Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-1734134-20191209190957/@comment-30715799-20191214041212

Hen takes a few deep breaths, or perhaps it was many. He lost track when the sudden burst of pain struck him all over his body. With a single deep sigh in recognition of his bodily wounds, he sat my a burning stump and removed his helmet. Sweat raced down his pale face, a cool gist of wind bringing a momentary reprieve.

As Siros and his moved to take up position by the Astartes, the agent took the Knight in. Impressive, like any of it's kind, and a mighty warrior in and out. That was assumption, but he hadn't ever seen an example of a Knight that didn't fit that description. Lighting an Iho stick off the nearby fire, he undid his shoulder armor enough to fit his stapler under it and clamp shut the cut with 6 of the little, metal pincers.

After another moment the image of the demon running twords the space marine flashed through his memory. It was a cold, stark memory. Fear, hate, blood, pain. That was what his master needed him to see. That was information he would need. The Tau, the body he'd left by that tree, the victory they had gained here. It all felt petty. If they failed to stop that Champion, fail at casting it back to the void; ruin and damnation lay ahead. Yet the Tau were the ones they pursued? Henriksen took a long drag as he eyed that horrific trophy that Cyradon had hanging on his hip. A foul thing...

Fishing through his pack, Hen pulled out a pain killer and jabbed the needle into his burnt hip. The plasma had eaten through in some spots, though they must have dissipated before causing serious damage. Still, not much his armor can do to quell the intense heat of the super heated gas. He hated skin treatments. The scrubbing, the pain, the woefully slow recovery time.

The Kreigsman saw Dion and waved him over, slowly standing up. He offered up an Iho stick to the man as he drew near.