A slightly smaller Mess

Charles: maybe.

Blackadder: what does the O in NCO stand for, Sergeant?

Noctis: and what fate is that?

She rolls her eyes, and steps into the room proper, closing the door behind her, then leaning in to peck him on the cheek. "Work time."

Sergeant: "A poor choice of wording? Given, regardless of nomenclature, I'm not an officer."

"To be lost. I couldn't tell you the story, even if i wanted to remember it."

Charles: of course. *he turns towards the room's centre, where there's a holoprojector ready to go* Now my dear.,...would it be correct to say you are not precisely... 'well versed' in the specifics of the imperium's many xenos enemies?

Blackadder: Are you really about to start debating semantics with me?

Noctis:...couldn't or wouldn't?

Hera: "I know where to shoot."

Sergeant: "Are you really about to contradict..." He pulls a copy of the imperial guardsman's uplifting primer from his smock. "The good book?" He waggles it with a sarcasm infused wry smile.

Raeven: "I made an oath. I will not speak of it."

Charles: precisely. But, we are inquisitors of the ordo xenos. To know our enemy, is to know how to deal with them. Many of the greatest heroes in human history know this. Yarrick, the great hero of armageddon, even knows how to speak the ork language.

Blackadder: you mean you haven't converted that into latrine wipes yet? Tut tut sergeant, you must be new. *sarcastic smirk*

Noctis:...as you say brother.

Hera clears her throat, and speaks a short, guttural phrase. If Charles' knows the language, it translates out to something close to "Bring a bigga ork, so iz can light im on fire too." The harsh language coming out of such a small woman is rather funny.

Sergeant: "It's good for hitting mouthy privates."

Raeven: "You don't break an oath made to the emperor. Especially one made in person. I will be one of the the last few that remember it. I won't be the one to break silence."

Charles: *grins* Impressive. Speaking of which, it is the greenskins with which we shall begin.

Blackadder: cant find anything better for that?

Noctis does not reply

hera: "It's about all i know. Mostly insults."

Sergeant: "Has a certain poetic force."

Raeven: "In any case. The specifics are... uninteresting. The importance is well known. One was lost, and the other damned."

Charles: don't worry, I won't be throwing the ork lexicon at you. *he beckons her over to a holo table where there are also several books laid out* So tell me my dear. The greenskin menace. What do you know already?

Blackadder: I suppose so. Nothing beats a good slap round the back of the head in my book.

Noctis: There are...worse curses, brother. My kind's creation decreases the odds of gene-flaws. But they are not impossible. And I have seen....things.

Hera thinks for a moment, before laying out her thoughts. "Fungoid, entirely martial society, grow larger with victories... Some kind of genetic mechanical knowledge... ... ... 's about it."

Sergeant: "We all have our methods."

Raeven: "Things... Brother?"

Charles: a good foundation. *a hologram of an ork is displayed* I think the best part to start with orks is...the most baffling. The Waaagh energy.

Blackadder: technically true, but I suppose a smack is a smack.

Noctis: When I served in the unnumbered sons for a short while, one of my squadmates was of the excoriators. In battle once, on Ravellen 3, he was... taken by something. In his mind. It appeared as nothing, a slackness of the jaw, a tremor of the arm, a blackness in the eye. When I asked him of it later, he described it as a living nightmare. A sleeping wakefullness, consumed by the bottomless woe of Dorn himself, in his most trying time. The time when the emperor had been lost to him. He felt what Dorn felt then, the profound misery of a primarch, paralysing fear that even the greatest of all mankind were crippled by. He called it quite simply, the Darkness.

OOC: DARKNESS. NO PARENTS. CONTINUED DARKNESS.

Hera: "You what now?"

Sergeant: "I'm more a fan of a good scream though."

Raeven simply nods slowly. "I have seen it... During the war of the beast. Each chapter has its flaw. Even us."

Charles: the best way to describe it is... well. Every ork is a psyker, of sorts. They generate a psychic aura around themselves, known as the waagh energy. few, if any orks are aware of it, but that does not stop them making use of it. It manifests itself in one, major, and frankly worrying way. If enough orks believe something to be true, then it is. It just is. Doesn't matter if its physically impossible, it is.

Blackadder: beg your pardon?

Noctis: Tis our burden. The price for who we have chosen to be.

Hera: "Riiiiight. Thats fun. By which i mean totally horrifying."

Sergeant: "Above a proper bawling out because you're commissioned?" he tuts "Such is the officer class."

Raeven: "It is indeed. I am thankful our flaw has tempered, rather than worsened over time, like so many of our brother chapters."

Charles: indeed... and while the orks are not aware of this so cannot consciously weaponise it, it manifests in many ways. Despite all logic saying otherwise, red ork vehicles do infact 'go fasta'. ork aircraft should not fly, but they do. Ork spacecraft should not be able to survive even moving, and yet they survive warp travel. Even some ork firearms do not contain so much as a firing mechanism, just being a barrel, a trigger, and some bullets.

Blackadder: waste of breath in my opinion?

Noctis: agreed, brother.

Raeven: "You don't know what we were, Brother Noctis. It was far before your time. Lost to the pages."

Sergeant: "We're here to make soldiers. Can't do that without talking, can we?"

Hera remains silent, with simply a bemused expression upon her face.

Noctis: I would like to know.

Blackadder: Talking yes. Shouting is entirely a waste of time with most of them.

Charles: This ties into many aspects of their culture aswell. Most notably... the size thing. Orks grow larger upon gaining success, in part because it is the orkish Belief that a successful ork is a large one. as such it becomes a self fulfilling prophecy, where orks are successful, become large, orks therefore thing large orks are successful, in turn making successful orks large, ect ect.

Hera: "Slightly insane, but hey."

Sergeant: he shrugs "Agree to disagree."

Raeven: "We called ourselves the Saturnyne Rams... Our first battle was known as the tempest galleries. Twenty thousand of us went down. We fought golden age automata, Silica Animus. We proved ourselves. The emperor gave us our first battle honour... Just the thousand of us who survived... In fire and darkness tested. We almost destroyed ourselves in trying to live up to our own example."

Charles: absolutely.

Blackadder: if you say so.

Noctis: quite the legacy to live up to.

Hera: "I've seen tyranids so, i can believe it."

He flips the book closed, and tucks it into his smock. "Say, you don't know whereabouts to get actual caffeine round here do you? You know. Not mud."

Raeven: "And with all that pride, we were delayed joining the crusade while we built our numbers. When we joined, the fronts had formed, there was need for astartes everywhere, so the legion was split, anywhere from a hundred, to a single warrior sent to fight alongside the imperial army."

Charles: fair enough.

Blackadder: you think that idiiot would be serving up cups of mud if there was any real caffene?

noctis continues to listen

Hera: "So orks are all latent psykers... Any other... interesting tidbits?"

".... Probably, yeah."

Raeven: "I think it was the way the other legions argued over the emperor giving us the battle honour... We wanted to prove he was right. Prove that we deserved it."

Charles: well. I think next we should move on to their life cycle and reproduction.

Blackadder rolls his eyes

Noctis: perhaps.

Hera: "...Could we not? I'm not sure i want to know?"

"If you had asked me, if anyone short of an ogryn would try to drink hot mud, around ten minutes ago. I would have said no."

Raeven: "So... we took any battle we could. The most desperate actions you could imagine. We developed a... reputation for it. That type asymmetric warfare. And... I think we liked it."

Charles: relax. They don'nt 'reproduce' in that way. They entirely lack the physical capability for such. Ever seen a female ork?

he shrugs at that "you have far too much hope"

noctis lets him continue

Hera: "Ever seen a female mechanicus magos?"

"Well, as we're soon to share a shallow mass grave, i'm sure you'll prove me right."

Raeven: "I do not doubt, that without vulkan, the legion would have died. We were getting worse, we all knew it. More stubborn. More morose."

Charles: yes.

Blackadder: that's more like it.

Noctis: so I have heard.

Hera: "Did you know it was female by looking...?"

"Still. Going to take a fair few of those bastards along for the ride."

Raeven: "Vulkan saved us... from ourselves."

Charles: I did. Anyway. Orks reproduce through spores, produced from their bodies upon death. The spores eventually grow into fungi. These then either grow into larger fungi, snotlings, grots, squigs, or orks.

Blackadder: maybe.

noctis nods

Hera: "They're all the same thing?... doesn't that make them all cannibals...?"

"Or die embarrassingly, flat on my arse, my last words being 'Ah fuck'"

Raeven: "For him, that is why i fight still. The best man i have ever met."

Charles: Correct.

Blackadder: you're oddly self aware about all this.

Noctis: A shame he was before my time.

Hera: "Hmn. Yet another reason to burn them from this galaxy."

"well. Its not like the cavalry is coming is it? we've got a fleet of traitor marines in orbit, and regiments of pdf to hold them off. This is a last stand ain't it?"

Raeven: "Vulkan lives, brother."

Charles: agreed. with the slight issue of, it is often their death which triggers the spore release.

Blackadder: would seem so.

Noctis: so they say.

Hera ignites a flame in her palm. "Holy promethium."

"So. No point lying to ourselves is there?"

Raeven: "Vulkan is perpetual, Noctis. He is as i am."

Charles: often works, but not always. It can be used against them. One dark eldar archon infected an ork with horrific venoms and poisons, and positioned its dying body so the spores released fell from on high infected the entire tribe, killing them all.

Blackadder: spose not.

Noctis: Is that so?

Hera: "We should go and have a chat with them."

"Just dig in and give the heretics a go of it"

Raeven: "We spoke of it."

Charles: a rather bad idea.

Blackadder: suppose that's all we can do.

Noctis: we did.

Hera: "How to make those poisons would be invaluable. We could end the ork menace."

"Then its off to see the emperor for tea, a biscuit, and a pat on the head well done, martyrs are we."

Raeven smiles, just a little. "I mean vulkan and i."

Charles: does not mean we treat with the dark eldar. Steal from perhaps. Besides. There is always the collateral damage issue.

*voice from the doorway, booming and upper class sounding* "A noble sentiment guardsman, but I would not be so sure."

he nods

Hera: "Torture the information out of?"

Swift turn, heel down sharp salute. "Sir."

"Vulkan lives brother. I believe this without doubt."

Charles: is there any need? We have our own toxins after all, that would more than likely do the job.

the warrior, clad in silver, mechanical armour, laughs at the sgt's formality. he is no imperial guardsman, his armour clearly far too high quality and styalised for that. under his arm, he carries his helm, fully enclosed and advanced as the rest of his armour. At his hip, a pistol, although one that they do not recognise. His hair is somewhat unkempt, as is his ruffled beard, and his left eye has been replaced with a cybernetic augment. In his mouth, he has a thick, burning Cigar. "You don't have to treat me like that lad."

Noctis: maybe. The stories say he is to return in our hour of need. I have heard those who wonder where he was when cadia fell.

Hera: "If we do, why haven't we used them to wipe them from the face of the galaxy?"

Sgt: "How should i address you then?"

Raeven: "I wish i knew. As much as i wish i were at cadia myself."

Charles: other than the difficulty behind capturing a live ork specimin large enough to do the job, infecting him, and getting him into the correct position? And how hard it is to produce toxins powerful enough? Compared to the comparative ease of high explosives?

Knight: Well, the name's Sir Hekter so that'd be a start.
*blackadder rolls his eyes*

Noctis: likewise.

Hera: "Comparative ease? We fight orks more than anything."

Sgt: "Of course Sir Hekter." He nods formally, but refrains from a salute.

He turns around, walking over to the anvil, lifting the hammer in his burned hand. "I'd sell my soul to crack Abaddon's skull... Iron above, and iron below..." he tests the weight of the hammer in his hand, then with a grunt of effort, brings it hard down on the anvil's surface, fracturing the hardened steel head, chips of metal flying off like shrapnel, four slivers embedding themselves into his flesh, his arm, his chest, and stomach. Blood begins to run down his skin in crimson rivulets.

Charles: and blowing them up tends to work. For the resources it would take to produce enough toxin to wipe out a single ork camp with this, we could produce a dozen batteries of basilisks.

the knight grins at that, taking a drag from the cigar

Noctis: what was he like before? you of all people I would think may know.

Hera: "True enough. Blessed ordinance is a good use of resources."

The Sergeant says nothing.

Raeven: "Abaddon? I never met him, before the heresy or during it. Neither have i met him since."

Charles: one way of putting it. *chuckles a little*

"Why so glum lads?"

Noctis: there must have been stories.

Hera: "I've yet to see a problem that can't be solved with enough artillery."

Sargent: "Imminent death, sir"

Raeven: "People said he was a savage warrior. Killed his own father when he was a boy. Horus' right hand."

Charles: there are few that can't be.

the knight laughs at that

Noctis: that is all?