#ferrum-defectus

Cliche Starters

send 💃 for your muse to teach mine how to dance (or any other activity that involves a lot of touching)

Another successful compliance. Another celebration, another series of parties and odes to the talents of the Legions and the Legio. For all the repetition, Arturia smiled when she surveyed the ballroom. One of the Legio’s remembrancer orchestras played a lively tune, and several pairs danced in the middle of a colorful mosiac tilework of the Sol System on the floor. She had been absent, scouting ahead of the Legio for the last several completed compliances, and the opportunity to revel in their progress was hard to come by. It was time to preen and mingle.

Most of the dancers were known to her, by work or by reputation- their grace and garb marked them as one of the Legio even outside of their iconic golden armor. A few of the Legion they had accompanied in this particular outing chose to join them, the bulk of the attending favoring to watch and talk along the fringes. Not out of character, the custodian mused. It seemed all the sons of the Gorgon were as stoic and dispassionate about the frivolity as their Primarch. 

She wandered along the edge of the room, watching the various conversations in Medusan and Gothic. The former was proving to be a challenging language to pick up by observation, but she was sure she’d be fluent by the end of the next compliance in at least a couple of the variations. Finally, she spotted an ideal specimen for her purposes. Augmented, as all of the Legion were, though his changes had taken half of his clean-shaven face. Young by Astartes standards, but something in his expression as he watched the dancing pairs told her her intent would not be rejected. 

@ferrum-defectus

Heldrin Goettner, one of the Head Medical Officers of the combined regiments of 101th Navlekopings Black Shields and the 23rd Grachenau Heavy Infantry sat in silence in the temporary office tent she resided. Sitting at her desk, filled to the brim with paperwork, a large mug half filled with recaf along with a canteen still somewhat filled with it. The scratching of her pen was the only sound along with the low hum of her recording servoskull hovering all around her. The feudal world born woman was deep in her paperwork, that she had for many hours in a recaf fueled haze. She only stopped her writing when she suddenly noticed that the low hum of her servoskull have become silent and seeing her torch had become obscured. By something very large that cast a shadow of the already hugely built woman. She looked up, her feudal world inspired guardsman armor has soft clanging sound as she sat up and straighten her back when she saw what was before her. A hulking space marine, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death, stood before her. From the heavy augmentations she could only guess it was one of those called techmarines, just having her servoskull in his hand and observing it. Heldrin did wonder how in the world he managed to walk into her tent without her noticing, by just the mere size and probable weight that would make her look like a skinny mewling next to him. Which was unusual for her as she usually towered over most people, only a handful she knew that would even challenge her size, her husband included.

She shot a quick look towards her mug with recaf, writing down a mental note to cut back on it if it is dulling her senses before returning her look at the stranger. She put down her pen and interlocked her hands, resting them on the pile of paperwork before her.

To be honest, the Celestial Geists had come across the world of Laurendal by chance. It was a strange place. A sickening aura of dread hung heavy over the atmosphere. However, there was something that compelled them to go down to investigate. Once Akhenaten, Achilles, Samantha and Kassandra arrived to their destination they voxed the rest of the chapter to notify them of their location. The  place where their shuttle landed was at the outskirts of a hive world. Normally the place would be overflowing with the noise of its millions of inhabitants but it was quiet. Too quiet. 

The chapter master was glad for her power armour, else the cold would gnaw at her bones. She exchanged a glance with her companions before entering the hive world. Who knew what they would find in there. 

Heldrin Lejonhufvud, the Head Medical Officer of the 101th Navlekopings Blackshields sat in silence in the temporary office tent she resided. Sitting at her desk, filled to the brim with paperwork, a large mug half filled with recaf along with a canteen still somewhat filled with it. The scratching of her pen was the only sound along with the low hum of her recording servoskull hovering all around her. The feudal world born woman was deep in her paperwork, that she had for many hours in a recaf fueled haze. She only stopped her writing when she suddenly noticed that the low hum of her servoskull have become silent and seeing her torch had become obscured. By something very large that cast a shadow of the already hugely built woman. She looked up, her feudal world inspired guardsman armor has soft clanging sound as she sat up and straighten her back when she saw what was before her. A hulking space marine, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death, stood before her. From the heavy augmentations she could only guess it was one of those called techmarines, just having her servoskull in his hand and observing it. Heldrin did wonder how in the world he managed to walk into her tent without her noticing, by just the mere size and probable weight that would make her look like a skinny mewling next to him. Which was unusual for her as she usually towered over most people, only a handful she knew that would even challenge her size, her long-time lover included. But even this Space Marine would make her lover look like a mewling like her in comparison.

She shot a quick look towards her mug with recaf, writing down a mental note to cut back on it if it is dulling her senses before returning her look at the stranger. She put down her pen and interlocked her hands, resting them on the pile of paperwork before her.

“Is there anything I can assist you with, sire?” Her voice clear and a bit rougher then usual females, probably by her size. Her r’s rolling by a hint of some kind of dialect she possessed from her home world, but otherwise it was a very clear standard of low Gothic.