Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20180205202802/@comment-33521582-20180214141946

The Iron Warrior examines his new squad. Save for the Raven Guard, the group seems disciplined and cohesive.

Now that the fighting has subsided, he can be seen clearly. His armour is worn, scarred and pockmarked where bullets have found it. The left gauntlet and greave are gone altogether; although they blend with the gunmetal gray of the armour, his left arm and leg are obviously cybernetic implants. Daon is large, even for an Astartes, one of the terran recruits granted to the IVth Legion during their campaign against the War Witches.

He addresses the Sergeant: "Daon Nazaratus. Designation: Iron Havoc, 4th Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Grand Battalion, Iron Warriors Legion."

"Some legionnaires should be left here as a garrison. Some others should be designated as sappers and sent to trap and demolish nearby structures, to clear lines of fire for the outpost."

His voice is cold, unfeeling, almost mechanic. A weapon has no hope but no fear.

Having spoken his piece, he falls into step on the left flank. He mentally runs a tally of his autocannon shells, bolt pistol rounds, and grenades. From this point forward, enemy light infantry within range will be targeted with the pistol. Anything that gets too close, he can beat with his mechanic arm. Nevertheless, this is now a siege, so he looks around for discarded blades or chainweapons.

He advances without speaking, moving among the broken bones of the city like clockwork. This is a siege, he is at home here.