, Atash strode down the hallway to his own small room and disappeared inside to shed his crimson armour.

Several minutes later, Atash emerged in the courtyard, divested of his armour and only clad in off-white combat pants. Without the concealing battle-plate, it was now easy to see his extensive bionics - his left arm and right leg were fully augmetic, and more augmetics were visible in the left half of his chest. His build was otherwise fairly lean for an Astartes, and the augmetics gave him an almost lopsided look.

He headed towards Haket and the ring, ignoring the rain that was still falling. "Sorry to keep you waiting, brother," Atash apologised, then grinned and gestured to the rope ring. "So, shall we start with best of three?"

OOC Msg:

"Oof," Durance grunted as Atash's first strike caught him off guard. The force and speed with which the techmarine had struck astounded him. When he had first seen Atash's heavily implanted torso and the wealth of cybernetics that had replaced his flesh, he had expected a much slower and more calculating fighter. His past experience had reinforced that notion in their actions on Tephu. This, though. Atash was a far more agile combatant than he had expected.

"I suppose I should be thankful. If we had fought with blades I would have been the first to paint the earth." Durance grinned as he planted his feet in the mud. "Prepare yourself though. A battle isn't won with one blow and I bear many more strikes than that." He leaped out, striking forth with a fist straight at Atash's gut.

Atash had been somewhat counting on Haket to underestimate his speed based on his appearance - and it had worked, at least for the first blow. But that wasn't a trick that would work twice. Still, he couldn't help but grin back at Haket. "True, on all counts," he replied as he settled into a ready stance, this time waiting for the young War Dog to make the first move.

Which Haket did with almost uncanny speed, and Atash barely managed to get out of the way in time. The two exchanged a swift series of blows, neither quite managing to land a hit on the other.

Then Atash slipped slightly in the mud underfoot - he recovered his balance quickly, but not fast enough to avoid the strike that Haket landed on his right arm. The blow was hard enough to make Atash's arm briefly go numb, and he quickly stepped back to give himself some room and shake it out. "You hit like a thunderhammer," he commented, still grinning in enjoyment as he settled back into a ready stance. "So that's one hit apiece so far!"

"I am fortunate that I hit that arm. Your other one is likely to break my knuckles." Durance settled into a fighter's stance again and tried to find purchase in the mud. This damnable weather was making him sloppy and throwing off his strikes. Atash was good, no doubt about that. He wiped the rain out of his eyes as he prepared to go again.

Durance dashed forward and tried to unbalance Atash by going at his legs but his servos whirred and he jumped aside, swinging at Durance's head. It was a close strike but Durance managed to block with his left arm and counter with his right, his fist almost grazing Atash's skull. While it wasn't a felling blow, it did the job as Atash stumbled a little and tried to sweep Durance's legs out from under him. Durance stepped aside and got a single punch on Atash's chest, further destabilising the techmarine and sending him slipping onto the ground.

He extended a hand towards his comrade and pulled him up. "I hope you're ready for more," Durance said as he raised his fists up, ready to box.