WhiteDwarf: Wax poetic about the importance of the mission for the CAUSE.

You are WhiteDwarf. You are on your way to another region of the station. You are currently lost in thought about the importance of your mission for the cause. Your role in it is to disarm them of their weapons, by breaching the Armory. This is part of your own personal mission: To seek powerful opponents for epic duels of the blade, or at least some kind of melee of some sort. You know, the full suite kind of thing, banter and all. However, since you do not have anyone to duel out here in space, you cannot wax poetically. You cannot even wane.

This needs to be fixed, fast. You better get that armory open and that blade wet soon, or the allegedly cursed energy sword you claim to possess will lose the legitimacy of your claims about its supernatural bloodlust.

RedDwarf: Retrieve arms.