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[first_of_steel]

That Mindy girl's alien burgers had turned out pretty good last night, and Roger will remember them in future, but right now his mind was on something else she told him about. She'd mentioned the Sensoriums could simulate just about any environment he could think of, and since he'd found a map to their location on his omnicomm this morning, he figured he'd put that to the test. He'd seen virtual reality training pods before, although as an MP he never really rated using one, so he wasn't sure what to expect.

... the desert north of the Lost Hills bunker where they'd been taking the younger Initiates for training, apparently. An absolutely perfect replica thereof, even down to the scorpions the size of Corvegas.

Huh.

Well, no sense wasting a perfectly good blighted hellscape. They'd pulled him here to fight a war, hadn't they? Might as well start practicing for it.

He pulls his helmet over his head, flips the neck latches shut, and reaches over his shoulder for the supersledge he carries. He'll break out the laserguns later. Right now, for all that he's taken his situation pretty well so far, he really, really wants to hit something.

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[first_of_steel]

"Couldn't find a target range," Roger admits. "I was thinking of home, and it appeared. Figured I might as well make use of it instead of getting out of practice."

There's a hint of amusement to his voice as he adds, "This area's about half an hour's march from the Brotherhood's home bunker. We take our initiates here for training."

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

"Sounds rather like the fortress-keeps we establish for recruitment throughout the Imperium. Tell me a bit about how you train your initiates, if you would."

His interest is fairly clear, as expressed by body language, anyway.

[first_of_steel]

Roger nodded. "They start young," he said. "We train all of our children pretty much the same before they're old enough to make decisions- make sure they've got a good solid foundation both in terms of education and in terms of combative fundamentals. Once we can see what they're going to excel at, the academic ones get Scribe training. The others get pegged for combat Initiates, assuming they make it through the physical regimen. Some of them don't. Can't be helped."

He shrugged; it was a fact of life. Basic was like that. Always had been, always would be.

"We start them with endurance and strength trials, real simple stuff. If they can't hack it they get sent to a knight-sergeant or a junior paladin for physical conditioning, which is normally around twenty-one days of nothing but running, weight training, and whatever other physical tasks the knight-sergeant thinks is the most difficult work available. They don't get to join the other Initiates again until they can clear a three mile run in the sand in light combat armor in less than twenty-eight minutes, no stopping. Then it's back to the ten-mile marches under medium armor, and the weapon training. They've got to demonstrate basic target proficiency with at least one single-handed and rifle-grip bullet weapon each, at least one single-handed and rifle-grip energy weapon each, and appropriately efficient use of grenades. Melee training is with sledges or Rippers, close quarters combat is against the most vicious son of a bitch we've got on staff. Heavy weapons like the miningun and Gatling laser are optional. Once we've got them to the point where they can put five shots rapid in a space smaller than my thumbnail at two hundred, three hundred, and five hundred meters each, that's about where we start taking them out of the bunker and into the desert to deal with live, moving targets. Testing for promotion to knight or paladin doesn't come until they've demonstrated themselves repeatedly in combat against the creatures in the desert, or against a sufficiently armed and dangerous group of local raiders."

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

"That sounds very familiar indeed, and similar to how we test our own recruits. It would appear in some regards our brotherhoods have similar methodologies, though I believe you would find ours necessarily more extreme. We are preparing people for an apotheosis to become the slayers of demons, and other such things."

He pauses, a moment, and asks, "What is a Ripper?"

[first_of_steel]

"We're just trying to keep our people alive," Roger says, "and ensure the survival of the human race. Keep the weapons of the past out of the hands of people who'd use them to end the world once and for all, and rebuild a proper future for the whole species when we finally have the means to do it. It's a little different."

Nothing wrong with that. The right force for the right war, and all that.

"Oh- a chain-edged blade, usually about this long." Roger indicates something that would be either the size of a long dagger or a short sword, were he using one. "I've seen some bigger ones, mostly on officers. They chew through most combat armor pretty quickly, but you have to keep them maintained or pieces go flying."

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

"Ah, rather like a chainsword. I used one of them as a member of the Sword Brethren."

He smiles under his helm, and crosses to Roger, putting a hand on his shoulder, "Ensuring the survival of the human race is what the Black Templars, and the Adeptus Astartes as a whole were created for. I think you and I.... well, I think we may be able to come to an understanding of sorts."

The Space Marine seems mighty pleased.

[first_of_steel]

"I learned the basics with one. Standard procedure. Took to the sledges better, though, so I concentrated on that instead."

It's an impressive gesture from a warrior his size. Roger hasn't got a prayer in hell of returning it, of course, but he can stand up a little straighter at the very least. "Certainly sounds that way," he says. "I'm listening. Tell me more."

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

"When the time comes, I'll tell you more. There's no need as of yet. But beware our erstwhile allies. The ones that brought us here are hiding something from us, and we shouldn't dance to their tune without some awareness of this."

He steps back, looking over the desert. "So, what are the strongest beasts that reside in this place? Perhaps we should hunt."

[first_of_steel]

Roger nods. "When my country still existed," he says, "I served as a guard without knowing what I was guarding. It didn't end well, when the truth came out. I won't be caught flat-footed like that again."

He glances into the desert and says, without even having to stop to think, "Deathclaws. Mutant lizards. Bigger than you, with claws that'll rip open an armored man like a penknife gutting a fish."

And, this being the Sensoriums, a monstrous bipedal shape begins moving in the distance...

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

Erhart nods, taking in Roger's words, then draws his bolt pistol and racks it.

"A worthy foe. Someday I'll show you a Carnodon, they are a rare pleasure to hunt."

[first_of_steel]

"Looking forward to it," Roger says, the grin on his face coming through in his voice. "My suggestion for this thing? Go for the knees first. They're fast, and they tend to leap with their claws out."

He's keeping his sledge out. He'd need a tri-beam rifle to burn through a deathclaw's hide, or overloaded MF cells, but if he can time a slam for the moment when the beast is recovering from a leap he knows he can smash bones with this thing.

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

Erhart stares it down for a moment, then unleashes the bolt pistol, the thunderous micro-rocket rounds screaming towards the deathclaw, battering against the deathclaw's leg structure and making it waver. He roars, igniting his blade, and actually leaps towards the deathclaw, the blade thundering down in a one-handed stroke. it would seem the deatchlaw has found something just as brutal as it is.

[first_of_steel]

Holy Toledo. Roger wants one of those guns.

-he'll think about that later, after he's closed the distance between the two combatants and himself. Right now, the Deathclaw is not only screaming in agonized rage, it's twisting about as best it can to strike with all its clawed might at the source of its current ills. It's attacked armored men before. This one's just bigger and nastier, to its maddened reptilian brain. That means it needs to attack harder.

It may take some time for the Deathclaw to realize it's being severely wounded by the Space Marine's blade. When they're that enraged, they scarcely pay attention to little things like pain and flying blood.

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

Erhart parries, parries, and parries again with the powered blade, trying to simply disarm the deathclaw by cutting the very claws off with his defense. The molecular disruption field on his weapon is a very, very nasty thing, and Roger will quickly realize while his pistol is brutal, the true danger of the Templar is a close-in fight, as he wields it two handed with a sure hand, and unmatched skill. This is his calling.

[first_of_steel]

At some point it penetrates the creature's brain that there's something wrong at the ends of its arms. It attempts to rear up for a properly threatening roar of rage, thinking perhaps to lunge at Erhart and use its fangs instead.

Perhaps this might even have worked at some point, back when its legs were capable of properly supporting its weight. But between what happened to its knee from the pistolblast, and what happened to its other leg once Roger started in with all the stored-and-released kinetic enhancement the super sledge had to offer- and the sheer force of Erhart's sword strike after strike... well.

That thing is going down, and going down hard.

[swordofdorn.livejournal.com]

"Well done. A worthy foe."

He looks at Maxson, and the Elder will probably get the feeling of a smile from the Space Marine, though his helm shows nothing.