"We must embrace pain and burn it as fuel for our journey,"- Kenji Miyazawa

Colonel K-856 was looking over various reports sent to him that day. Currently in his office space, taking a break from the constant planing and counseling of his fellow colonels, superiors, and trusted advisers. Reading over the current report on the progress of various conscripted engineers, pulled from local companies, he was pleasantly surprised by their efficient progress. The forward trench line and fortifications were completed, as well as their supply staging areas.

Guardsmen from all regiments had been divvied up, placing troopers both within the city, and on the frontline. Their logistics and supply teams were also in place, only the finishing touches remained. A good thing too, their scouting forays placed the enemy not one day away from attacking. He had a few rough-rider, and mechanized regiments, at the ready to meet the initial blitz they were expecting. That was more General Flend's strategy, though K-856 certainly approved, heavy losses were expected for those regiments.

But, the gamble was that they'd soften the initial blitz, enough for artillery and massed fire along the line to repel it in the end. Forcing the enemy to set up the inevitable siege of Portcity. The Krieger thought about the varied regiments at their disposal. It was difficult to coordinate everything with the myriad of culture clashes. He thanked the Emperor that all fell under General Flend's sway, and he had Flend's ear on this particular campaign.

"Still mulling over positioning Colonel?" A familiar voice echoed from the seat across his desk. K-856 was surprised she had managed to get in without his notice. He'd been away from the frontlines too long…

"Yes Commissar, I'm rethinking the use of the Natrine rough riders on the eastern front. Recon suggests heavy enemy armor in that area, live mounts may not be the best option there," he posits.

Veris smiles, "I don't think that'll be a problem for those fine lizard riders Colonel. Have you ever seen a Natrine Monitor?"

"I agree they are certainly hardy animals, however they are not as reliable as armor. If it's at all possible I'd like to have them where they can cause the most shock, perhaps to the north where human wave tactics are predicted." K-856 is logical in his decisions, this is no different.

"While I like the sound of that Colonel, it would take at least two days to get them transferred, and replaced. I'm afraid we won't have the time to do it." The Commissar throws back.

K-856 nods back in acquiescence, he didn't like the slight disadvantage they'd have, but the Commissar did have a point. Natrine Monitors were quite the beasts, they may very well do just fine, it was simply unfortunate. Any advantage would be the key to surviving the siege.

"Yes, you're right Commissar, we'll simply have to make do. At least the forward lines, and our supply routes are established," going back to his reports he doesn't notice the Commissar smiling.

"So, is this shaping up to be an interesting campaign, or what?" Her tone was playful, something he never understood, she was supposed to be a Commissar after all.

"Warfare is warfare, Commissar, there's nothing interesting about it," he spoke indifferently. Nothing but the truth, in his eyes, as he had been taught. War was his duty, there was no glory, no prestige, no interest, it was simply a means to an end. For the sons and daughters of Krieg that end was atonement. Veris frowned slightly at his observation, he couldn't blame her he supposed, her ancestors had not sinned against the Emperor, at least not that he knew of.

To her the endless wars of the Emperor were more than a duty, more than atonement, they were her calling. K-856 supposed there could be joy, or interest, found in one's calling in life. But, this was not his calling, simply his duty.

"Just suck the fun out of everything don't you." She sighed stretching out on her seat, as she placed her hands behind her head. "You're lucky that I find you so interesting in general. Otherwise I may not be as apt to visit as much as I do."

K-856 found himself wishing that was the case. For all of her merits, he found the Commissar to be… well he couldn't really describe it, she irked him something fierce.

"Perhaps that would give you more time to tend to the troopers." He suggested diplomatically.

"Ah, you know the 82nd doesn't need me to enforce procedure, as for the other two, well what can I say I'm blessed with fine Guardsmen." Her grin is wide, the type of rictus unbecoming for someone in her position, but he doesn't comment on it.

He remained silent, he couldn't fault her logic, and any of the other regiments in the city were under their own Commissars.

"So tell me Colonel, do you think we have a chance here?" She asks soberly, all pretense of her usual bravado, and exuberance gone, just unmasked somber curiosity. "You've always been the one to tally up the casualty projections before a battle. What do you predict for this one."

K-856 looked up from his reports, he saw for once the serious, grim Commissar. The type of person he had always imagined would be the Emperor's voice to Guardsmen. He folded his hands before him taking a deep breath.

"Commissar, if we make it through this, it will be close. I feel there is no need for me to elaborate on the difficulty of the situation with mere numbers." He watches as her grim expression falters, he can't quite comprehend what it means, it's not fear, maybe sadness?

"Tell me Colonel, what are the numbers? Will my boys and girls survive this?" Veris pushes.

K-856 takes a breath, letting it out slowly. "Based on enemy numbers, capability, and our own advantages I predict there will be an eighty percent casualty rate." He watched her expression become more sullen. "Based on my gut though, I'd say that yes, our troopers will make it through this Commissar."

Veris' expression lightens considerably at his sentimental statement. It is good, as any good Colonel knows, morale is a powerful thing, and even Commissars are in need of a boost now and then. They were all only human after all.

"You know of the schola progenium yes Colonel," it's a statement, of course he knew. The Imperial academy that took in Guard and war orphans, training them to become storm-troopers, Adeptus Sororitas, and of course Commissars. He nods anyway for her benefit.

"Then you know that I was an orphan, I never knew my parents. Never had a family, not even in the Schola with my fellow progena. It wasn't until I was assigned to these regiments under General Flend that I began to understand the notion of family. These Guardsmen, they are my family, you are too. It's always hard when I read the casualty reports, and I've no desire to see you all perish." Her little speech is not what K-856 expects. Certainly not something a Commissar should admit, it was quite unbecoming really, though he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. Veris had always been an oddball.

"I can't say I share the same sentiments as you Commissar. However, I do believe in serving the Emperor, and it is hard to do that if one dies. Better to serve him as long as we can, take down as many of his enemies as we can." He believes every word he says, it is the Krieg way. His mission isn't done until he's dead, and until then he'll do all that he can to keep serving.

Veris throws him her usual smile. "What's that old Krieg saying? 'Here's the test to tell if your mission is complete..."

"If you are alive, it isn't." He finished for her, it had always been a rather comforting notion to him. It meant that he'd always have a purpose. Judging by the Commissar's content expression she felt the same way. Before the conversation could continue any further the door to his office opened. One of his Captains coming through the portal, snapping a quick, crisp salute to him as he did so.

"What is it Captain," K-856 asked dismissing his subordinate's salute to put him at ease.

"Colonel, the enemy has launched its first offensive. They're assaulting the Eastern front, mass wave of heavy armor Sir, our forces are engaging as planned," the Captain reported.

K-856 dismissed him from his office with a wave of his hand, leaving him and Commissar Veris alone yet again. He looked to the Commissar, her doubts and worrys from before washed from her features, replaced by the usual confidence.

"I suppose we'll know how well the Natrine rough riders will do soon enough Colonel."

Since arriving back to friendly lines they had been stationed on the Eastern front. Xavier and the rest of them, along with the rest of the Hoarfell 125th, along with a few other regiments. One of which was preparing to charge out now, even in spite of the tidal wave of enemy vehicles coming their way.

"Can you believe it? They're just gonna meet them head on." Eli said in awe as they watched their fellow Guardsmen readying up, priests of the Ecclesiarchy blessing the rough riders and their mounts. Giant lizards the like of which Xavier had never seen before, a spectacle in their own right. Scales the size of carapace chest-plates, and probably just as protective, sharp clawed feet, attached to powerful looking legs and body. Their tails swished through the air in great arcs, and their horned heads made them appear almost regal, especially with the way they held them high.

The rough riders themselves were hardy looking guardsmen. Their uniform fatigues the same shade of green as their mounts, with bright yellow piping up the sides. Their helmets were also horned in imitation of the great lizards they rode, and each had a chest-plate of carapace covering them down to their sternum, leaving the stomach free to bend for increased mobility. Xavier thought they made an imposing sight.

"Those things are nearly as big as a Leman Russ," Cain comments as one of the lizards shakes its mighty head in agitation. All up and down the line there were thousands of the warbeasts, the whole of the Natrine Rough Riders regiment ready and rearing to go. Along the sides of the lizards are multiple explosive hunting lances, each rough rider also had at least a lascarbine as backup.

Horns sounded across the lines, the Natrine Commanders signaling their charge.

"By the Emperor, they're really doing it." Hack exclaimed as the rough riders mounted up. They all did so in synchronized perfection, each guardsman clearly completely comfortable with their mount.

"You thought this was all for show?" Sergeant Grimes questioned.

"They're all gonna die though..." Hack stated lowly, the rough riders had begun to charge toward the enemy by that point, quick to meet the heavy armored trucks favored by the bandits as makeshift tanks.

"As is their duty, for the Emperor." Grimes says with detached reverence.

Xavier watches as the enemy trucks open fire with their mounted machine guns, and low caliber cannons.

Captain Digger raises his hunting lance. "Come Rough Riders of Natrine, let's show these traitors the strength of the Emperors loyal subjects!"

His men bellow around him as they pound toward the enemy, even as weaponfire tears into them. Monitors roaring left and right as they're hit up and down the line. Digger's own mount Fine Bess roars too as she's hit by a stubber round. Luckily a minor annoyance, Monitor skin and muscle was too thick for small arms to do much to the hardy lizards.

They're closing on the mass of enemy vehicles now, he can see their hapdash design. Armor welded onto truck frames, heavy stubbers, and canons bolted to their beds. He roars with Fine Bess as they meet their first opponent, he thrusts his hunting lance into the truck engine as he passes by, his adjutant Corporal Meers doing the same from the other side. Their lances explode on contact, they drop them with experienced ease, the shaped charges ripped through the vehicles engine and crew. Leaving a bloody mess in its wake.

He grabs another lance from his mount's side, one of six more in total. His next hit is a bit high, catching the driver through the windshield of the truck, the lance piercing through the man and exploding as it hits his back seat. The engine undamaged allows the vehicle to continue on past them, crashing into a comrade behind, and toppling him and his Monitor as the bulk of metal plows into them.

Looking to his left and right Digger can see more of his comrades falling. Monitors taken down by sustained heavy stubber, and canon fire from the enemy. Riders run over, or gunned down as they scramble in the open without transportation. He threw his lance at an oncoming truck, steering Fine Bess out of its path as its driver tried to ram them, he smiled in triumph as his lance impacted the truck's front, ripping it apart as its engine went up in the explosion.

"Yeah!" He yells as he takes up another lance. Despite losses the regiment is tearing through the enemy mass of vehicles, though he can see the numbers. They'll be surrounded soon enough, flanked once the ones that got past them wheel around. Digger throws it from his mind as he wings his lance at another truck, hitting the front left wheel well. The charge blew the wheel and axle to pieces but the men operating the truck are unharmed. He feels a stubber round knick his side, blood pours from the wound, but he's certain he'll be okay.

Meer throws the finishing lance at the immobile vehicle as he passes by, Digger can hear the explosion, as well as Meer's 'Whoop!' of triumph. The Captain grabs another lance, almost seeing the truck coming too late, he drops his lance at the last second pulling up on Fine Bess' reigns in a very particular motion. Signaling the giant Monitor to jump, looking down he can see the bandit's dumbstruck faces as they watch the giant lizard fly over them.

So distracted they don't see another one coming up on them, Digger watches as one of his riders steers her Monitor into the side of the truck as it passes, sending the vehicle rolling ass over teakettle away, spitting the crew and pieces of itself out as it went.

He felt the impact as they landed again, it jarred him for a moment before he righted himself. Training kicking in he snatched up another lance, chucking it at another oncoming truck. It impacted the ground in front of the vehicle, throwing up dirt and rock in the explosion, and causing the driver to veer off course to avoid the blast, crashing into another truck to his left. His troopers finished the two off with several more lances, each exploding and tearing the two trucks to pieces.

He starts to hear the whine-crack of lascarbines as guardsmen begin to run out of lances. That's not good, they need to destroy vehicles, and while the Monitors can tear the machines apart, they won't be able to keep it up. Spotting another enemy heading for Meer he throws his last lance at the truck that would've blindsided his adjutant. It hits the truck in its passenger side door, the charge blasts right through nearly vaporizing the driver and his wingman.

He takes up his lascarbine now, and begins to fire at passing enemy drivers, most of his shots go wide, but a few hit. Deadly light energy blowing large holes in unfortunate victims. Most bandits only had armor made from leather, or light scrap metal, neither was enough to protect them from lasbolts. He watched as one particularly lucky shot took off a man's head from the nose up. His limp body slackened on the wheel, Digger looked on with satisfaction as the truck careened into another, taking out two birds with one shot.

It was slow, but before long Digger noticed that his fellow Natrines were starting to go down more often. The numbers of the enemy advance that overtook began to flank them from their immediate six. More of his comrades started going down, stubber rounds, and canon from behind taking them in the back.

"Forward!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs, urging his men on. Digger knew they weren't going to make it, but they'd have a better chance plowing onward. If they tried to about-face, they'd be cut down by the even heavier enemy advance from their current front. He snapped off more shots with his lascarbine, scoring glancing shots on enemy armor, he took out a canon gunner with a five shot burst. He could feel Fine Bess starting to tire as she pushed her stamina.

The constant bug-bites of enemy gunfire didn't help. "Meer! Fall back fifteen meters, put space between us, we're too close." He yelled out to his adjutant. Meer nodded, immediately slowing his Monitor and falling behind. It was starting to be more important to stay spread out, give the enemy more target to have to switch between.

"Come o-," he felt the explosion, a heavy caliber canon shell hitting home, Fine Bess gave a pained cry as she went down. Digger felt weightless as he was thrown forward as Fine Bess went to the ground headfirst. Flying through the air he saw the truck that had hit him far off, he had to admit it had been a damn good shot, crashing into the ground on his left shoulder he felt his arm dislocate. The pop louder than the cacophony of battle around him. Finally he skid to a stop, adrenaline pumping he was on his feet not a moment later, blood pounding in his ears, arm hurting like all hell. He'd lost his lascarbine in the tumble, the enemy truck that had hit him was coming for him head-on, still far off but closing the distance.

"Captain!" Digger turned in time to see Meer coming up to him. As his adjutant passed he tossed Digger one of his last two lances. Digger didn't blame him as he went on, he couldn't stop, he'd be hit and brought down too. They'd all known this was one way besides. He watched as his adjutant went, hopefully to take more of the bastards with him. Digger turned toward the truck still coming toward him, its gunners had been hit, he could see with surprising clarity their dead bodies, but the driver seemed intent to run him down.

Only twenty meters, and closing faster than a daemon. Digger waited, playing up his wounded appearance, ten meters out. Digger planted his lance in the ground, placing his foot at the base, holding it so that it'd impact the engine.

"RRRRAAAAGH!" He roared as the driver bared down on him, either unable, or unwilling to divert from his current path.

The last thing Captain Digger of the 98th Natrine Rough Riders saw and heard, was the almighty explosion of his hunting lance ripping apart his enemy.

Watching the sacrifice of the Natrine Rough Riders was sobering to Xavier. He'd already fought two wars, and seen comrades die, but this was the first time he had seen an entire regiment decimated. The wrecks of enemy vehicles intermingled with the carcasses of the giant lizards, and Natrine guardsmen. Enemy numbers were thinned considerably, the offensive blunted, whistles were heard as artillery arced overhead.

He watched on with satisfaction as basilisk shells impacted, throwing great clouts of dirt and dust into the air. As well as the still advancing bandit trucks, men disappeared in the blasts, or were shredded by shrapnel. They were still a ways out from the trench-line, orders to fire had not yet been given, the enemy hadn't gotten into range.

Xavier hefted the treadkecker—as he and other Surrins came to call the standard guard rocket launcher—he had been given. Heavy anti-vehicle ordinance had been distributed every tenth man down the line. If that wasn't enough, then the many auto-cannon, and heavy-bolter crews would surely tear them to shreds and scrap.

Any enemy trucks that decided to continue through the artillery barrage, any that made it, would find a wall of rockets, and canon-fire coming their way. Watching more trucks go up in flames and scrap, Xavier was optimistic that any left would be few, and easy pickings.

"Get that launcher ready Xavier," Sergeant Grimes orders as he eyes the approaching trucks. They had made it past the safe distance the artillery crews were shelling. There where still quite a few, hundreds up and down the line, but even at a distance Xavier could tell they were well kecked-up. And despite their numbers, they were facing thousands of Imperial Guardsmen up and down the line, a good percentage having the right weapons for the job at hand.

They had the effective fire range of the rockets and emplacements marked with visi-sticks. Prepared specially days ago. As the first of the enemy leftovers passed the marked border up and down the line the order was yelled by commanders.

"Scrap the bastards, for the Rough Riders!" Sergeant Grimes himself bellowed out in order. A cheer erupted up and down the line, guardsmen roaring vengeance for their fallen comrades.

Xavier smiled as he complied with the order, it was one he didn't have a problem following. Putting an enemy truck in the sight-picture of the tread-kecker he braced to pull the trigger.

"Clear my six, everybody say ah!" He yelled out in warning as the rocket locked onto target. Standard instructions so that no one would suffer ruptured eardrums from the blow-back.

He pulled the trigger, sending rocket propelled destruction toward his enemy. Savage satisfaction erupted in his chest as he saw his rocket impact. All along the line tread-keckers, heavy-bolters, and auto-cannons opened up in a staccato of destruction. Enemy trucks were exploding, or simply being shredded left and right under the fusillade.

Guardsmen up and down the line were exacting vengeance wholesale. In mere moments the enemy offensive was stopped, they may have taken out a two-thousand strong regiment of Rough Riders. But the Imperial defenders exacted nearly four times that number overall. They were all cheering, Xavier felt Cain, Eli, and Hack all giving him whacks on his back and shoulders for his contribution. He felt as though he had avenged his fallen comrades in arms.

"Alright, enough cheering lads, don't forget there's millions of them out there. They outnumber us thirty to one, they can take this loss. We'll have to do better than that," he paused as they all went silent. "This'll give 'em something to think about though."

Peering out at the now baptized no-mans-lands Xavier felt his breath whoosh from his lungs. Adrenaline wearing off, quiet setting in as the line grew steadily silent, nothing but the fires of wrecks, and bodies burning to fill it. It brought back terrible memories, Endurholdgun, pyres of civilians, butchered by him and his friends. It was so unexpected, not a moment ago he'd been more than ready to kill the bandits. Eye for an eye, for the Rough Riders, and now… he felt as if he was choking up.

A hand clapping down on his shoulder startled him, he looked to the source to find Sergeant Grimes giving him the look, the one that meant 'I know, it's alright, but sort your shit out'. Xavier gave his sergeant a nod and steeled himself, looking pointedly back out on the carnage. The pressure of Grimes hand left his shoulder not a moment later.

"Still more to come lads, much more."

Freaking out Raltia blew apart another bandit running at her with a billhook. She wasn't used to this, sure she'd fought plenty of battles by now, but this one just took the cake. It's been over an hour of just a constant wave of people charging at them. Their trench and the various fortified emplacements along its length were going a long way saving their asses.

She was used to dropping behind enemy lines. Fighting errant patrols, disorganized columns, people who weren't exactly expecting her. The point is this was just way too much, borderline on ridiculous. The northern front had been nothing but wave after wave of bandit cannon fodder. It was a shooting gallery, Raltia didn't even have to aim, just point in the general direction of the enemy and you'd hit one.

"When do you think the snetches are gonna get the point!" Sunra growled from her right. The Randon woman winged another bandit in the jaw, blowing apart its structure in a spectacle of red. Raltia grunted back in response as she simply unloaded the last of her carbines power-pack, the lascarbine whined as it could no longer draw power. She swapped out for a fresh one quickly, aiming down her sights again to continue her work.

Bodies were piled up like cord-wood, almost a wall, they were actually making it harder for the bandits to continue their attack. Having to deal with the mines, razorwire, pit-traps, and other obstacles placed in no-mans-land, plus their own piled up dead. It was beginning to show as their assault slowed.

"Just a little longer, we've got artillery support coming," Sergeant Joss yelled out in encouragement.

"Yeah, let's just hope it doesn't coming down on us," Sunra mumbles, barely heard over the din of battle. Raltia felt a shudder go up her spine, she'd heard horror stories from veterans, artillery crews screwing up their coordinates, whole regiments blown apart by friendly fire. Her only comfort was that the artillery regiment assigned to their sector was supposedly a good one. She hit another bandit, that put her at around forty kills so far, probably more, but sometimes she couldn't tell if it was her shots, or a comrades, that killed.

There's a whistle overhead, followed by a thunderous boom as the shells impacted. Thankfully they landed out in no-mans-lands, right on top of the advancing waves of bandits. Raltia and the rest of the Randon kept fire up on the bandits still advancing and beyond the curtain of explosions. There weren't many left, and as they saw that there was death no matter which way they went most panicked. Easy pickings for the guardsmen up and down the line.

The volleys of lasfire began to stop as targets stopped coming. Raltia watched as the barrage went to work further out, a hundred meters or so from the trench line. Clods of dirt and body parts started to rain down out in the charnel house no-mans-land had become. Brief eruptions of black and red as the shells hit corpse piles. The enemy was now in full retreat, their first assault attempt clearly a failure, at least at this part of the line.

As the soul-shaking noise of the barrage came to an end everything became deathly silent along the line. Randon drop-troopers were usually so loud and boisterous, it was odd to hear her crazed comrades so silent for once. Raltia scanned the swath of death and destruction, literal rivers of red ran in the dirt, the pulverized bodies adding to the scene of hell before her. The macabre sight was like some twisted depiction of the primordial muck mankind had crawled from.

"Ever see something like this," she quietly utters out. Sunra, she noticed, had not so much sucked in a breath.

"No," her friend replied, battle-high wearing off. Her usual zeal didn't seem present, nobody seemed their usual self. The drop-troopers looked on in quiet contemplation at the horror wrought by war.

His plans were progressing along swimmingly. The clans united in an attack on Portcity, his Inquisitor and blank friend on their way to intercept those pesky Eldar. His ultimate tool for destruction ready to be awoken.

Georgii was quite content with life, all was going so well. Soon it might be time to set in motion his sleeper agents among the clans. Bring things to their head, preparation for his sleeping comrades, well comrades may be using the term quite loosely. Irregardless, he was sure thankful his lord was keeping that damned farseer from learning of his machinations. He was always good at hiding things, and keeping himself hidden.

Biting into a haunch of some giant fowl his minions had caught that morning, he looked at the beautiful sight of the waterfall before him. Speaking of his minions… looking toward their last known position he was content to note that the two were still there. They had calmed significantly since he let them slaughter their way through the bandit clans. Unspeakable bloodlust still resided in their veins, but at least now they were content to take some downtime, even if they still twitched on occasion.

Currently S'geck and K'lara were curled up next to one another, carving into the skull of the slain avian, their breakfasts forgotten at their sides as they went about their task. Georgii in contrast was quite taken with his food, the two crazed killers were surprisingly good cooks, and the meat itself was very tasty.

Sighing he placed his near finished meal on the plate before him. Standing he walked past their fire, and out of the little camp they had set up, toward the waterfall. His destination a large outcropping of rocks overlooking the small oasis the falls ran into. Sitting down he took his usual meditation pose. It wasn't necessary, but he liked the slight ceremony.

As he settled in and let go, he felt the rubber-band snap which preceded the expansion of his mind. He had benefited from expanded gifts, thanks to his master, all of them not as overt or invasive as others who served the warp had to deal with. They afforded him the sight, to be able to see events before they unfolded, or as they were proceeding. His current objective was to check in on a certain group.

It took a few moments of searching, but eventually the view came into sight. A riverboat, heading merrily down the orange waters, a band of merry adventurers on its deck. He looked at each as though through a fisheye lens, studying his adversaries, and possible allies. The sour though dependable Watchmaster, the guarded, but outgoing former penal legionnaires. Self-rightous, but noble Scintillian, mixed with feral warriors.

Dull, but loyal sensibilities as he look to the massive ogryn. Beside whom stood the implacable Arbitrator, who in turn was talking to a fellow witch, whom seemed to be giving the Arbitrator her tarot reading. Strange wrongness as the mechanicus adept pined for the formerly mention Watchmaster.

The Inquisitor, an old friend… he recoiled as the fellow psyker seemed to peer directly at him. Turning his attention away from the bright individual he focused on the last members of the group. Four figures, well sort of, three were dim, but still recognizable through his abilities. The last was less a figure and more a hole in the world as he perceived it. Simple black, in the vague shape of a person, the shadow was almost painful to look at, even as drew away from it he felt as though its mere proximity would tear his consciousness apart…

Georgii finally ripped himself away from his vision. It took great effort through the sudden pain that had enveloped him. He found himself clutching his head, panting heavily, as he returned to the corporeal senses of his body.

"So, his abilities have gotten stronger," he breathed deeply, ridding himself of the wrongness he'd experienced. It was a wonder the Inquisitor could stand to be around him. Standing he gazed once again at the orange cascade of water before him. The path to his goal was through it, and he felt it was time to get things rolling, really rolling.

A/N: So, here be chapter 33, sorry about the wait readers. Hope you enjoyed it, and as always kindly review.

Shout-outs:

Kamzil118- Please do elaborate man, I'd love to know what exactly I hit the proper tone for. Was it my attempt at comedy, or the touchy feely stuff? As always thanks for the feedback. :)

JohnDoeSIGMA1- Nothing really to say? I hope that's good, and that this is another nice chapter. Thank you for the review.

Guest- Why thank you kindly good sir/madam, glad you thought so.

Till next time dear readers.

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