Absolom rubbed his chin pensively,  marking off another skirmish on the map set up before him. The lamplight cast a strange pall on his gaunt features, accentuating the skeletal gin that permanently stretched across his mottled, hairless face. The smile was not particularly by choice, and he certainly felt no mirth at what the battle markers painted. His eyes flicked over to his commander, a dry rasp creeping from his thin lips.<br/><br/>"Scripio, sir, these attacks are growing more frequent. Twelve in the last week alone. We may need to petition the Legate to allow us to... do some gardening in the deep caves. Pluck a few mushrooms as it were."<br/>His hand fell to the notebook stowed in his hip satchel.<br/>"I need some fresh test subjects anyway."