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Character Nomad

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Demons of the past

Planet Ifjor Minor - Borvius system - Olkarium Cluster - PotA Bunkers

Commander Sawyer groaned more in frustration than in pain. He could sense a migraine building just behind his eyes as he rubbed his head. The older man flexed his bionic leg trying to get the knee joint unlocked.

"You really need to get it changed sooner rather than later." Goldrat told him from across the room as he picked some unrefined pyrite grease from one of his many shelves.
The workshop was covered with an assortment of weapons and pieces of technology that Sawyer couldn't even recognise. "One of these days it's going to seize up and will stop working completely."

"You should really keep this place more organised." Sawyer said, not able to hide the annoyance from his voice. In the old days he would have to discipline the man for such blatant disregard with his tools and equipment. The younger man shrugged.

"I know where everything I need is." he said moving towards his commander and sitting in front of him, placing his bionic leg on a stirrup. He dipped his fingers into the grease and started to apply it across the pistons and joints. "This won't work much longer. This leg is probably older than that bolter you have strapped to your waist."

Sawyer grunted. His companion wasn't wrong. Twenty years ago when he was a young upstart captain in the Protectors of the Abyss his squad had come across a small Armadan raiding party in the Arox nebula. Him and his soldiers had engaged the pirates in a few hours of mad and bloody confront. His tactics that day had assured them victory against their assailants. They had destroyed or capture all vessels in the raiding party except for one.
One single ship that stood against the onslaught of his forces while its raiding comrades fell against the superior tactics of the PotA and Sawyer.

Seeing the desperate stand that single vessel made while the others got destroyed, led Sawyer to make the first big mistake while in charge of other people's lives. One mistake that he paid dearly for and one that he never really got over.
Instead of using the superior numbers of his vessels to destroy the single ship, in a moment of misplaced confidence and supreme arrogance he had decide to lead a number of his soldiers and board the pirate vessel.

With eyes close he sees the attack begin once again. Every door and gate they encountered is battered down by their bolters and frag granades. The PotA march in rank by rank, following their training to "strike hard and deep."
Later he would realise this leads him and his men into an ambush. They fall on the squad's flanks from side corridors hacking deep into the middle of their ranks only to retreat into ruined rooms to disappear or hold suicidal last stands.

The battle that followed was unlike any Swayer had experienced. The pitch of dark vessel struck in the hues of fire and blood, Catching unawares and being so caught. Hunted and hunting through a labyrinthine slum of a vessel him and his men had never encountered before, warring in open areas, hilt to hilt, bolter to bolter spitting blood form one’s teeth.
In the dark, their lives hung from a thread, and time and again only their strength and fury saved them. But in the light, more likely, the burning of nearby structures, the PotA flinched and died under the mad blades of the Armadans.

Sawyer often saw their leader in the distance through the throngs of pressed bodies. A giant of man, scarred, shouting, killing like a demon, all that the PotA threw at him. He should have retreated. But his pride did not allow him. He was not going to be defeat by such savages. Deeper and deeper into the vessel the followed their prey.

As the hours goes, both sides lose more and more men, but finally he finds himself down to his last ten men surrounding the giant in the purple and black exosuit.

He was to make his last stand in a ruined cargo hold. Too late Sawyer realised what his enemy had tried to achieve with these attacks. Alone, the man roars “Demon!” as they try to kill him. He kills them, blade and fire to their "rotted leather."

To late Sawyer realises who they are facing. An Archangel.

Without warning, the PotA survivors relented, crowded back into the shields of those behind, away from the advance of his dripping aspect. They stared in horror and astonishment. All the world seemed afire.

“For a thousand years!” he grated. “Fucking your wives! Strangling your children! Striking down your fathers!” He brandished his broken blade. Blood spilled in loops from his elbow. “For a thousand years The Armada has stalked you!”

The next hearts beats were still a blur in his mind after all this years. The man he would later come to know as Nomad, dropped him and his men like they were mere rag dolls. He was the only survivor that day on that fateful boarding party.

He had come an hair's width away from cutting the reaver's neck at some point but the man had dropped under his blade with unreal speed and had taken the Captain's leg above the knee with a point blank blast of his fire arm, destroying it behind point of salvation

And as the darkness came swirling down, Sawyer at last understood. The Archangel had led him to a trap of his own making. A trap of his pride.

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