Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20180205202802/@comment-30488984-20180616194349

The Sons of Horus Sergeant slows his pace, noting the slow and sluggish pursuit of the enemy. Peering over at Sun'Haku, he grins at the 'young' Astartes' preparation for battle. "There is no need to fight brother." states Jarik to Sun'Haku.

"We have the information we need, we return to Vroch and we will decide what is our next plan of action. We will also see if our vox caster has rallied more of our brothers to our encampment."

Jarik readjusts the mortal prisoner he has slung over his shoulder as one would readjust baggage. He then begins looking around at his warriors and looks at each of their helmets, the colors of the various Legions popping out and their names racing through his head. Jarik senses that the next plan of action will likely be an all out assault upon this position and the following assault upon this complex will result in the deaths of many of his kin, perhaps even himself.

There was a momentary pause in Jarik as he thought of the prospect of his own death. Many times he has faced death straight on and not flinched a muscle but to die here, on this forsaken planet of sorcerers and xenos sends a chill down his spine. Not chill of fear but of disgust. To die here and have his body desecrated like those of his kin is unacceptable. He is a reflection of his Primarch and to let the image of Horus, the most beloved son of the Emperor and greatest of the Primarchs, be desecrated is a reality he would not allow. His hold upon the prisoner tightens slightly as anger towards the thought begins to build. Though Jarik catches himself having taken a few seconds pause to think and hopes none of his warriors caught him. Shaking his head slightly to get the thought out of his head, Jarik waves his hand forward.

"We move onward. Keep a wary eye out."