[Ides]

There was a rumble in the deck beneath him and Blake grimaced. Forcing himself to relax, he stretched and half opened an eye. Glancing first at the kit bag at his feet, he scanned the room quickly before shutting his eye again. Flying spooked him. No matter how many times he walked up and down a loading ramp or stuffed his gear into a shuttle, it still spooked him.

Pressing his hands against his temples, he let out a breath. True, he'd had a more comfortable berth in bootcamp, but he'd managed to secure a spot in the corner with a good view of the door and the ship's corridor's were just the right width for a run, which was something. Still, it wasn't the dirt, or the noise, or, he had to admit, the flying that had him worked up now. It was the tension. Ever since they'd boarded the Brazen Sky it had hung in the air like mist, so thick he felt he could lash out with his sword and cut it. Not that he would lash out, not until he knew his travelling companions a bit better at least. It paid to know which warriors had the itchiest trigger fingers after all. Whether or not that would matter on this mission was still up in the air.

Supervise the consecration of a cathedral...

Not what he'd call an ideal location, but if half of what it had said in the briefing slate was true it should more than make up for it. Animal attacks, missing persons, strange lights in the hills...and the more unsettling thoughts of telekinat, telaka, tel...whatever the hell that word was it wasn't natural. Throne, it was right up there with walls that wept blood on his list of least desireable encounters. Yawning loudly, he tried to put it out of his mind. He'd cross that river when he came to it.

Now that his mind was active sleep was a pipe-dream. Opening both eyes, he blinked the cobwebs away and sat up, cracking the tension from his neck even as his hand went to the laspistol under his pillow. It was a habit he'd gotten into as soon as he'd been handed the weapon, that and winding the strap of his lasgun around his leg when he slept. He didn't really expect violence, not on the Brazen Sky, but it was a good habit to get into. Glancing around the room again, he let his eyes rest on Garvel. The scarred mercenary wasn't sociable by any stretch of the imagination, but Blake had been a damned sight happier to see him than the other two.

Speaking of the other two...

Glancing at the door, his eyes narrowed as Carcer's figure came into view. Blake didn't like him, or rather, he liked him less than he liked the other two. Carcer was a thief, born and bred, the kind of man who'd slit your throat as quick as flash an oily smile your way, but he wasn't stupid either. As long as they were on the Brazen Sky all Blake had to keep an eye on were his thrones and his weapons. Once they reached the planet though...that was a whole other story.

"You lost, Carcer," he asked aloud, "or just itching for some conversation."