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trans_92011-03-29 04:17 pm
daemonomicon.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92011-03-29 04:17 pm
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Tools of the Trade
The Imperium of Mankind is known for having rather unusual habits and superstitions.
A rather common one is that everyone, including those not of the Cult Mechanicus, believes all machines and weapons, particularly old and powerful ones, have spirits of their own, aptly named Machine Spirits. It is said that to anger a weapon's machine spirit is to invite it to turn against you in combat, but to honor it will cause it to serve you well. As such, it is common to treat particularly old and storied weapons with reverence, almost as though they were people themselves.
So what Cargn is currently doing in the Weapons and Possessions Lockers might seem a bit odd at first glance.
The robed figure was currently kneeling down on the floor, and before him lay the massive halberd he normally wielded in battle, atop a fine, crimson cloth wrapping. He appeared to be muttering some type of prayer in an odd form of Latin.
"Somni salvus, Frater," he said quietly once the prayers were complete. With due reverence he began wrapping the weapon in the cloth covering.
To say Cargn had a deep connection with the weapon was something of an understatement. The Burden of Truth had been at his side for nearly eight centuries, the very same weapon he had received upon his induction into the Grey Knights. For him, it was less a weapon and more an old friend and irreplaceable companion.
However, at the same time, Cargn was a practical man, and he knew when something was necessary and when something needed to be set aside. And now, he needed a different type of tool.
He stood up, handing the wrapped weapon to one of Stacy's waiting tendrils for storage, watching quietly as it was taken away. Several seconds later, another tendril arrives with another wrapped weapon, this one's covering far more worn and old looking.
||Here is the item you requested,|| Stacy said in her usual manner, as Cargn took the item and removed its wrappings. Beneath was a rather old, ornate staff, the cold, empty eye sockets of the crystalline skull that topped it staring directly into Cargn's own.
"May I prove worthy enough to deserve your strength," he said reverently.
A rather common one is that everyone, including those not of the Cult Mechanicus, believes all machines and weapons, particularly old and powerful ones, have spirits of their own, aptly named Machine Spirits. It is said that to anger a weapon's machine spirit is to invite it to turn against you in combat, but to honor it will cause it to serve you well. As such, it is common to treat particularly old and storied weapons with reverence, almost as though they were people themselves.
So what Cargn is currently doing in the Weapons and Possessions Lockers might seem a bit odd at first glance.
The robed figure was currently kneeling down on the floor, and before him lay the massive halberd he normally wielded in battle, atop a fine, crimson cloth wrapping. He appeared to be muttering some type of prayer in an odd form of Latin.
"Somni salvus, Frater," he said quietly once the prayers were complete. With due reverence he began wrapping the weapon in the cloth covering.
To say Cargn had a deep connection with the weapon was something of an understatement. The Burden of Truth had been at his side for nearly eight centuries, the very same weapon he had received upon his induction into the Grey Knights. For him, it was less a weapon and more an old friend and irreplaceable companion.
However, at the same time, Cargn was a practical man, and he knew when something was necessary and when something needed to be set aside. And now, he needed a different type of tool.
He stood up, handing the wrapped weapon to one of Stacy's waiting tendrils for storage, watching quietly as it was taken away. Several seconds later, another tendril arrives with another wrapped weapon, this one's covering far more worn and old looking.
||Here is the item you requested,|| Stacy said in her usual manner, as Cargn took the item and removed its wrappings. Beneath was a rather old, ornate staff, the cold, empty eye sockets of the crystalline skull that topped it staring directly into Cargn's own.
"May I prove worthy enough to deserve your strength," he said reverently.