Makcimus Flame-mane

Near the entrance to one of the larger caves of Nocturne, a warp portals up horizontally a few feet above the ground, drops out a rather disheveled Space Marine (who lands without much dignity), and closes just as quickly as it opened.

Dazed, Makcimus stood up to feel embraced but the suffocating heat of Nocturne, a soothing sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. His trip through the warp had not been intentional, nor was it short or enjoyable. His armor was chipped and had deep ridges in many places; his litanies and banners had bulletholes and singe marks spread along them. His face had many more scars than it had before, and to make matters worse: he had lost his weapons somewhere along the way.

“And your guess is right. My name is Tomas Mattias Araiza, former Petty Officer, current combat medic and maintenance assistant of the White Berets.” He also stops his pacing, once again finding himself infront of Makc standing still.

“I was hired to be in security duty for a ship until things went south a little too quickly for my liking. I lost contact with the passengers then I got sucked into a darn rift. If my predictions are correct, the rest of my gear landed somewhere on this planet.”

Makc relaxed and rested his hands on his hips. The small human was clearly here accidentally, and judging off his equipment and stature, would serve no threat to his home. 

That thought did lead Makc to a bit of worry, as Nocturne was one of the harshest worlds this side of the Imperium, and would eat him alive if no one intervened. 

“Your equipment, if it is in the same quality as your current, will most likely end up in a market in one of the caves here. If it doesn’t melt before then. If you have any sense of survival, you’ll accompany me to safety and we can begin to defuse this mess.”

Near the entrance to one of the larger caves of Nocturne, a warp portals up horizontally a few feet above the ground, drops out a rather disheveled Space Marine (who lands without much dignity), and closes just as quickly as it opened.

Dazed, Makcimus stood up to feel embraced but the suffocating heat of Nocturne, a soothing sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. His trip through the warp had not been intentional, nor was it short or enjoyable. His armor was chipped and had deep ridges in many places; his litanies and banners had bulletholes and singe marks spread along them. His face had many more scars than it had before, and to make matters worse: he had lost his weapons somewhere along the way.

“The Imperium isn’t fond of mercenaries. So I doubt you have been hired by any Imperial lords of recent times.”

Makc ceased his pacing, peering down at Tom, red eyes not showing much intent or emotion.

Near the entrance to one of the larger caves of Nocturne, a warp portals up horizontally a few feet above the ground, drops out a rather disheveled Space Marine (who lands without much dignity), and closes just as quickly as it opened.

Dazed, Makcimus stood up to feel embraced but the suffocating heat of Nocturne, a soothing sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. His trip through the warp had not been intentional, nor was it short or enjoyable. His armor was chipped and had deep ridges in many places; his litanies and banners had bulletholes and singe marks spread along them. His face had many more scars than it had before, and to make matters worse: he had lost his weapons somewhere along the way.

A somewhat visible cyan mist comes out of his various wounds before the smaller male slowly gets up. He was alive, if not exactly well.

His headpiece turns on, allowing him to detect the heartbeat rate of what seems like a racing horse. Most likely Makcs.

“Let’s hope they’re a conversationalist…”

His audio relay picked up the hesitant call, alerting him that it was a language extremely similar to Terran. His demeanor relaxed, and he dusted himself off more before approaching the sound.

In a voice that boomed through the dense air, he called out a response.

Makc’ hulking form slowly rose above the ridge separating the two of them, foot by foot until his entire silhouette had cleared it. He looked down, several feet, to see a small man with a pistol. Makcimus squatted to be more even, his burning red eyes level with his smaller counterpart.

“And would you be of imperial descent or non?”

Near the entrance to one of the larger caves of Nocturne, a warp portals up horizontally a few feet above the ground, drops out a rather disheveled Space Marine (who lands without much dignity), and closes just as quickly as it opened.

Dazed, Makcimus stood up to feel embraced but the suffocating heat of Nocturne, a soothing sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time. His trip through the warp had not been intentional, nor was it short or enjoyable. His armor was chipped and had deep ridges in many places; his litanies and banners had bulletholes and singe marks spread along them. His face had many more scars than it had before, and to make matters worse: he had lost his weapons somewhere along the way.

A somewhat visible cyan mist comes out of his various wounds before the smaller male slowly gets up. He was alive, if not exactly well.

His headpiece turns on, allowing him to detect the heartbeat rate of what seems like a racing horse. Most likely Makcs.

"Let's hope they're a conversationalist..."

His audio relay picked up the hesitant call, alerting him that it was a language extremely similar to Terran. His demeanor relaxed, and he dusted himself off more before approaching the sound.

In a voice that boomed through the dense air, he called out a response.

do people ACTUALLY think that?

i remember being in the locker room in high school and shit was like a half naked party you had fuckers slappin each others asses you had people doing RKO’s on each other (i shit you not RKO’s did happen) you had blokes sayin shit like “nice abs man” or “man your workouts doin wonders” (actually had this said to me once by a guy i only had one class with.