#lookingforloststars

[vicarlunares]

Presenting as a furling chill creeping along the plasteel walls, Alaric stalks through the harsh light with a predator's gait: soundless, unseemly, and in all ways, unnatural for someone of his size && berth. He didn't consider these moments pleasant; coerced out of his lair at the Rogue Trader's bidding into the noisy, panic-entrenched corridors of this haunted ship, but he supposes friendship ( however meager such a bond was between immortal twos ) must be wagered on tests of trust.

They are before some royal room. Its importance marked by a border trim of golden filigree and all the ostentatious design only a hired Terran master might conjure with their tools alone. The Night Lord stays his step, allowing Ashley { @looking-for-lost-stars } to settle his unseen nerves before willing the door open.

" Your heart is in your throat, " he groused, amused, thrilled even at the sudden intake of irresolute fear," having. . . second thoughts? "

[syntheticache]

The excursion was time-locked at 18 minutes. A quick drop site infiltration into the starboard with 1st and 4th claws of 2nd company. 9 pods stabbed into the metal insulation, twist locked, and emptied out all tasked Astartes into upper command decks. By the time bloodied hands could slam over the alarms, the entirety of right corridors were swept clean of all human crew, minced and sloughed off into free-form decoration over console tables.

Lieutenant Alaric didn't bother to relish in the free slaughter as his brothers did, choosing to charge ahead of them towards the heart of the ship where there lived promise of provisions and, hopefully, spare souls to enslave for the rest of them.

It matter little if he could procure the latter, so as long as there was ceramite to salvage. Food, as well. Anything at this point to supply their rapidly dwindling resources.

The chainblade in his fist sputters to life after a few hard clicks into the faulty switch before metal teeth start to sing, and soon, eat through the plasteel blast door barring him from a well-guarded section of the barge's citizen crew. Another 2 minutes wasted punching the blade down in an arc with a subsequent kick to knock his entry in.

Arterial red lenses pass over the crowd, many runes flashing into the the peripheral of Alaric's vision, searching for anyone, anything, useful. Alaric blinks away all the useful environment assessments to focus in on human faces, of which a handful flash to his attention, skull clad helm turning towards them with preying intent.

Closed starter — @looking-for-lost-stars

[bushelofmuses]

@looking-for-lost-stars Cont.

She was almost skipping.

For a woman her age, she was acting like a child who'd been gifted the greatest gift possible. Myrna hated the stuffiness of Skyhold and how clean everything was. She was not messy or dirty, but she loved exploration and didn't mind a little dirt.

She did feel just a touch guilty for everyone else, though.

Gredal looked miserable. A wet rat from the waist down...or maybe head-to-toe. It was raining earlier.

"Should we find someplace to make camp? I don't know if we'll find a dry spot but we can try."

[vicarlunares]

" The beginnings, still a little hazy, " said @looking-for-lost-stars

For once, Alaric is bare headed from his soulless helm, buckling it up on his waist belt as jagged ink-black air spill over his metal neckline. Dim as the lights were, his face still twists into an almost gurning expression as he listened to this prey speak on their experience.

" The beginnings of you or when you've come to the realization of - who.. This you are now? " He wrestles through a limpdick attempt of stitching his many dialects and known mother tongues together into a cohesive sentence. In the end, he plainly remains frustrated and hopes Ashley understands what he asks.

[vicarlunares]

It wasn't by virtue of necessity that the Phoenician needed to wheel out of his routine for nugatory assessments such this. Bound by his enthusiasm for his role in the Imperium and a young man's natural curiosity for dealings pitted on the outset of battle, he is brought here to represent the Imperium in an eleemosynary gesture of kindness.

He is not without a symposium of handmaidens and serfs milling about his gold-plated heels —— at least only 4 at most. Expert in their serving craft, they vanish into his extending shadow as to not interrupt his glorious introduction.

" Good morning, " he greets with a smile of pearls and a stare which lances through @looking-for-lost-stars," pray I'm not too early. You see, I am just so eager today. "

[vicarlunares]

[ 11. ] @looking-for-lost-stars suddenly throws a punch at Alaric during a confrontation. ↪ (baby boy about to get his ass beat lmao)

Who's to say what words were exchanged before the first fist sailed through the air. A blunt knuckle connecting over ivory skull-plate, scuffing it Alpha Legion blue as it darts near an webbed-red wing— a mark of the Night Lord's innocence in the confrontation. Grier, obviously naive and far too inexperienced, to understand Alaric allows this to pass.

His stillness is a deadly warning; vox scratching to life with a rough voiced: " you thinbloods are weak: slow. "

And woefully unaware was his inner thought. Ceramite claws striking with an unseen quickness, piercing into the thin black guard on Grier's side. Alaric's grip twisting in, biting through the carapace down into the skin, daring this junior to hit him again.

" Poorly constructed. Soft. "

[vicarlunares]

cont. — @looking-for-lost-stars

" You make such a hasty assumption. What of it - is truly so difficult - to understand? " A cruel humor flashes through his mind, prompting a mocking grin over his lips.

" Are you calling me heartless? Where are your manners? "

[vicarlunares]

" I don't owe you patience, " said @looking-for-lost-stars ↪ dog gotta growl some more

" No, but you do owe me respect, " Alaric groused, the length of his blades caressing almost lovingly over the central vein in Grier's neck," seek it. "

A threat short-lived before the Night Lord returns to his holo-emitter, realigning his interests with winking dots over the map. " They wasted fresh slaughter creating you, only to make a doll who sits prettily in teal all day. "

" Come here, " he barked, shredding his own patience of which he was not inclined to return," assist me. "