Board Thread:Warhammer 40k Roleplay/@comment-4948356-20150412000734/@comment-24580172-20150505013643

The black dressed Seer leaned against the door, placing his mask against it with good pressure. He crept his mind forward, feeling around on the other side of the door for any mind that he could pry into to learn the inner workings of the locking mechanisim. He was beginning to feel sick to his stomach, could feel the bile creeping up his throat. He began tapping at the door with his mutilated hand, rapping his fingers against the door in a pattern he learned from his days in Commorragh. When he thought to those days he only remembered the cold dark and how he refused to embrace it, and yet here he was today. A priest of the black, Achillieus turned his head just slightly to gaze at the dear Priest with his blind gaze;

"Tell me dear Priest, will you turn to prayer once we enter this styigan crypt. No doubt the soon to be tomb of these mutants? Will you pray for their souls dear Priest? Or will you condem them?"