IC: I nod absentmindedly, staring at the spire that was in the distance and frowning behind my helmet. Nothing good could come of the Cult's twisted ways but more blood shed. Still, there were limits, Lord Garreth had made that clear to my ancestor, Jericho. "Tyrants...you know, I once fought with a race known as the Tyrants. Big ugly things. Four arms and eyes, two legs with feet that only had two toes. Rather strong too, able to throw a tank with only two hands."
I chuckle as I remember the first fight the Blood Letters had gotten into with them, which had resulted in full scale war. "Pity they weren't a smidgen smarter, they could have made excellent allies and even better foes." I take a moment to reassess what I'd just said. "Well, maybe slightly better foes than they were. To say they weren't tactically inclined would be lying."
Allowing silence to fall once more, I draw my MP and drop the empty clip I'd left in it to allow for a faster switch back to my preferred melee weapons. As it clanged to the ground, I slam a fresh magazine into place, pulling the slide back to rack a round into the chamber. Holstering it, I unsling my DMR and wait. My gut said the trouble was just beginning.