Thraxius seemed worryingly disinterested by the storm that loomed on the horizon, pacing around the periphery of the group but otherwise too distracted to weigh in on the situation.  He had removed the hell gun from its holster, and his left hand was in the process of anointing the troubled slide with sacred unguents.  It was almost like watching a child comforting a sick puppy, if the child was several hundred pounds of tortured meat and metal and the puppy capable of blowing cannonball-sized holes through a man's chest.<br/><br/><div align="center"><strong>"Let not your resolve falter in the face of battle,<br/>Noble Spirit by whom many a heretic fallen, <br/>Their twisted faith and mortal coil stripped from them in turn,<br/>By your cleansing fire, sin and hatred be purged.  <br/><br/>Amen."</strong></div><br/>With a quiet, almost imperceptible purr whatever had caught the slide in place finally relented, the faithful old gun unjamming under the combined efforts of reverent words and sacred oils.  The techpriest's eye shuttered into a joyful half-moon, and with one last careful pat he holstered the weapon and turned his gaze towards the vaulted ceiling far above them.  His free hand strayed to the nearby wall, feeling the deep rumbling of the titan vessel pass through his body.  Surely it could not hear him, gnat-like as he was, but with battle inevitable it seemed disrespectful not to say<em>something.</em><br/><br/><em>"Our lives are in your vast holds, Great One.  Those that seek to harm you will fall by your furious strength, and your name will be honored once more.  Your wounds I will heal by my own hands, and I swear by our Lord that you will know peace."</em>