Join Date: May 2009
Location: South Carolina, USA
'Bloody skeyt… nuffgh… of a slumrat whore's… hmgmuff… left tit!'
Damir hissed the oath through clenched teeth as he managed to shift the collection of twisted limbs and wreckage pinning him firmly in the churned loam of the forest floor by a only few centimeters at best. He could feel his overlapping shield of ribs compressing under the weight and was sure that, had he been wearing his helm, the warspirit of his battleplate would have been indicating the stress levels he was under in a belligerent scroll of warning runes across his vision.
As it was, his helm was maglocked securely to his hip right above his bolt pistol which was, in turn, solidly wedged under the wreckage with the rest of Damir Roath.
The angle at which he had been trapped, along with the bulky presence of his jump pack, made getting any sort of leverage on the debris a test of sheer stubborn strength. A test in which, though he loathed to admit it, Roath was come up short. He could hear the others clambering around the remains of their craft and gave a dangerous hiss when the words of Korvus reached his ears. If it wasn't for the twisted metal and broken flora that held him in place, Roath's fist would have found his battle brother's mouth for such slander to their dead kinsmen,
'Speak another word of dishonour towards our fallen brothers and I will personally see that you join them, Korvus! Every drop of our blood is precious and sacred for it bears Lord Corax's gift. Lenux was a great warrior and his passing will be mourned by those of us who knew his worth, that his legacy ends here is an indescribable loss to the Chapter as a whole. So shut your mouth before I shut it for you, brother.'
Damir snarled the words as he dug his armoured fingers into the metal sheathing of the wing section; the armoured plating was still smoking slightly from the blast. With a cry of frustration that was far closer to the angry shriek of a wounded Roc than Roath would have liked, he heaved upwards with all of his gene-enhanced might. With a squeal of metal on metal, the section lifted centimeter by agonizingly slow centimeter. The servos in Damir's armour gave a low whine of overbearing, and he could feel body flush with battle stimulants as he continued to force the load higher off his chest.
'I will carry Lenux's Corvidae if none bears argument to my claim… once I get out from under this pile of skeyt that is.'