Resplendent in his jet black power armor, with his chapters' heraldry proudly displayed on his gleaming bone white pauldrons, the Black Templar Castellan stood at the edge of the battlefield. A fiercely scarred veteran of a thousand military engagements- much like the one rapidly approaching him now, the Castellon appeared unfazed by the impending carnage.
"
SERGEANT!" he bellowed.
His sonorous voice carried the full weight of his authority, and the soldier addressed immediately stepped forward and snapped to attention.
"
Sir! Yes, Sir!" the soldier returned.
"Now that our....
transport... has landed, and we've...
disembarked our forces....remind me what the frak it is we're
doing here?"
"Uh....sir? If by '
transport' you mean '
armybag,' and by '
deploying our forces' you mean '
unpacked,' well, then.....I feel obligated to remind you that we're
toys, sir.
Plastic models, to be precise....and this is a
game, NOT any kind of '
actual war.' We've, uh,
discussed this, remember?"
"Sergeant...remove your helm, if you would please..." the Castellon growled.
"Uh, sir...I
can't remove my helm. It's glued to my torso. Remember?
We discussed this, too..." the sergeant's voice trailed off, and he lapsed into an awkward silence as the Castellon turned towards him.
Faster than an Imperial Thunderbolt, the Castellon lashed out, and struck the Sergeant once in the head.
No quote necessary