Astelan continues chanting even after the ships vox cuts off. He finishes the page he is on and marks the page before he closes the tome in front of him, stands and calls forth his serf. He strips out of his red robes and allows the serf to put the rest of his armour on him. His chanting slowly fades away as he reaches the end of that particular hymn and he does not start the next, but he does find the quiet.. not unsettling, but still wrong.<br/><br/>Astelan looks down at his black, unadorned armour as the serf finishes with the last shoulder guard, the silver one with the Deathwatch symbol on it. Astelan smiles, at least that part is the right colour. His smile drops again as the serf hands him his black mark 7 helmet. The world takes on a green tint as he puts it on and seals it and takes his bolter from the waiting serf.<br/><br/>He'd never admit it but behind his mask he grins at the sight of the thunderhawk. Drop pods have a place in war, he'd never deny it, but a thunderhawk insertion is far superior in his mind. The shock and awe effect of having fifty astartes appear amongst your enemies lines all well and good if you are fighting foes who lack conviction, but against the Great Enemy and the real threats to the Imperium out there the flexibility and firepower of a thunderhawk is unrivaled. That and dying because of a guidance system failure is a poor death.<br/><br/>Astelan stands at attention and listens to the captain speak but says nothing. Any other time his company served alongside other forces of the Imperium for long periods of time they always found his chapter likes to keep to themselves, he isn't overly concerned if his new brothers think the same.