Gaunt is in Talbot's war-room, his camo-cloak trailing off his shoulders, the muddled shape contrasting sharply with the sharp profile of his storm coat. He's looking over his dataslate, and comparing it to the tactical information laid out there. His expression is flat, thin lips in a pale line. He mutters to himself, "Gereon all over again." He looks back to the dataslate, and scowls a little further, "Gereon without the ghosts."
He looks at the 'standard Rations', and privately muses that it looks even worse than corpse-starch, soylens viridiens, or worst of all, some of the food he saw Orks eat. A twinkie INDEED. The Emperor protect him from taking another bite of that soggy monstrosity masquerading as nutrition.
And then he gets to the part about Fay'lia weapons technology, on his dataslate. His eyes narrow. His fist clenches. "Heresy..." He hisses, and forces himself to read on. The weapons apparently adjust reality itself, like some foul technosorcery out of the forge world which have been swallowed up into the Eye of Terror. And he fully begins to understand why the Imperium sent a man him. Gaunt's resistance efforts weren't based on equivalent weaponry, on Gereon. They assassinated high ordinals armed with nothing more than jagged glass, iron discipline, and dedication. There was no way to defeat foes like this in open war. This was a war of the shadows on one hand, and for hearts and minds on the other. A colonel-commissar, rare beast that he was, particularly one well-known for being a stealth expert was perfect. And... expendable. But the Emperor protects. He would need to.
no subject
Gaunt is in Talbot's war-room, his camo-cloak trailing off his shoulders, the muddled shape contrasting sharply with the sharp profile of his storm coat. He's looking over his dataslate, and comparing it to the tactical information laid out there. His expression is flat, thin lips in a pale line. He mutters to himself, "Gereon all over again." He looks back to the dataslate, and scowls a little further, "Gereon without the ghosts."
He looks at the 'standard Rations', and privately muses that it looks even worse than corpse-starch, soylens viridiens, or worst of all, some of the food he saw Orks eat. A twinkie INDEED. The Emperor protect him from taking another bite of that soggy monstrosity masquerading as nutrition.
And then he gets to the part about Fay'lia weapons technology, on his dataslate. His eyes narrow. His fist clenches. "Heresy..." He hisses, and forces himself to read on. The weapons apparently adjust reality itself, like some foul technosorcery out of the forge world which have been swallowed up into the Eye of Terror. And he fully begins to understand why the Imperium sent a man him. Gaunt's resistance efforts weren't based on equivalent weaponry, on Gereon. They assassinated high ordinals armed with nothing more than jagged glass, iron discipline, and dedication. There was no way to defeat foes like this in open war. This was a war of the shadows on one hand, and for hearts and minds on the other. A colonel-commissar, rare beast that he was, particularly one well-known for being a stealth expert was perfect. And... expendable. But the Emperor protects. He would need to.