Scion Dragoons -test

[Lord Pariah]

The Dragoon shut out the world, focusing solely on the simple act of breathing. He ignored his comrades, the filtered scent, the not-so-gentle pulls of evasive maneuvers. For the briefest of moments, there was only the Dragoon in his Shell of carapace and the sound of his breath, rasping of his respmask. 

 

Breath, son of the earth and sky, breath. thought Talvus

 

He had no need to go over the endless drawl of Administratum data script, he knew how to fight traitors; how to stay out of their sights, to parry a blade, to pierce their excuse for Armour and how to finish a creature that had turned from the sky... he had no need for specifics thought by some coward with a quill.

 

The dragoon let out his last breath and allowed the world around him to have his attention once again. The belly of a Valkyrie was never made to be luxurious but the dragoon took a comport in the spartan aspect of the hold of the gunship, packed with men encased in carapace. His Seargent finally let go of his vox link to address his men.

 

'We are supporting the local PDF.' The man spoke matter-of-factly thought each and every vox link over the roar of engines, 'They have captured a town south west of Bastion twelve,' The Sergeant continued pressing a rune on his slate monitron, allowing all the others to view the Town on their own feeds. 'the area is highly contested and 3rd company has been at the receiving end of a counter-attack' He finished with as much emotional resolve as a lesser man would drink water.

 

'Final checks!' he shouted unnecessarily over the vox, and not an instant after the last syllable was spoken, all the Dragoons picked up their hot-shot lasguns for the final rites of preparation.

 

Breath, son of earth and sky, breath  thought Talvus performing the last rite of rangesync.

 

'expect light infantry! but enemy Armour is unconfirmed!' The Sergeant shouted as he Finished his own rites, allowing his men to prepare grenades, modulating the hot-shot to fire on a lower power setting to conserve energy, and motioned the rest of his squad to do the same. 'Heavy infantry... Is a possibility!'

Tension solidified in the belly of the iron beast, even the possibility (even a remote one) of a traitor astartes was not a proposition any man, not even a soldier of the stoic 151st Brotian Dragoons, product of the Schola Progenium would take an engagement with the bastard sons of the fallen with anything less that the respect it deserves..

 

'We're landing, Command is not risking grav chute insertion in tight quarters and with too many unknowable factors...' The Sargent made his way down the length of the hold, with his hot-shot at his chest and, bolt pistol and sword at his belt as runes pooped up on the visors of every Dragoon, telling them that they are on the final approach, only to be blocked-clicked away.

 

'Our duty is to work in conjunction with 2nd to break the back of the enemy while 1st boxes them in and the PDF can cut them down with heavy weapons. Watch for friendlies and and each other's backs.' the Sargent allowed a breath before attaching his own Respmask complete with beret.

'Sons of the Earth mother and the sky farther, the emperor is watching and you will not fail in his sight. strike hard, strike fast!'

'And leave none standing!' the rest shouted, finishing the battle cry

 

On que, the ramp opened to let the cool air into the claustrophobic interior as ten Scions completed the final rites and litanies, and made ready to enact the most noble art of war.