Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20180205202802/@comment-33521582-20180303192217

Once in the ruins, Daon reverts to his training. His breathing slows, his pupils dilate back to their normal size, his wounds ache. Sorrounded, cut off. This is familiar, this is what weapons are for, to be blodied.

He sees the injured form of the Sergeant, aided by the white-clad apothecary. He counts the brothers left around him. Gears grind within, and long habit makes him speak.

"Raven Guard, and one Marine, left flank, high ground. Static recon, counter-sniping. Two Marines, right flank, high ground. Static recon, counter-sniping. Two Marines, rear guard, establish defensible position. Lookout. White Scar, and one Marine, perimeter duty, patrol. Counter-infiltration, close recon. Thousand Son, one Marine, with me, forward guard. Primary defence."

He steps forwards, looking in the direction of the battleground they've just survived. There, among the pillars and the rubble he stands ready, his autocannon never dipping.

"We hold this ground until further orders."

His voice is metallic, hollow, uncaring.

"FROM HONOUR COMETH IRON."