Commanders,
After a thorough investigation, the UN Investigation Bureau (the same authorities that could not find Weapons of Mass Destruction), is confident that Hive Fleet Nemesis is completely innocent of said charges. In fact, they could not even conclude that the Fire Warrior Unit even existed for lack of evidence. Oh sure, they did find a dirty sock labeled "Property of the Tau Empire" stamped on the bottom of it in a pile of Tyranid excrement... but really that could have belonged to just about anyone.
So, in light of that, the investigation has been officially closed, and as of today I have returned back to my normal GM duties. If you haven't got your turns turned in, please do so sometime today, as I will processing orders tonight.
Let the ripping of limbs, and blowing bodies apart commence!
~GM-Is-Tired
Showing posts with label Fluff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fluff. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Stylized Unit Markers
Commanders,
You will notice that some army's Unit Markers are more detailed than others. This is because the Commanders of those armies provided me with fluff, or actual graphics that I applied to their Unit Markers (as best I could).
If you would like your Unit Markers more customized, please feel free to give me suggestions or provide me with graphics to use.
You will notice that some army's Unit Markers are more detailed than others. This is because the Commanders of those armies provided me with fluff, or actual graphics that I applied to their Unit Markers (as best I could).
If you would like your Unit Markers more customized, please feel free to give me suggestions or provide me with graphics to use.
Introducing the Tau Empire
Player: Trey
Commander: Shas'O Kr'moor (General Ghostknife)
Command Colors: Primary-Grey; Secondary-Orange
Commander: Shas'O Kr'moor (General Ghostknife)
Command Colors: Primary-Grey; Secondary-Orange
Introducing the Ork Horde
Player: Mike C.
Kommander: Warboss Grimdakka
Kulors: Primary-Ork Green; Secondary-'umie Blood Red
Kommander: Warboss Grimdakka
Kulors: Primary-Ork Green; Secondary-'umie Blood Red
Introducing Witch Hunters Inquisition
Player: Keith
Commander: Mother Miriam
Chapter Colors: Primary-White; Secondary-Red
Introducing the Space Wolves
Player: JoshCommander: Wolf Lord Lars Morkai
Chapter Colors: Primary-Powder Blue; Secondary-Grey
Introducing Tyranid Hive Fleet Nemesis
Player: Bill
Hive Master: The Ancient Hungerer
Hive Patrol: Warrior Brood Yer’thik
Hive Colors: Primary-Black; Secondary-Purple
Fluff:
The huge, iron monstrosity of a mining crawler crept slowly along the rocky terrain as the heavy tracks crushed stone and what little plant life existed on the moon known as LVJ4427798. Inside, the survey crew made ready their equipment and suited up in the light atmospheric suits necessary to breathe the moon’s thin air. Complex computerized equipment and simple tools, such as picks, hammers, and spikes were packed in bags and satchels for the trip outside the crawler.
The team leader, Gorda, a burly older man with a craggy face, looked at the other 3 members of his team, "Alright boys, let’s get out there and get this done. HQ says that they picked up some unusual reading from the cave outside and want us to see if there is anything the Emperor can put to use buried in there."
With a "swoosh" of escaping air the team exited the airlock and made their way down the steps and onto the surface of LVJ4427798. The moon was dark and cold, but tolerable for the short time the workers would be there. To the east about 50 meters was a drop off that led into a pitch black hole. The hole they would be entering.
Gorda and the rest of the team flicked on the head lamps they wore and began making their way down the slope. Their lights did little to illuminate the gloom and the team members began to talk nervously amongst themselves.
"Keep it quiet!" Gorda barked. "Pritcher, get in there and lead the way."
Pritcher, a slight man with chronic acne and a nasal laugh, looked sharply toward Gorda. After a moment’s pause he nodded and headed into the hole. Taking second spot, Gorda followed with Nigh and Kelk bringing up the rear. After several hundred feet the solid stone of the moon gave way to a spongy, volcanic rock that crunched under foot.
"Gorda, I ain't see'n nuthin that'd cause us to be down here", Pritcher remarked.
"Set up the gear. Let's take some readings."
After a few minutes the equipment was assembled and pinging with a soft tone. "Nothing", said Kelk in his usual monotone voice.
"Give it a few more minutes."
"Wait. What's that?" Nigh asked. The readings were showing a large mass straight ahead approximately 300 meters and composed of an unknown material.
"Don't know. What we're here for maybe. Stow the gear and let's move."
The Imperial survey team packed up their equipment and made their way further down the cave into the gloom. The volcanic rock crunching under foot competed with the clunking of the heavy gear as it shifted about, banging into the walls.
Suddenly and without warning the ground gave way. Pritcher, still in the lead, screamed and vanished down into the ground as the rock crumbled beneath his feet. The others ran to the hole, but stayed back from the edge to avoid following Pritcher down.
“Pritcher!” yelled Gorda. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah….I hear you”, Pritcher’s echoing voice answered. “I don’t know what this frek is, but it broke my fall. Some type of slime or something. I’m okay.”
Gorda peered into the darkness. His head lamp did not offer any aid in spotting Pritcher. Even Pritcher’s own lamp was not visible.
“Get a rope in that hole,” he said to the others up top before yelling down to Pritcher. “Hold tight Pritcher, We’re sending a rope down to you.”
Kelk and Nigh began feeding a length of rope into the hole. “Hurry up! There’s something moving around down here.” Pritcher’s voice took on a high, fearful pitch.
“Aaaaaaaggghhhhhhhh!” Pritcher screamed.
“Pritcher! Pritcher!” The wet, viscous sounds of ripping flesh echoed up from the hole.
“Oh frek! Let’s get outta here!”
Clicks and taps, taps as of something hard as metal scuttling across rock could be heard from the hole. Gorda still peered into the darkness seeking any sign that Pritcher was alive.
“Pritcher! Dammit, answer me!” The scuttling sounds grew closer still. “Let’s go. Let’s get outta here now!”
Gorda turned to follow as Kelk and Nigh headed back up the tunnel. He did not see the dog-sized monstrosity of claws, fangs, and armor which came over the lip of the hole that had consumed Pritcher. The creature leapt impossibly quick, landing on Gorda’s back and driving a pair of steel hard, bladed claws into his back. It began to rip and tear at Gorda, shredding the man before he even gave cry to warn the fleeing Kelk and Nigh. Behind the creature more of its brood poured from the hole and flooded the tunnel as they gave chase to the remaining humans.
******************************************************
In the cold darkness of space, the Ancient Hungerer drifted. Old when the stars where young, the Hungerer felt a tingle at the back of its hive mind. Somewhere, light years away, more of its children had awakened. The massive bio-ships of Hive Fleet Nemesis turned simultaneously, drifting now towards the call of the long, lost brood. Again the horde would feed.
Hive Master: The Ancient Hungerer
Hive Patrol: Warrior Brood Yer’thik
Hive Colors: Primary-Black; Secondary-Purple
Fluff:
The huge, iron monstrosity of a mining crawler crept slowly along the rocky terrain as the heavy tracks crushed stone and what little plant life existed on the moon known as LVJ4427798. Inside, the survey crew made ready their equipment and suited up in the light atmospheric suits necessary to breathe the moon’s thin air. Complex computerized equipment and simple tools, such as picks, hammers, and spikes were packed in bags and satchels for the trip outside the crawler.
The team leader, Gorda, a burly older man with a craggy face, looked at the other 3 members of his team, "Alright boys, let’s get out there and get this done. HQ says that they picked up some unusual reading from the cave outside and want us to see if there is anything the Emperor can put to use buried in there."
With a "swoosh" of escaping air the team exited the airlock and made their way down the steps and onto the surface of LVJ4427798. The moon was dark and cold, but tolerable for the short time the workers would be there. To the east about 50 meters was a drop off that led into a pitch black hole. The hole they would be entering.
Gorda and the rest of the team flicked on the head lamps they wore and began making their way down the slope. Their lights did little to illuminate the gloom and the team members began to talk nervously amongst themselves.
"Keep it quiet!" Gorda barked. "Pritcher, get in there and lead the way."
Pritcher, a slight man with chronic acne and a nasal laugh, looked sharply toward Gorda. After a moment’s pause he nodded and headed into the hole. Taking second spot, Gorda followed with Nigh and Kelk bringing up the rear. After several hundred feet the solid stone of the moon gave way to a spongy, volcanic rock that crunched under foot.
"Gorda, I ain't see'n nuthin that'd cause us to be down here", Pritcher remarked.
"Set up the gear. Let's take some readings."
After a few minutes the equipment was assembled and pinging with a soft tone. "Nothing", said Kelk in his usual monotone voice.
"Give it a few more minutes."
"Wait. What's that?" Nigh asked. The readings were showing a large mass straight ahead approximately 300 meters and composed of an unknown material.
"Don't know. What we're here for maybe. Stow the gear and let's move."
The Imperial survey team packed up their equipment and made their way further down the cave into the gloom. The volcanic rock crunching under foot competed with the clunking of the heavy gear as it shifted about, banging into the walls.
Suddenly and without warning the ground gave way. Pritcher, still in the lead, screamed and vanished down into the ground as the rock crumbled beneath his feet. The others ran to the hole, but stayed back from the edge to avoid following Pritcher down.
“Pritcher!” yelled Gorda. “Can you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah….I hear you”, Pritcher’s echoing voice answered. “I don’t know what this frek is, but it broke my fall. Some type of slime or something. I’m okay.”
Gorda peered into the darkness. His head lamp did not offer any aid in spotting Pritcher. Even Pritcher’s own lamp was not visible.
“Get a rope in that hole,” he said to the others up top before yelling down to Pritcher. “Hold tight Pritcher, We’re sending a rope down to you.”
Kelk and Nigh began feeding a length of rope into the hole. “Hurry up! There’s something moving around down here.” Pritcher’s voice took on a high, fearful pitch.
“Aaaaaaaggghhhhhhhh!” Pritcher screamed.
“Pritcher! Pritcher!” The wet, viscous sounds of ripping flesh echoed up from the hole.
“Oh frek! Let’s get outta here!”
Clicks and taps, taps as of something hard as metal scuttling across rock could be heard from the hole. Gorda still peered into the darkness seeking any sign that Pritcher was alive.
“Pritcher! Dammit, answer me!” The scuttling sounds grew closer still. “Let’s go. Let’s get outta here now!”
Gorda turned to follow as Kelk and Nigh headed back up the tunnel. He did not see the dog-sized monstrosity of claws, fangs, and armor which came over the lip of the hole that had consumed Pritcher. The creature leapt impossibly quick, landing on Gorda’s back and driving a pair of steel hard, bladed claws into his back. It began to rip and tear at Gorda, shredding the man before he even gave cry to warn the fleeing Kelk and Nigh. Behind the creature more of its brood poured from the hole and flooded the tunnel as they gave chase to the remaining humans.
******************************************************
In the cold darkness of space, the Ancient Hungerer drifted. Old when the stars where young, the Hungerer felt a tingle at the back of its hive mind. Somewhere, light years away, more of its children had awakened. The massive bio-ships of Hive Fleet Nemesis turned simultaneously, drifting now towards the call of the long, lost brood. Again the horde would feed.
Introducing Chaos Space Marines Nephilim
Player: Dryw
Commander: Akkon Sek
Color Scheme: Primary - Black; Secondary-Gunmetal
Fluff:
Intense white-glare of floodlights. Flurry of activity. Showers of sparks, discernable amongst the backlit brilliant strobes of plasma welders as framework is broken down and stowed. Metal crates on pallets pushed via suspensor into bulk lifters to be strapped in place for the out-atmo journey. Row upon row of crate and box and barrel awaiting transfer. Muddied flakboard stacked haphazardly. Everywhere there is motion.
The Nephilim are leaving.
The only quiet spot in the manufactured forest clearing. Tall, lithe figures form out of the darkened scrub; not so much as coming into view as simply materializing at the clearing’s edge. Raised voices in alarm. Electric whirr of .75 caseless rounds cycling into firing chambers. Chains on a sword spin at idle. A massive hulk of ebon ceramite pushes through the perfect double tier pincer, which has subconsciously formed. The giant’s lip quivers a nanosecond faint smile of approval before moving towards the shadowed intruders, eternally loyal Staff Sergeant Otan steadfastly at his side.
Commander Akkon Sek strolls to within a few meters of the encroachers, apparently unfazed by the multitude of gracefully aggressive weaponry pointed unwaveringly at his head.
‘You and your kin have become complacent and careless, Witch. How long ago... my life would be forfeit, and you gone, before my men knew you were ever here?’
A voice soft and melodic. ‘Mere minutes, overconfident Astartes.’
Sek’s eyes widen slightly at the audible click and increasing pitch of shuriken weaponry en masse, activating behind his perfectly formed pincer line. An evilly triumphant smile crosses the pale, angelic features of the female leader. A beat of three, and Sek’s expression morphs as a smile creases his own chiseled face.
‘A bold move. And yet, I am not flummoxed. Why is that… do you suppose?’
Deeper, more guttural and distinctive hum as a cadre of Spectres step from the shadows to the rear of the Eldar and online their meltas. The Witch’s smile melts to a smirk.
‘An impasse, it would seem.’ Surprising humor in her voice.
Sek steps forward a pace, nods respectfully and extends his hand, palm up. ‘You honor us with your presence, Farseer.’
The Eldar Farseer closes the remaining distance and grasps Sek’s wrist in greeting. ‘The honor is ours, Sek of Nephilim. Your spark shines true and strong.’
Instantly weapons are lowered and the manufactured tension vanishes. Wrists are grasped, earnest greetings exchanged, and voices are raised in laughter and good-natured ribbing. A moment passes as the two commanders soak in the comradery. Moments such as this becoming increasingly rare. As the din abates, the leaders turn towards one another and the Seer’s face darkens.
‘The Imperial settlement is besieged. My scouts estimate they will hold for no longer than forty-eight of your Imperial standard hours.’
Anger briefly flashes across Sek’s face. ‘Not my hours, Seer.’
‘Just so. I misspoke. Regardless, the Ruinous Powers have amassed a substantial force. The settlement is composed of miners, shopkeepers. They are citizens… not soldiers Sek. They will not survive.’
‘Explain to me in detail how their poor choice of settlement, and lack of planning for adequate defense, is an issue of mine Seer? I’ll not waste the lives of my men rescuing sheep who will as soon heap carrion upon us as praise us when they discover!’
Several tense moments pass. Otan and the Seer’s adjutant stare at the ground.
‘You are leaving.’ A statement. No hint of recrimination.
Sek’s shoulders noticeably sink. For the briefest of moments, his great age is laid bare. ‘A history repeated, Seer. Variations on a tired theme. Cheer us as we liberate, and spit on us when it becomes apparent we hold the lauded corpse-god in contempt. It is not sustainable for my men.’
The Farseer nods and speaks with genuine sympathy in her hushed tone. ‘Though it would be a singular honor to fight these dark forces alongside you once again, I understand… my Lost One. I truly do. Your chosen path is a difficult one. You must follow destiny’s call for you and yours. ‘
Taken aback by the Farseer’s overtly familiar interaction with his commander, Otan glances away uncomfortably. Well aware of the mutual respect the two hold for each other, he marvels silently. Surely nothing more?
Noting Otan’s discomfort, the Farseer resumes her regal demeanor. ‘My exarchs thirst for the blood of this ruinous throng. I must appease their spirits and commence our attack.’ Several rapid hand gestures and her escorts melt back into the shadowed foliage. She herself turns to depart. Prior to being swallowed by the shadows, she pauses. Her graceful profile illuminated by the camp’s floodlights.
‘Commander? The path you choose should be your own, and would that I not manipulate that crossing. You do not seek to justify yourself in the eyes of those who turn their back on you, I know. But the Way inquires… if you yourself do not show them the truth, how will they ever know?’
And with this, she is gone.
Sek inclines his head slightly and exhales. Otan silently watches his commander. An eternity of seconds passes. Without a word, Otan spins on his heels to face the warriors who have resumed takedown of the encampment.
‘Desist and attend! Spectres! I require eyes-on topographical auspex and tactical analysis of the settlement by 0300. Transport! Give me ingress route by same, complete prep of our rides no later than 0345 for mount-up at 0430. Tac! Full weapon inspect and readiness drill by 0400… I expect a status report prior to mount-up! Move your collective asses, you sons of whores! Edge and in-line! And Raptors?! You hot-charge those turbines again, and it is my oath to you that I will pulp your skull with that same pack! Now, move! ’
Immediately, activity in the encampment becomes frenetic. Weapons are oiled and cycled. Crates of ammunition and medical supplies are hefted into Rhinos, whose grumbling engines sympathetically throb with anticipation. Armorers dote on miniscule adjustments to power feeds and neural interfaces. Helmet comms are activated and tested. Movement is constant and determined. The Spectres set out on foot to reconnoiter the settlement. Fluid and silent, they vanish into the night.
With a slight nod of approval to his second, Sek turns and walks with purpose along the flakboard walkways towards his quarters. With a singular motion, he draws his .50 sidearm, checks the load and reholsters. Before he passes from sight, Otan sees him making the gesture of an outstretched and closed fist to one of the younger Tac initiates in a show of encouragement as he passes. The Marine returns the gesture and moves off with notably increased vigor in his step.
Otan nods, and smiles grimly. A good day to die.
Commander: Akkon Sek
Color Scheme: Primary - Black; Secondary-Gunmetal
Fluff:
Intense white-glare of floodlights. Flurry of activity. Showers of sparks, discernable amongst the backlit brilliant strobes of plasma welders as framework is broken down and stowed. Metal crates on pallets pushed via suspensor into bulk lifters to be strapped in place for the out-atmo journey. Row upon row of crate and box and barrel awaiting transfer. Muddied flakboard stacked haphazardly. Everywhere there is motion.
The Nephilim are leaving.
The only quiet spot in the manufactured forest clearing. Tall, lithe figures form out of the darkened scrub; not so much as coming into view as simply materializing at the clearing’s edge. Raised voices in alarm. Electric whirr of .75 caseless rounds cycling into firing chambers. Chains on a sword spin at idle. A massive hulk of ebon ceramite pushes through the perfect double tier pincer, which has subconsciously formed. The giant’s lip quivers a nanosecond faint smile of approval before moving towards the shadowed intruders, eternally loyal Staff Sergeant Otan steadfastly at his side.
Commander Akkon Sek strolls to within a few meters of the encroachers, apparently unfazed by the multitude of gracefully aggressive weaponry pointed unwaveringly at his head.
‘You and your kin have become complacent and careless, Witch. How long ago... my life would be forfeit, and you gone, before my men knew you were ever here?’
A voice soft and melodic. ‘Mere minutes, overconfident Astartes.’
Sek’s eyes widen slightly at the audible click and increasing pitch of shuriken weaponry en masse, activating behind his perfectly formed pincer line. An evilly triumphant smile crosses the pale, angelic features of the female leader. A beat of three, and Sek’s expression morphs as a smile creases his own chiseled face.
‘A bold move. And yet, I am not flummoxed. Why is that… do you suppose?’
Deeper, more guttural and distinctive hum as a cadre of Spectres step from the shadows to the rear of the Eldar and online their meltas. The Witch’s smile melts to a smirk.
‘An impasse, it would seem.’ Surprising humor in her voice.
Sek steps forward a pace, nods respectfully and extends his hand, palm up. ‘You honor us with your presence, Farseer.’
The Eldar Farseer closes the remaining distance and grasps Sek’s wrist in greeting. ‘The honor is ours, Sek of Nephilim. Your spark shines true and strong.’
Instantly weapons are lowered and the manufactured tension vanishes. Wrists are grasped, earnest greetings exchanged, and voices are raised in laughter and good-natured ribbing. A moment passes as the two commanders soak in the comradery. Moments such as this becoming increasingly rare. As the din abates, the leaders turn towards one another and the Seer’s face darkens.
‘The Imperial settlement is besieged. My scouts estimate they will hold for no longer than forty-eight of your Imperial standard hours.’
Anger briefly flashes across Sek’s face. ‘Not my hours, Seer.’
‘Just so. I misspoke. Regardless, the Ruinous Powers have amassed a substantial force. The settlement is composed of miners, shopkeepers. They are citizens… not soldiers Sek. They will not survive.’
‘Explain to me in detail how their poor choice of settlement, and lack of planning for adequate defense, is an issue of mine Seer? I’ll not waste the lives of my men rescuing sheep who will as soon heap carrion upon us as praise us when they discover!’
Several tense moments pass. Otan and the Seer’s adjutant stare at the ground.
‘You are leaving.’ A statement. No hint of recrimination.
Sek’s shoulders noticeably sink. For the briefest of moments, his great age is laid bare. ‘A history repeated, Seer. Variations on a tired theme. Cheer us as we liberate, and spit on us when it becomes apparent we hold the lauded corpse-god in contempt. It is not sustainable for my men.’
The Farseer nods and speaks with genuine sympathy in her hushed tone. ‘Though it would be a singular honor to fight these dark forces alongside you once again, I understand… my Lost One. I truly do. Your chosen path is a difficult one. You must follow destiny’s call for you and yours. ‘
Taken aback by the Farseer’s overtly familiar interaction with his commander, Otan glances away uncomfortably. Well aware of the mutual respect the two hold for each other, he marvels silently. Surely nothing more?
Noting Otan’s discomfort, the Farseer resumes her regal demeanor. ‘My exarchs thirst for the blood of this ruinous throng. I must appease their spirits and commence our attack.’ Several rapid hand gestures and her escorts melt back into the shadowed foliage. She herself turns to depart. Prior to being swallowed by the shadows, she pauses. Her graceful profile illuminated by the camp’s floodlights.
‘Commander? The path you choose should be your own, and would that I not manipulate that crossing. You do not seek to justify yourself in the eyes of those who turn their back on you, I know. But the Way inquires… if you yourself do not show them the truth, how will they ever know?’
And with this, she is gone.
Sek inclines his head slightly and exhales. Otan silently watches his commander. An eternity of seconds passes. Without a word, Otan spins on his heels to face the warriors who have resumed takedown of the encampment.
‘Desist and attend! Spectres! I require eyes-on topographical auspex and tactical analysis of the settlement by 0300. Transport! Give me ingress route by same, complete prep of our rides no later than 0345 for mount-up at 0430. Tac! Full weapon inspect and readiness drill by 0400… I expect a status report prior to mount-up! Move your collective asses, you sons of whores! Edge and in-line! And Raptors?! You hot-charge those turbines again, and it is my oath to you that I will pulp your skull with that same pack! Now, move! ’
Immediately, activity in the encampment becomes frenetic. Weapons are oiled and cycled. Crates of ammunition and medical supplies are hefted into Rhinos, whose grumbling engines sympathetically throb with anticipation. Armorers dote on miniscule adjustments to power feeds and neural interfaces. Helmet comms are activated and tested. Movement is constant and determined. The Spectres set out on foot to reconnoiter the settlement. Fluid and silent, they vanish into the night.
With a slight nod of approval to his second, Sek turns and walks with purpose along the flakboard walkways towards his quarters. With a singular motion, he draws his .50 sidearm, checks the load and reholsters. Before he passes from sight, Otan sees him making the gesture of an outstretched and closed fist to one of the younger Tac initiates in a show of encouragement as he passes. The Marine returns the gesture and moves off with notably increased vigor in his step.
Otan nods, and smiles grimly. A good day to die.
Introducing the Dark Knights Adeptus Astartes
Player: John
Command: Chapter Master Valandar Rex
Command: Chapter Master Valandar Rex
Chaplain Laerik Tyber
Librarian Marek Sturm
Apothecary Toril Kade
Chapter Colors : Gunmetal and Gold Armor, with crimson velvet cloaks and tabards. The Chapter Master's armor is Gold with crimson trim, with no gunmetal. The Chaplain's armor is black with gold trim, and black accessories. The Librarian's armor is crimson with gold trim. The apothecary's armor is white with crimson trim.
Chapter Symbol: A downturned broadsword over a kite shield; shield has gold trim, a gunmetal center, and a crimson diagonal stripe from upper left to lowe right.
Introducing the Thousands Sons
Player: Alex
General's Name: Lieutenant Colonel Malus Interfectum
General's Name: Lieutenant Colonel Malus Interfectum
Color Scheme: Primary - Deep Purple; Secondary - Blood Red
Combat Patrol: Led by the twins Dextrum and Sinistrum, Aspiring Sorcerors of Tzeentch
Background: As Dextrum wandered around his men (and he used that term loosely) he wondered why he couldn't have been fortunate enough to be assigned to some REAL marines. How was he supposed to glorify the true gods and satisfy the gracious being that was Tzeentch if all he had was a bunch of animated suits of armor? He sighed, for he knew that this would be far more challenging than he had expected.
He glanced towards where Sinistrum was standing, tall and proud. How he could be so confident, Dextrum only wished he knew. He simply wanted to hurry up and finish this patrol so he could get back to the rest of the "men." He wanted bloodshed to work his way up through the hierarchy sure, but if when it came down to it he would definitely like to have some armor between him and the heretics.
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