Madoc could see the measured respect in Vorticar's nod returned but knew there was more to it. Doubt, perhaps? It would not surprise him to be judged by his age, just as one might be quick to judge the fresh-faced Zorael for his. Madoc was already ancient by Astartes standards, and each passing year did him no favors. He paid it little mind; they would see what he was still capable of, and be grateful for it, when he stood on the battlefield once again.
"Tch! ...Greenskins." The word dripped off Madoc's lips like venom. "Nary a xenos more loathsome than an ork... Their kind is a blight upon the galaxy, a cancer to be excised and nothing more." Fewer words could express his hatred for the beasts, as savage a xenos as Madoc had ever faced, but his personal grudge against them had endured throughout the centuries. It would seem he was not alone in that hatred.
20 hours ago, Harding said:"To oblivion the prizes and glory! I will find no peace until I have torn these xenos apart! They owe me a leg, an arm, and an eye, and many lifes of good Astartes from my Legion, and they will pay for it a thousandfold," Vulkar angrily growled, punctuating his words with a furious strike against the nearby wall, leaving a deep cavitation...
A single twitch of a silver brow is all the response Madoc showed to the tech-marine's outburst, momentarily considering if he should scold the hulking Salamander not for his brief lack of emotional control, but for damaging the Emperor's property. Nonetheless, he decided against it, instead extending his courtesy with a nod to Vulker.
"That anger will serve you well, lad. Remember it when you face them again." He turned his eyes towards the rest of the warriors, "Stupid as they may seem, never underestimate them: their strength nor their cunning. Matching their fury with your own is a good start, but it takes more wits than rage to fell a Warboss..." Whether or not Madoc has actually fought such an ork before, he keeps to himself. Somethings are better left unsaid.