>>6010418>2/?The doors closed and the servitors deactivated, lapsing into an inanimate state. Xaas moved to an adjacent locker, and withdrew a bolt pistol, mag-locking it to his belt. It is more a formality than anything necessary, a reassuring presence should danger suddenly rear its head from a distance.
His chainglaive on the other hand was a symbol. The polearm is a symbol of his rank, his authority. To carry it is expected, and truthfully a privilege, for it is a fine weapon. Elegant and remarkably effective, one of the better things to come out of Nostramo.
It is withdrawn and held as a staff as Xaas leaves his armorium and chamber, stepping through the locked doorway into the hall beyond. It is unremarkable, bare metal bathed in a harsh white light that his helm dims to placate his sensitive eyes. The hall is standard among the Night Lord’s naval assets, and matches the countless miles that bore through his command ship, <span class="mu-i"> Dulce Silentium </span>.
Now outside of his isolated chambers he can feel the thrum of the Battle Barge’s colossal engines, the whine of the plasma reactor. She is an impressive command, forged in the void above Lucius, armed and armored to a degree only surpassed in the Imperium by rare one-off superships, leviathan star forts, or the Gloriana class battleships. Of course the occasional alien craft could compare, but those constructs were becoming increasingly rare.
Dulce Silentium was the flagship of his formation, the inauspiciously titled 333rd Expeditionary Fleet. Alongside her and a few small escorts stood the strike cruisers Unfurled and Winnower, the homes of the 61st and 14th companies respectively. The Ark Mechanicus Canticle of Motion is also attendant, along with the Exertus transport Marshal Janikov. The fleet was currently transiting from Nostramo to the Sol system, and had just finished resupplying at Port Mausoleum, along the edge of Segmentum Obscurus. The fleet was making its way to the edge of the star system’s gravity well, prepping for a warp jump.
Kasilos stalked down the hall, making little sound as he moved to his command center, the obvious location to review the communique from Nightfall. He encountered few on his path, servitors ignored his presence, or moved aside to let him pass while the handful of mortals averted their gaze and saluted quickly before continuing. Halfway to his destination a lone Legionary came from the side of a junction, coming to a halt before saluting with a red fist slamming into his chest, the sign of unity.
“Lord Regent.”
He says in acknowledgment, nodding his head.
“Sergeant Tynzhell, how fares your Claw?”
“Well enough Lord Xaas, although we all grow weary of ferrying the Legion’s geneseed.”
Kasilos grunts, shaking his head before continuing.
“It is an important duty Sergeant… but I understand. Such is life in the 13th chapter. With luck we will have a chance to wage war soon.”
“I hope so, Lord Regent. By your leave?”
