followed byGrim eyed Havelock carefully, an anger burning behind his eyes to match the fury the priest was using. "You come from parts unknown and want to stay in my care. I asked you to do something to prove that you are worthy of my trust. That makes you my subordinate, not equal. What I have known or not is no business of yours! Do you ask the Emperor what horrors he has seen when he asks you to strike them down? Do you question why he sends you, and not another? You are but a gun, ready to fire, a blade, ready to cut. You were looking for a hand to guide you to a target, a holster to keep you safe. Know your place in this, preacher!" His lips lifted back into a snarl. "Now put your stolen goods down, we'll sort that in the morning. I've cleared out a place for your lot to sleep, unless you'd prefer another holster?"
goes to"A tech-priest? Here I thought you had a fancy servitor! It's good to know he's got such a devout little aspirant to the Adeptus Mechanica! Fine then, all of you leave what you've stolen here and these two will tend to them while the rest of you sleep. Maybe then your tech-priest can tend to the rest of our gear, make sure it's all up to his standards!" His eyes burned at Quintos with a deadly edge. The other gangers nearby tensed up, their hands getting much closer to their guns.
Emphasis mine.Grim continued to glare at Quintos. "Oh, you'll start with your own gear, all right. Then you'll move to the gear you've looted. If you're still standing at that point, then we'll see about the rest," He turned to the rest of the nearby acolytes. "Go on then, you can all leave your weapons with these two, and when they're done, they can bring them back to you. Diver, you can watch these two, I'll show the rest to their beds, once they're done filling up the pile."
Next is
The GM has already been quite clear. You are only going to the shack if you surrender your (visible) weapons. Otherwise its confrontation with the gangers time.Meanwhile, the rest of the team was led to what could only generously be called a shack. Made up of ramshackle portions of scrap metal welded together in a most precarious way, there were bunks with tatters of rags on them. The guard barracks they had been in previously, while spartan, were clearly much more comfortable than what was available down here.
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