When the call to arms had gone up, the other Son of Sanguinus had been in his cell quietly contemplating an image scrimshawed image of twin girls in flowing robes scrimshawed from a rare ivory.  His cell was not particularly spartan—though certain eccentricities could be forgiven of a tech marine.  Along with this statuette—a token of bittersweet memories he'd carved over a century ago—Brother Asramael's cell contained at any given time 21 model flying machines.  Whenever he made a new one, he chose one to give up.  When he had a chance, he shipped the ones he'd finished with to various Schola Progenum with a letter of encouragement to the recently orphaned there.<br/><br/>Brother Asramael arrived with the others.  He stayed silent and attentive at first, save to swear he oath to accept the mission.  He carefully considered how his specialty might be of particular use to the kill team on this mission—a situation where a tech marine was especial important to have among their number.