Guilliman took his eyes from his displays and the tacticarium to spare the Custodian a glance. ‘I make no assumptions. Neither should you.’ As he spoke, his scar itched, reminding him of the last time he had been in error, a situation the primarch had sworn never to repeat.
HAH! I appreciate this regularly reminders that Big Bobby G is totally absolutely NEVER going to repeat his mistakes at Thessala, before charging in and getting bodied by his brother. Twice.
Colquan’s lip curled. He disliked being lectured on tactics. Guilliman did not relent. Though they remained superlative individual warriors, the Adeptus Custodes had rarely served as generals since the old times, and centuries of isolationism had dulled what command abilities they had once possessed.
‘Never underestimate the enemy, Colquan. Nine times out of ten, a mixed group of traitors will be disorganised and internally divisive, but the tenth time they will surprise and destroy you. Their greatest lords can forge the most antagonistic warbands into a devastating fighting force. Their intentions here are counter-envelopment and delay. Their sorcerers will be attempting to summon daemonic allies while their battlefleet keeps us occupied.’
Colquan must have wanted to throttle Guilliman by the end of this. Lecturing a Custodes like he was an Ultramarine neophyte! The gall! The nerve! The chutzpah! Bob occasionally gives off “you will go far in life, but you will not be liked” vibes and it always cracks me up.
Still, y’know, he’s got a point. He’s just being kind of a condescending dick about it (I’m not sure he realizes this).
