(Dark Heresy) His Holy Ordo - Purge the Unclean

[Uthragar]

Heh, must be going a bit soft if a ride like that set my stomach roiling, though I suppose was different than a ship home, less rolling and more jerking about. T'ohei grumbled to himself and set to wiping the sick out of his beard as best he could. An awful stench for sure, though still better than hitting dirt lightheaded. Still, Emperor forgive me, I'd love to see that boisterous fellow Titus aboard ship on my world, he'd be green for a week. He sighed and rolled his shoulders as the lander settled and the hatch opened. Such thoughts are unbecoming of my duty, best get to work and put this behind me.

The steel-sword stepped out of the craft, hand going up to shade his eyes from the sudden influx of light, taking in a deep breath of questionably fresh air. His nostrils flared with the new world's smells, detecting a faint hint of something familiar on the wind. He smiled a bit. Smells a bit like home, not quite, but there's something in the breeze that reminds me of wilder things. His hand reached to his netting, unclasping and uncorking his bottle of booze for a quick swig, the harsh fiery liquid cleansing the acrid taste of bile from his throat. He replaced it and wiped his mouth on the cleaner of his sleeves, then checked the rest of his belongings, preparing to leave only to be blocked by the textbook image of an overworked administrative official standing in his way. T'ohei wasn't the first to notice the man however, and before he could open his mouth Brother Raltus was already letting words tumble from his lips.

The steel-sword rolled his eyes at the story but didn't interrupt right away. T'ohei could see the appeal of a cover story, but personally would have been more inclined to just get to the point. Nothing in the mission briefing had made mention of maintaining cover, or secrecy. Not that blabbing it about would be constructive. Still all this dancing around the issue was quickly getting on the steel-sword's nerves, especially after the drop, and if it continued for too much longer he was quite resolved to simply ask for the directions he required and move along.

For the moment though, he simply maintained his silence, checking his firearms with a nearly melodic series of clicks and clacks and low-powered hums accompanying the inspection. He did this with an almost air of nonchalance though the impatient tapping of his right boot and scowling face betrayed his annoyance at the delay.