People were contacted, strings were pulled, information was sent. The coordinates give to Marcucilli pointed to a small island in one of New Luna's oceans, a small speak in the vast blue, charted, but not explored. After a few weeks of preperation and a brief flight, the Warren crew has landed on a clearing by the shore, a short distance away from a dense concentration of jungle leading to the heart of the island. Trugkar lumbers out of the dropship, hauling a bulky assault rifle with him. His nostrils flare as he inhales ocean air. "Salty," the Zangali grunts. Too scenic. "No."