"Well my lords, you didn't think we were going to be able to infiltrate three Astartes in full power armour into the heart of a Subsector capital world, did you? Even I'm not that good!"
Brynjarr frowned at Holger’s words, though he could see the logic. With a chuckle, for he should have foreseen the eventuality after a week of preparation, he reluctantly started to dearmour. Placing each component with care onto the frame and ensuring that the armour’s spirit was suitably mollified at being left behind for now he proceeded with the preperations.
Out of armour Brynjarr’s diminutive statue for an Astartes showed itself, with him being only fractionally taller than the deckhands, though considerably more bulky. Those that had not seen Brynjarr unarmoured before would now notice a grey tinge to his skin colour, but he looked as healthy and fit as any Marine, this was clearly gene line variation from most of humanity and not singes of sickness.
Picking through the pile of supplies Brynjarr ended up with a set of heavy duty boots that where surprisingly comfortable and a set of greaves that meshed well with the underlying work trousers. Next came a mismatched but solid chest and back plate from two different marks of carapace armour, however after some tinkering with the straps they did work well enough. Rounding out the selection was a Greatcoat, clearly made for an Astartes frame, as it fit comfortably even over the carapace armour, but in cut and functionally no different to mortal example and would pass anything but close inspection. This clearly was not the first time the Iron Gods had needed to send in Astartes sans power armour.
After checking that a carapace helmet and interlocking rebreather mask fit him Brynjarr stored both on the belt, as separate pieces, so as to be less conspicuous. If he needed them he could reach them quickly, for now he picked a wide brimmed hat.
+ If we pull this off I will be impressed +
Looking up at S’ynek as the other tested his rebreather Brynjarr agreed.
“Aye, we all will, apart from the Tyrant no doubt.”
Now rearmoured, as laughable as it was compared to his Void hardened suit, Brynjarr started stowing away supplies about his person, bandolier of grenades over one shoulder as always, Bolt pistol and combat knife on the belt, easy to reach but not obviously visible. With the addition of suitable straps his naval bolter could hung of the other sholder, tucked towards the back and hidden in the fold of the coat until he needed it.
Lastly was his boarding shield and axe.
“You my friend are too conspicious this time” he said quietly as he stored the shield next to his armour and gave it a parting pat.
The axe was a different matter however, and after rooting through the pile of supplies one last time Brynjar found some cloth strips that he wrapped around the handle to disguise the fine workmanship, and some additional bits and temporary glue also severed to cover up the power and field generators. Now it looked like a functional but mundane axe, of cruder workmanship then it actually was and hopefully passable as the personal and only weapon of some hired muscle as they were supposed to be.
Edited by Trokair, 19 October 2021 - 04:58 PM.