Warhammer 40K: Socialising

"Oh, I don't know, your knuckles seem pretty tough to me!" Atash retorted cheerfully as he prepared for the fight to continue, his short red hair plastered down by the rain. "You would at least leave a dent!"

After Haket finally managed to dump him on his back in the mud, Atash accepted the hand up with good grace. "Always!" he replied with a cheeky smile. "Let's go for best of five then!"

He bounced a little on his toes, then suddenly lunged at Haket, feinting to one side before coming up on the other with a high strike. The blow barely missed Haket's head and landed solidly on his right shoulder, despite Haket's attempt to block it. "That's two apiece now," Atash commented as he bounded backwards out of immediate range, his green eyes bright with excitement. "Down to another tiebreaker!"

Durance was caught off guard again by Atash's quickness. If his old instructor could see him, he would be scolded and forced to repeat the fight a thousand times until he knew how to overcome it. Atash was unconventional. He didn't fight like any Astartes of the World Eaters ever did and Durance had never had the chance to spar with one of the other legionnaires. This was proving interesting. He was enjoying this and Atash was clearly enjoying it too.

"Prepare yourself Brother," Durance called as he out amidst the rain. "You've fought hard and shown much spirit. Let's see how you fare now." Durance lunged forward and tried to kick out Atash's kneecap but the techmarine seemed to shift slightly in the mud and throw off his blow. Atash's counter strike went wide as Durance turned sharply and lashed out with the back of his right fist. His fist solidly collided with the back of Atash's head and Atash fell forwards and splashed into the puddles that had formed in the ring.

Durance shook his stinging hand and saw that his knuckles were raw from where he had hit Atash's cybernetics. He laughed openly and bent down to help Atash back to his feet. "Well, I grant that you are hard headed at least," Durance grinned at Atash, "but it seems I am victor. Unless you wish to continue, that is." It was bait, pure and simple, but Durance hoped that Atash would take it. He wanted to be pushed to his limits and see how the old styles fared against the new.

Atash sputtered and wiped his face clear of mud and water, then grinned up at Durance and accepted his help back up. "Of course I wish to continue, brother! I'm just as stubborn as I am hard-headed. Best of seven, then!"

He settled back into a ready stance and waited for Durance to do the same. Atash waited just a moment too long though, and Durance took advantage of it to lash out at Atash's legs with a low sweep. Atash managed to backflip over the sweep, sending up a spray of water and mud. As soon as his feet hit the ground again, Atash dropped into a crouch and launched forward, staying low beneath Durance's guard and landing a solid hit to the young War Dog's torso that staggered him backwards.

"That's now three each," Atash noted cheerfully as he leapt back out of immediate retaliation range. "And we're once again back to the tiebreaker!"

Durance was tired now. Whether it was because of the cybernetics or simply because he was a more conservative fighter, Atash was exploiting more and more of his own mistakes and kept going with showing no sign of strain. The rain continued to pour and Durance was feeling like he might finally be on the ropes.

Atash jabbed out fast with another blow aimed at his shoulder and Durance only jerked away at the last second. His returning strike was clumsy and easily blocked by Atash who responded with his elbow to Durance's face. Durance managed to bring his left arm up to weather the blow but it hurt more than any of the last few attacks. His right hook sailed past Atash's shoulder and Atash capitalised on his mistake. A well placed punch was going straight for his chest. He tried to bring his left arm in a guard but Atash's fist crumpled through his poor defence and knocked him down.

Durance was panting as he looked up at Atash who still seemed so eager and fresh in battle. Ten thousand years had taken more out of him than he'd thought. "Well fought Brother," Durance said as he pulled himself out of the mud, "There is no dishonour in being bested by you. We should do this again sometime."

"A good fight indeed!" Atash agreed as he reached out to help Durance back to his feet, not missing the way he was panting. "We definitely need to do this more often, brother. Once you've worked out all the cobwebs from your nap, I'm sure you'll flatten me on a regular basis." He paused, then added with a grin, "At least in hand to hand, anyway. I'm looking forward to showing you what I can do with a good blade!"

He began swiping the mud off himself, grimacing slightly. "I am still not a fan of all this... dirt, though. Give me a good clean indoor ring any day." He flicked some mud away, letting the rain rinse him off, then looked back at Haket with a wry smile. "At least all this mud isn't like that damnable moon dust! That stuff was fine enough to potentially cause some real issues. Took forever to rid my armour of it all."

"Hah," Durance half-panted and chuckled, "This planet does seem to want to do nothing but drown us all in Greenskins and mud. But yes, next time we shall lock swords to see who is better."

The rain continued to pour down and contribute to the muck that had collected inside the Keep. Small channels and rivulets were being carved by the downpour and, if the rain continued as it had, Durance suspected the entire Keep would get washed away. Packmaster Taarn's decision to build the future of the War Dogs here was unusual. Then again, that might have been the old Terran-style of thinking that he had been renowned for back during the Crusade.

Another crack echoed out from the tower and Packleader Lance continued with his watch. Durance gestured for Atash to follow him inside where they dried themselves off in the antechamber before heading back into the relative warmth and dryness of the inner Keep. Durance excused himself from Brother Atash's company and retreated to his quarters to retrieve a particular data-slate that he had been studying. He returned to the common room and took a seat at the large and ornate wooden table as he began to read again on recent history. There was still so much for him to learn.

"And if it's not mud and greenskins, it's sand and salt water," Atash added dryly. He followed Durance back inside and dried off, then headed for his own quarters when Durance excused himself.

Atash returned to the common room a few minutes later, now clad in a plain crimson tunic, fresh white combat pants, and sturdy black boots. His book was back in its usual place at his hip, and a combat knife was sheathed in one boot. He spotted Durance deep in his reading, so he didn't interrupt him. Instead, Atash returned to his own corner table where his piles of dataslates still lay, and resumed his own studying in companionable silence.

Taric watched the fight from the parapet, as Lance set about discouraging the local green-skin population from getting to inquisitive. The Crack-Pop of suppressed bolt rounds detonating Ork Skulls was soothing metronome to the Astarte's as he analyzed the newest member of his squad. "Strange.." he said aloud to his companion. 

Lances response was little more than a pause between shots, but Taric interpreted the question in it, the Two warriors were the closest of Battle Brothers. Closer than either of them had to even anyone in their own respective chapters. Past, or present. 

"The way he fights, Haket i mean. His style is... almost nothing like what i saw against the Dark Eldar. If only in the way that it is a style at all. On Tephu he was a creature of wrath an instinct. A butcher and a killer, but also a Warrior of the highest degree." 

As the fight wrapped up, and the two warriors headed back into the tower, Taric sat down with his back against the parapet. *Crack-Pop* as Lance found another Target. 

"I think none of us could best him if it was life or death. Not in direct combat." Taric ran the scenario's thru his mind. The skills of the young War Dog he had seen, compared to each of his brothers fighting styles. Each could claim mastery if the fight were in their own field of specialization, but warrior to warrior, and for such a young recruit, Haket was a Prodigy for this age. 

And that's what it all came down to. "He is not of this Age.." Taric thought out loud. "But he must learn to be." Taric turned to Lance, who had stopped to fill a new clip with fresh rounds. He knew that landed close to Lance, officially second in command of the War Dogs, and hardly a quarter into his first century, a lot of the responsibility to train the new and re-train the old War Dogs fell on him. But Taric had no intent on letting him handle it alone. 

Taric's training with the Blood Ravens as a Novitiate had forced him to study many things, but a particular focus on Traitor Astartes had always been his biggest focus. In particular he was pushed to learn and understand what made a Brother fall from the grace of the Emperor of Mankind. He had studied much of the Emperor's Great Crusade and the first Space Marines who had Fallen to Chaos, and recently had fixated on all who had fallen since, the how and the why. 

This left Taric uniquely positioned to make sure that the same fate did not befall the War Dogs as did their Legion, the World Eaters. He took this as his personal responsibility, More so because no one had assigned it to him. He felt it was his duty, his fate on Sothis, What the Emperor had planned for him. 

He had No Idea that hands closer to home had chosen him to this fate. 

Taric got up, and with a quick but meaningful nod to Lance, headed inside. 

Once he reached the common room, he mag clamped his dripping helm to his belt, and approached Haket once again. "Brother Durance." Taric noticed the text Haket was scrolling thru, and saw an opportunity. "I think i may be able to help with the knowledge you seek, swifter and with more clarity than you will find in any one data-tomb, at least"

Durance raised his eyes from where he been part-way through reading about the recent civil war on Sothis. Brother Taric stood there, his armour still damp from the unceasing rain that fell over the Keep.

"Brother Taric, I did not know you considered yourself a scholar like Brother Atash here," he said as he gestured to the figure buried behind stacks of data-slates and other tomes of knowledge. "I admit that reading is not an interest of mine and this subject is dreadfully boring. Who knew that war could sound so dreary and dull. If you're willing to educate me, I would be happy to accept your help."

Atash looked up from his book as he heard Taric enter the common room and head towards Durance. He listened curiously to Taric's question and Durance's reply, then put down the dataslate he'd been studying and shifted a little in his chair to better face them.

Due to his grievous injuries almost a year ago, and then his training as a techmarine on Lythan, Atash had fallen behind on the news on the Sothis system. Even before then, he hadn't known as much as he would have liked to start with, so this seemed a perfect opportunity to catch up as well.

"Brothers, do you mind if I join in on the recent history lesson?" he asked, then grinned cheekily at them. "I can perhaps correct Brother Taric if he gets anything wrong."

"I would not compare my skills as a Scholar to that of a member of the Librarius, but my specialized knowledge of Imperial History, as least as far as the Adeptus Astarte's runs deep." Taric took a seat, and invited Atash to join them. He smiled politely at what he took to be a jibe from Atash "Whilst I'm sure there are wealth's of lore where this may be the case Brother, i would much rather hear if Brother Haket has anything to add or correct." 

"I have gathered lore from my chapter regarding the Sordid history of the Adeptus Astartes. From the first Thunder Warriors before even your time, Into the Great Crusade and beyond the Heresy. This knowledge is why i was first send to Sothis as a Scout, that i may help piece together the first relics that lead to the discovery of you and your Brothers. I an confidant it is also why i was sent back. Not only to learn what i can from you and your brothers of the Age of the Emperor, and of a Legion that strode the Galaxy by his side." Taric did not choose to mention that he also suspected the Secret masters of the Chapter wanted him to be there to watch should the War Dog's follow the path of the rest of their Legion. 

"It will take some time to tell the story from start to end, even in the broadest of strokes, but during our downtime and training, i will pass on what i have read within the Great Libraries of my chapter, and what i have heard from the Ancient Dreadnoughts, who learned many things from many other chapters during their long lives. I will start from the Great Crusade in which you fought, Brother Haket, and fill you in from then until now. I will record it, a first contribution to your own Chapter's records."

Taric Began. He did not lecture, instead he told it like a story, or a fable. He set the scene in the Great Crusade, and it was a time of Grandeur. By the Time other duties called, he had gotten as far as the Ork War at Ullanor, The last battle the Emperor fought in. He stopped often to ask if anything sounded familiar to Haket in an attempt to figure out where and when things lined up. He would lead each section with "as far as records keep" or "According to the analogues of such and such" or more often refer to a story he heard from one of his Chapters Ancients who had heard it from another. He could place very little certainty in the full fidelity of such ancient and handed down knowledge, but the broadest strokes of the story were more or less accurate, even if details and embellishments were not.

At the invitation, Atash headed over to join the others, merely grinning wider at Taric's response to his teasing. He settled into a chair and opened his book to a fresh page, resting the large tome on his lap with his graphite stick at the ready.

As Taric talked, Atash listened with interest, his pencil moving quickly over the page as he took notes. His writing was tight and scratchy, and none of it was in Gothic. He rarely said anything though, not wanting to interrupt the flow of Taric's words.

Durance listened intently to Brother Taric's tales over the next few days. Recounting ten thousand years of knowledge and history was an undertaking that he had never expected to experience but Taric performed admirably. It appeared that his instructors had trained him well, much better than any of the old World Eaters had ever paid to their own heritage.

His mood darkened considerably upon hearing the full account of the 'Horus Heresy'. Lord Taarn and Banner Master Scarab had described the matter in sufficient detail for when he had first awoken, however hearing the full extent of the Heresy, with almost a full half of the Astartes marching to war against the Emperor, was almost inconceivable. He tried to hide his reaction and bury himself into his training, but the fact that his own Battle Brothers and his own Primarch had betrayed their sworn duty to the Emperor gnawed at him. He launched himself into battle-readiness, shaking off the last of the stasis effects and ensuring that he was ready to serve. Not only did he now have to make up for his own personal failing, but redeeming the honour of the World Eaters was paramount. He now understood why Packmaster Taarn took on the old ways of the War Dogs.

Halios, the so-called Sister, told the tale of what Taric introduced as the Age of Apostasy. Another wave of treachery had consumed the Imperium and it had been the Sisters of Battle that had ended the final traitor. She spoke with such fire and passion about her noble founding that Durance could not help but be impressed. While she was small and frail compared to an Astartes, she possessed a passion and a devotion to the Emperor that was notable compared to the common tale of treachery and deceit that seemed to plague the Imperium.

More recent history, which Taric began to recount while on the voyage to the planet of Kiln, was of the most interest to Durance. This area of space, the Qantm Sector, had been spared some of the turmoil of the depredations of the Traitor Marines but not all of it. Xenos and traitors still dwelt among the stars, posing an ever constant threat to the Imperium. The Emperor's light reached far from Terra to light this sector of the galaxy, however all of the Imperium needed to remain vigilant. The War Dogs more than most if they were to survive.

Durance checked his armour and weaponry as they prepared to descend to Kiln's surface. He ensured that Warden's teeth were sharp and ready to taste blood. The fight on Tephu against the xenos was merely a skirmish, Kiln promised a true battle worthy of a War Dog. And for the future of his chapter, Durance swore to serve its heritage, its true, noble heritage, with honour and distinction. For the dawn of the Pack!

Like Durance, Atash also listened with great interest to Taric's words. He had heard most of the basic outline of the Heresy before, along with bits and pieces of the past ten thousand years of history - but much of Taric's tale was still entirely new to him. Page upon page of his tome was filled with notes, either written as Taric was speaking, or added afterwards once Atash had the time and opportunity.

Most of his reactions were concealed behind his chapter's calm mask of a scholar, or simply hidden as he bent his head over his book. He was especially interested in Sister Helias' tale, despite her faith and belief clashing with his own teachings and natural scepticism. This clash of ideals, too, he kept hidden, not yet wanting to get involved in argument or debate when he still had so much to learn.

When Taric's tale reached more recent times, and involved the Traitor Marines, Atash was not so sanguine about hiding his reactions. Personal experience coloured his views on them, and he would occasionally add a comment of his own to Taric's retelling.

As the squad approached the surface of Kiln, Atash checked over his war gear, his ever-present book once again chained at his hip. Once he was satisfied with the state of his weapons, armour, and servo-arm, he spent some time meditating to clear his mind and focus on the mission ahead. He was determined to not get caught out again by any warp-related surprises.

"Been a long week Boss"
Packleader Lance had settled into an extended slouch on one of the seats in the small command dias of Lord Taarn's war room. He was rolling a bolt-round across the back of his knuckles. The Chaptermaster turned his torso slightly to acknowledge Lance's words.

"Books and Point have been giving Stripes some history lessons, he's coping fairly well..."
Lord Taarn waited for it the punch-line.
"... at least he didn't try to eat the dataslates."
And there it was. He smiled deep inside the Dreadnought chassis. Brother Kevian Lance reminded him of one of his earliest friends, a recruit from Terra as well. Always had something to snide to say, and always found the easiest way to do a task. Taarn found the symbolism comforting. His use of nick-names for his Brothers was also reminiscent of his initiate days. He believed the name Lance had given him was 'Old-Dog'. It was relatively accurate.

"Banner Master Scarab has been called back for further talks with the Regimental Command, more the fools, and I understand Chaplain Kathay has been recalled to system to aid in this." Lance grinned at the ceiling. "Between the Banner Master and Kathay, I don't see any chance of your ascendancy to System Overlord being opposed further."

Lord Taarn's vox boomed into life "This is most excellent Packleader. Your political analysis was a commendable as ever." He turned to face his officer. "What of the Son of Shadows? What of... Books. Is he... stable?" This bothered Taarn. He disliked the concept of psychic powers, it was far too similar to the downfall of Horus for his liking. But he also held Brother Atash in high regard, so this prejudice was redirected into concern for the well-being of the young marine.

Lance looked surprised. "Ash? Ah he's fine. Still shaken up and all off-humored about using his gift, but still a rock-solid Brother. No-one is more concerned about his dangerous potential than he is. You can trust him." He scratched his chin with the bolt-round for a bit.
"Taric is getting a little zealous... his time with Kathay has crossed some wires I think. Still, suits him well enough. The Sister bothers me a tad. She's being rather pleasant and 'play-nice' with us now... but if she gets a sniff of something unusual it could get a little..." he frowned, looking for the right word. "...hot. It will get hot in here."

Lord Taarn considered this. But dismissed it. The Sister was far more useful than harmful. "The good Sister shall stay. Put into her mind the benefits of staying on with us. Part of the response force I think."

Lance blinked several times before responding. "Of course Packmaster. As you will, by blood and by blade."
THAT should be fun to watch mused Taarn.

Lance shrugged back into a comfortable slouch. "Nikkos reports that the latest stasis-recovered Brother is resting well and should awake within the next few days. Brother Viccetti's transfer has been completed, he'll be shipping out when Taric goes to pick up Brother Rainer." Lance bounced the round between his palms. "Probably for the best. Good Marine but doesn't handle weird situations well... which is pretty much every bloody waking moment around here."

Taarn had nothing to say to that.

"Brother Voltari has finally secured inter-system coms, and I'm fairly sure Books and Point have come up with an idea for a base of operations."
"Oh?" asked the Packmaster.
"Yeah. That bloody-thrice-cursed-fakking-warp-tainted ocean platform. The one I said I never wanted to go back to. That one."

Taarn actually chuckled. "I'm sure you'll survive, valiant Packleader of the 10th."

Lance grimaced at the honorific but said nothing. "That would conclude today's reports Packmaster." He got out the chair with surprising grace. "I probably should go and see how much Brother Haket resents me today." Packleader Lance came to attention and the wandered back out into the main halls.

Lord Taarn watched him leave via the Dreadnought's internal cameras as he returned to his screens. "Glad to have you back with me, Sorrial." he said to himself.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, Lance crouched in the back of yet another-bloody-sky-bucket, hurtling toward yet another-bloody-cultist-infested-skegg-fight, in his scout gear, with TWO bloodthirsty antiques, a zealot-in-training, a self-doubting psyker, and not much of a plan.

WARP-FAKKING-FANTASTIC. He swore to no-one in particular.

Brother Lance stood atop a craggy cliff-face, still adorned in his scout armor. His cloak wrapped around his shoulders and over his face in a manner reminiscent of the seasoned desert raiders of Tallarn. It was late mid-afternoon, Lances favorite time of any day.

He was overlooking the sandy, corpse strewn plain beneath them. Close to three hundred cultists died down there only yesterday, and already the baking heat had began turning them to husks.

His practiced eyes caught movement down among the myriad of cave entrances that dotted the landscape in their thousands. "Bloody planet is a sponge-cake of evil." he thought.

Lance brought his recently acquired Long-Las up to bear and put a single ruby beam through the head of yet another cultist trying to scavenge warp-tainted-whatever from his fallen 'comrades'. He really preferred his bolt sniper-rifle, but ammo conservation was important right now.

Lance could hear his Brother Marines moving and talking among themselves. Good to be deployed with them again. Glad they're not dead. Glad he's not dead. He was even glad the Guardsmen survived, as he was quite partial to the men and women of the Chryos 10th company. He liked the number ten, sounded like a silenced bolt round being discharged.

Lance could also hear his newest Brothers in discussion with Lord Taarn. He smiled at the thought of his fellow camo clad warriors striding around the encampment, instilling fear and awe into the humans.
"Bloody lunatics" he growled.

"Sir?" a startled guardsman asked. The man and his compatriot, combat engineers, we're going through the laborious task of clearly labeling every explosive they had with weight of ordnance and estimated blast radius. A brand new directive given by the "Commander of the Eastern Continents", Lance's other Imperial Honorific Title.

Lance looked down at the man, and then back out to the horizon.
"Astartes. They're all insane, reckless, lunatics." he shifted his stance to look down the hillside. "Probably why we are so good at this." He snapped his rifle up and squeezed off a shot quicker than the guardsmen could track. The soldiers only had time to flinch as the scream of a cultist reached their ears.

"Just remember that. No matter the glory and shine of their aura, Astartes are killing machines of the greatest order. We have expectations of physicality that exceed your capacity. So make sure you do what you do as best you can in the presence of one." he looked meaningfully at the pile of explosives. "In particular, this."

The guardsman stumbled a reply and went back to his work... desperately trying to remember how to spell correctly, a mundane task made suddenly difficult with Commander Lance standing next to him.

It reminded him of home. 

Taric wandered around the perimeter of the camp, His Astartes enhanced vision peering far into the distance, taking in the excuse for life on this barren planet. There was not much, but it was there. Strange plant life that grudgingly existed in clumps of xeno looking Cacti and other strange but almost familiar desert flora. What fauna there was was mostly small, chitinous, and clung to the shadows. 

It all reminded him of home. Except, that was, for the birds. Large carrion, common enough on any dessert planet. But these ones did not remind him of the native Raven's of Calderis. These large Vulture like birds reminded him far to much of the Mutant Witch-Beast from the warp. The long sinewy neck and beak, now covered in the gore of cultists, taunted him. 

Usually such a fate he would think fitting of such heretic scum. Today Taric just wished they had munitions enough to designate them for target practice, but the Solid shots were limited, and it would be another day until the Platoons las-packs were charged enough to allow for such things. 

Tomorrow he thought to himself Feast well beasts, for tomorrow you join the banquet. 

Taric's circuit finally lead him around to Lance, the munitions rationing leaving him to resort to a Long-las instead of his Stalker-Pattern. The weapon was comically small on the marine, even in only scout plate, but he seemed conformable enough. 

"Brother Lance" Taric announced himself as he approached, eyeing off the two mortals working on labeling the explosives. He took a glance at the sun, then the two men. "Hydrate." he said, and the two men scrambled off. As a Recon platoon, Taric knew they did not need to be told to drink on this planet, telling them to hydrate meant take a break. 

"I Hate these damned birds."

Lance watched the Guardsmen run off, clearly amused at something.

"The birds Point?" he frowned at them for a moment. "Don't mind them so much myself. They sometimes spot a live one I haven't sighted yet. So I keep an eye on them, and eye on the ground, and make life hard for these cultists."

Lance gave his Brother a long glance. Reading his features.

"But these birds aren't why you're over here, scaring off my hard-working guardsmen."
He quickly sighted something in the distance, and killed it in a ruby flash.
"You're wondering how I'm doing. How I'm coping, and if I'm in need of counsel."

Lance quick checked the battery levels on the rifle. "Short version is this: I'm not doing well, I hate dealing with Daemons, I think Haket is a tad deranged, I think you're a little insane too, I wish I had brought a real drink, pretty sure I witnessed a divine-miracle, and I think you're not gonna stop bugging me until you get a proper answer."

Lance scanned the plain below again.
"And out the entire scenario, I think she bothers me the most." He gestured at the Sister of Battle, talking to the tired looking Commissar.
"If she suddenly decides my men have seen too much, she'll probably try to cleanse the camp."
Lance gave his Brother a dark look.
"I won't let that happen." It was a statement of terminal finality.

Taric listened to his Brother rant on. It could be remarkably easy to make him introspect, and once he started he reached the end on his own. One of the things he liked about Lance. 

"No, the birds are my own torment for now. Clairvoyant as always Brother. We are supposed to hate dealing with them, it is how you know you are still sane. Haket is deranged, but that is his also strength, or will be if he can master it. The last thing you need is a drink. And no, I am going no-where until I am no longer needed." Taric removed his helmet, and took a deep breath of the desert air. "As for me, in some way's i am clearer than i have ever felt. In others... Well. There is a reason the birds torment me. I Hate not knowing what we fight, or how best to kill it."

Taric took a moment to asses the Adeptus Sororitas warrior as she talked to the Commissar. "She will not. The opportunity has past. You did right, you saved them in time, from that enemy at least. As for not letting it happen in the future? You are right. We will not let it happen. We will keep them far from the bulk of the fighting." Taric looked Lance in the eye, his own expression serious "And if they should see anything, we contain them. Then, we mind wipe them. We make them too valuable for a purge."

Taric knelt down beside Lance, Taking up a Rifle of his own. "We do not fight out own Lance." Taric said, as he lined up a shot. "Such thoughts are the will of the Enemy." Taric fired, the crimson lance piercing one of the large scavengers and continuing into the leg of a cultist, severing the limb and igniting the rough fabrics he wore. "They use your own traits against you. Look at Haket, his Rage. Were it to consume him, he would be just like Them." Taric said quietly, referring to the World Eaters. 

"But. He Is Not. If we don't let it Consume him, he will yet be as the Emperor intended for his War Hounds." Taric lay a hand on his brothers shoulder. "Your melancholy Brother. It is part of you, it is some of what makes you such an excellent hunter, and so empathetic to the Guardsmen. But if it were to overcome you, it will be your undoing. You- We have been thru too much for that. Be strong, for them, Make Them Strong. And the sister will do everything in her own power to protect them."

Lance listened to his Brothers wisdom. Accepting it at face value. It was good to hear something level headed from him. From a Blood Raven. Something solid about that.

Lance sighed. Taric's free-shooting stance was wrong again, but he had given up trying to correct him. He could only expect so much from some-one who actually liked flying and falling.

As for the guard, well keeping them from the fight may be difficult, but as long as they had a point to hold he could leave them somewhere an not ravage their morale. And if he can keep an eye on the Sister-of-Burning-All-The-Things, that would be good too.

Lance looked back into the camp, searching for Brother Ash.
"I don't see Books anywhere, he might be in more need of counsel than I." Lance brought his attention back to the plains. "And by might, I mean bloody well should."
He brought a canteen to his lips and sipped.
"So go." he growled. "Go see if we still have a Librarian. Make sure he hasn't given it all up to become Spanner-Jack for good."
He finished his water and started hunting around his webbing for a cigar.

"And if anyone asks I'm very busy doing important things." he added.

"As always Brother Lance" Taric said with a smile. "As for Atash.. yea.. Working my way up. Figured it start at the bottom." He jibed. 

Taric stopped thought about their brother of the Librarius. "He has been to silent and withdrawn. I've an idea but.. We shall see. You are right, we need All of him in the coming war." Tarid made to leave, but stopped almost as an afterthought "Ohh.. Also. I've talked to our Actual Spanner-Jack already... His way of coping is.. Well he has spent too long on Lythan. Anyway! He has agree'd to tutor you on Demolitions. As our Scout, you will need to be able to handle Explosives..." Taric gestured to the pile of tagged demolitions "...Without labels." He was not condescending or giving an order, Just doing Lance a favor in his own smart arsed fashion.

"You did good yesterday, I'd like you to be ready to do it again with proper payloads. Im off to find a better way to say 'Danger Close!' to Brother Durance." And with that, Taric went off to seek Durance Haket.

"Yea, yea. Labels work fine for me." Lance muttered, picking up the nearest satchel.
After a few curious turns of the label he gave up trying to read the scribble and had a quiet, lengthy, swear to himself.

It was just as the sun was setting that Lance had an idea. He picked up his coms, and switched to the channel he and Brother Ash has decided upon. It was a private channel for, well, complaining mostly.

"Books." He growled quietly into the mic. "You alive?"

At this point, Atash was keeping himself busy by working on bolstering yet another layer of defences erected around the perimeter of the camp. Lance's comm caught him by surprise, and he nearly dropped the large boulder he'd been moving.

"I was last time I checked," he replied dryly over the private channel as he worked on repositioning the runaway boulder. "How about you? Not dead yet?"