!!1tDIRRlgZfN 09/03/10(Fri)10:25 No.11934468|
You report your status to Solonis and hear his voice again.
"I reported the incident at the Waste Processors to the Warsmith." he says, then after a pause "He'd like to have a word with you. Now."
PART 5 STARTS FROM HERE:
You get on a turbo-lift and ascend to the upper decks. As you wait for the pod to reach your destination you inspect your reflection in the silver surface of the elevator door. Your face is a scarred mess, your once noble features ruined by decades of constant warfare, and the numerous conflicts of the day. The warpfire of the Horrors you fought, after taking on brother-librarian Kerberos, left you with several new burn marks all over your face, where the daemonic blood splattered over you. You see the skin cracked, peeling off in white flakes, a metallic grey showing under, where you'd expect the pink of flesh.
Your armour is scorched and bent in several places. The breastplate is badly damaged, missing chunks of ceramite, where bolter hits failed to penetrate, and exploded on the surface. On your left side there is a large hole, where a lucky shot got you, and shattered a couple of ribs. There is no blood, but you feel a stabbing pain every time you move.
Your left shoulder pad has been punched through by a plasma bolt, burning through your flesh, and the blackened hole is still smoking, but the numbness in your arm has passed at least.
You inspect a strange vertical line on your breastplate, and remember the tech-marine, brother Conraad attempting to ease you of your armouru with a plasma cutter, when you got into a heated debate, involving you shooting in his workshop. The sides of the cut seem to have grown narrow, like a healing wound.