Second Chance.

[Okor]

Okor clasped the Thousand Son's ceramite gauntlet with his skeletal hand, the yellowed, taut flesh a stark contrast to the iridescent patterns of blue and gold. "Pleased to... meet another veteran. I am Okor, fourteenth... legion, fourth company, eighth squad, seventh marine." He punctuated this with a low chuckle, shaking the Marine's hand. "Of... course, this hardly matters in this era." He turned his baleful gaze towards the Luna Wolf. "And... what is your tale, Son of Horus? I have not seen those colours since... Ullanor." He paused for a moment, rubbing the ceramite plating of his disabled arm. "Were you perhaps present at the... siege of the Citadel of Scrap? I recall Eighth squad held the gatehouse for seven hours." Okor chuckled again, reminiscing. "When we finally left, the hall was... layered with Orkish dead, and spent boltshells. I... trust you took advantage of our distraction? Ah, but, those are tales for a... different time. Shall we make our way to this... Abyss?