The tech-priest's eyes scanned over the room, as he absently lifted, then replaced the shawls from various items, picking up and returning tools which had been left out of their respective coffers.<span style="text-decoration: underline"><i>"Thirty Seventh deck, one thousanth, four hundred and twenty third frame* aft."</i></span>he spoke over the private vox line, his lobotomized personal aid walking by to resume dusting the shelves. There were few people he welcomed into his chambers, fewer still he would do so gladly for. He gently, reverently turned his attention to repairing a box like contraption, one easily two cubic feet large, an assortment of strange sigils and wiring exposed through grill like vents all along the sides, a strange, miasmic green hue glowing from with, though no conceavable means for the glow to happen could be deduced...<br/><br/>From his back, on the right side, a skeletal robotic arm, consisting of three joints, and ending in a cilindrical object at it's end. On this device were a series of slits along the side, visible from most were mechanical tools, a number of armored syringes, and a hand sized power knife. For precision cutting, of course. From those hiding spots, extended a self adjusting vice-grip, which he used in tandem with one he held percariously with a flesh hand... The other holding the device itself steady. It would take Torin some time to reach Zevion's room, time best spend working and learning...<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>