This is a bit of fan fiction I wrote on a plane, I hope you enjoy it and maybe I'll finish it dears. The air was so still, nothing on earth could compare. Nothing living, nothing moving, there was no air or water for life. And beneath the dusted crust of the forsaken moon, was something beyond death. We were not there for death, but death will be awoken. What we wanted, was Death's tools, weapons and technology. And death had a cold hard grasp. They have been hunting for years beyond count, killing for even longer. For us to advance, we must step towards the dark to truly find the light. The skiff around me hummed and groaned as it made its flight through the ocean of storms. The colours of the exile adorned the machine, but even without the markings the ship was labeled an exile Skiff. It was a mess. Hardly kept together by the scavenged scraps that bound the whirling machinery. They were a house of those without a house. It was a insult to pretend there were a house, but survival was worth it. That shameful green banner kept them together, even if not completely. This raid on the hive was a power play, there was no hiding it. Tarvik our Baron wanted to make a claim for Kell, but he wasn't the only. Evikas, Sorika and Jyldak were all Barons who rather wish the title for themselves, or stood adamant no Kell should be named. Jyldak had many of the Archon Priest's agreement for the later opinion. I was but a Vandal, those power games where far above me. But like a swirling tempest, it was those on the ground that felt it's wind. And this wind was pulling me into a dark maw. But for the chance to step into the purest light, I would walk into the deepest shadow and spit in the eye of the demon. The cabin of the skiff filled with a light, small but with urgency. The doors released and movement of our force sprang up. I moved quickly, a well practiced movement as I descended from the skiff onto the surface of Luna. Others fell around me. Our Baron, strong and proud, his captains, few and tough. The servitor, alone but inspiring. And the fodder, the dregs, the shanks and even the Vandals. All three the most numerous, and the most expendable. Tarvik lead the way, shrapnel launcher primed and his captains at his heels eager to be his favourite. So when he becomes Kell, they become his lieutenants. There weapons worse than his own, but better than my scavenged blades. In truth I was lucky to have two, the exiled never had much. The structure stood formidable before us. Black as rot and as sharp and jagged as broken bones. The mouth of the structure was very much a mouth, filled with viscous green illumination, teeth posed to crush those who entered and endless bowls deeper in. And went entered. Defence was minimal, but two shanks still laid in ruins on the cold floor. Sparks sizzling like blood. Smoke escaping the husk like a soul leaving the body. And now we were descending into the tunnels, wishing for conflict. That would have been easier. Not jumping at shadows and the sounds of creatures just on the other side of the wall. I saw clawed hands retreat into crevices not large enough for my shoulders to fit through.