Faction Draelvasier | The Dust Has Settled

[Tathra Khaeus]

​

Location: Ardak, Second moon of Kardun
Site of the Heretic Fleet Wreckage
Tags: Kathrok | Ostak Cl'mana


The dim-hued light of the work-lamp played on the exposed flesh of Tathra's right arm, clasped in his left palm. The wounds from Galak's ice-gun hadn't fully healed, leaving scars like drilling holes in the side of his wrist and elbow. His eyes wandered back to the work in the process engine. Ardak had fared better than Kardun, but not by much. Ardak became the main base of operations for the Heretic forces under Galak's leadership during the civil war. They had already partially converted to ships with standard galactic technology when the Warmind attacked, taking over the Drael technology - leaving them with far more ships than the Loyalists under his command for some time. When he and the others escaped Kardun in a drop pod from a crashed Carrier, they had all expected to find working vessels in the facilities left behind. But that was not the case, the destruction of Kardun and the fleets above had wrought havoc on the neighbouring moons as well.

Ardak was a wasteland. Pilfered by debris and bodies during the destruction of the Warmind. That was his one solace, whatever Drek'ma had became, it died at the end of war. They had saved the Galactic Empire of the Drael from the horrors it unleashed upon both sides of the conflict. The Titan rose, finishing the application of the bandages around his right wrist - settling into a knelt position opposite his tools. He had been the only one of the survivors he'd come into contact with with knowledge of the ships used by the Heretics. It was an older design, a Striker Shard utilised before the time of the Ish'makra and the Seers. A compact fighter once used by the Zealots of the Draelvasier.

How ironic.

He almost snorted, feeling the growling frustration with his old protege still lingering in his chest. Galak had fought so very hard to build the Empire alongside Tathra, only to turn around and exceed all previous expectations, furiously trying to tear it down. He often wondered if Osam would've stood alongside Galak or himself. He played over that last battle in his head a dozen times a day, sometimes with his Axe. The battle lasted far longer in his mind if he had still had the Axe. A snap brought him back to reality as the wrench in hand was bent awkwardly, tugging on the manifold. A low growl escaped him, setting aside the broken wrench as he accessed the damage he'd caused. They were almost finished, when Kathrok returned with the capacitor, Tathra would be able to start feeding fuel into the engine and test the ship's other systems. His hands were as steady as he could manage, reconnecting the wiring of the main console to the systems diagnostic servers throughout the ship. Knowing where the problems were, would get things moving along a lot faster. It would also help if he could stop making mistakes like this.

He knew the others were equally as eager to return to Drael space. The first time, for Kathrok. It had been nearly a decade, but he believed in the strength of those whom had been left behind. Guilt was useless, he would set things right upon his return. That was all Tathra could hope for.

Scrapping sounds echoed over the hull of the modified Striker. Was it friend or foe?

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok

Sometimes, Ostak wondered if death wasn't such a bad thing after all.
​

It had been three years since that fateful day in which paradise had turned into a nightmare beyond comprehension. The Chieftain had promised a new dawn, a new age of glory in which the Draelvasier bathed the entire galaxy red from their ancestral homeland. It would be an unstoppable force, uniting a species whose loyalty was beginning to falter in the face of crushing defeats.

In the end, the split would prove irreparable. After the Chieftain revealed his grand plan, mass defections broke out among the weak and the ignorant, unwilling to die for the greater good of the Draelvasier. Even the great heroes of the realm such as Galak and Sethrak fell to the heresy, and a horde of sinners had invested Kardun itself. The Overseers had initially put up a good fight, rallying the loyalists in a unified front and reassuring them of the rightfulness of their ways. It was a brutal struggle, and many valiant loyalists perished in the early hours of the battle, but there was still hope. The Chieftain still stood strong, guiding them all to victory.

Then, it all fell apart.

There are some moments in which a being never forgets. Their early childhood memories, their coming of age ceremonies, their entry into their careers and the realization of a larger purpose are among these moments. At the same time, so too are moments of trauma an ever-present motif.

For Ostak, there was no moment no traumatic than the betrayal of the Vemnak's agents.

At the coercion of the Warmind, an enormous abomination of flesh and machinery, the inquisitors of the Draelvasier had turned against the very masters who had granted them their titles, swarming the Overseers en masse. Ostak could still vividly recall his inquisitors had gone stock-still before locking their gazes on him with terrifying unison. In seconds, they were lunging towards him, spears thrust towards his heart. Only the intervention of a fellow Overseer saved him from the betrayal, a powerful blast of wind sending their assailants flying backwards.

But their luck soon ran out.

One by one, the Overseers of the Tachael-Vemnak fell to their subordinates, taking down dozens of the lesser Drael before being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of assailants. In minutes, the once-mighty inquisition of the Draelvasier had been reduced down to a handful of surviving loyalist Overseers pinned against a rock wall. Ostak could still recall the desperation of his comrades as they struggled to hold back hundreds of their brainwashed subordinates, their blades and bolts growing ever closer with each passing second. One Overseer had his eyes gouged out, each arm punctured by four spears, and then was quite graphically ripped in half by a dozen crazed acolytes pulling from each side. The others fared no better, and eventually only Ostak remained standing.

Against untold hundreds or thousands of heretics, the exhausted and badly wounded Overseer knew he stood no chance. But he did not have the instincts to embrace death. He had lived far too short of a life to die, and his zealotry was at an all-time high. He would stand and fight, smiting the heretics to eternal damnation, even if it cost him his own life.

Calling on every ebb of his inner energies the Shaman-Overseer had ever acquired, Ostak had summoned into existence a perfect replica of Hadad himself, the largest and most powerful of the Servitors ever to exist. The massive beast's spectral form almost immediately brought Ostak to the brink of a coma, and all his physical strength was lost in an instance. His last memories of the battle were of the spectral beast destroying everything in sight, letting out a roar eerily similar to that of the great Servitor in life. It had reminded him of the deceased Primarch, and the memory of his presence had lulled him into a week-long sleep.

When Ostak had woken up, he was at the very center of a massive crater, hills of corpses surrounding him on all sides. The image of tens of thousands of Drael bodies stacked on top of each other in a mountain of carnage was what completely broke the Overseer. He had reached into his inner energies, preparing to summon a ceremonial dagger to end his own life.

It was only then that Ostak realized that his inner energy was completely gone.

Not even a scrap of spiritual essence remained in the Overseer's body. The immense power that had defined him and had been invaluable in his rise to prominence had simply disappeared, absorbed by the spectral Servitor who had long-since materialized. Realizing that he lacked the will even to end his own life, Ostak had reluctantly resigned himself to living another day.

He had exited the vast crater left behind by his final attack, traversing the mountains of the dead in search of any living creature.

All he found was corpses.

The Shaman-Overseer had survived by looting the corpses of the dead, salvaging meager food and water. Eventually, he had miraculously found a half-decent Striker Shard partially buried in the ruined soil. After a long and tedious excavation, Ostak had commandeered the vessel and flown to the nearby moon of Ardak, hoping for a better outcome.

Yet as it seemed, Ostak had merely migrated from one wasteland to another. He had hid out in the ruins of once-mighty ships for what had to have been months, going weeks without speaking a single word. Just as on Kardun, not a single lifeform stirred, with only the bodies of the fallen accompanying the last of the Tachael-Vemnak.

With nothing but time to spare, Ostak had begun dedicating most of his days to regaining his inner energies. It was a brutal and often fruitless affair, and at first it gave him little more than mind-numbing headaches and an occasional purple spark just in front of him. But over time, the Overseer had learned that the loss of his powers was not permanent. The purple sparks began to grow and grow until Ostak could, with great effort, materialize a single translucent blade in front of him. It was a tiny fraction of his former power, but a promising achievement nonetheless.

It was during one of his energy channeling sessions that an unnatural noise drew his attention. The Overseer upholstered his Crippler with practiced efficiency and crept forwards, preparing for the worst. As the noise continued, Ostak realized that he could be approaching the first lifeform he had seen since that fateful day on Kardun. His anxiety grew, his grip on his Crippler tightening as the source of the noise grew ever louder.

A low growl instantly put Ostak on high alert. It was the growl of a Baedurin, the mightiest of all the Draelvasier. The noise rung out from behind a derelict Striker, with a patchwork of wires suggesting that work had been done on it recently. There was no more time to hesitate. It was now or nothing.

The Overseer bolted forwards and around the Striker, his finger hovering above the trigger as he swung around to the other side.

Only to find the Chieftain himself at the end of the Overseer's barrel.

For a moment, Ostak simply froze in place.

The Chieftain? He survived??

The Overseer swiftly came back to his senses, lowering his Crippler and staring at the very much alive Chieftain, his eyes filled with surprise and wonder.

"Chieftain." rasped Ostak, his voice weakened by weeks of disuse. "You're-you're alive."

 

[Kathrok]

The Drael moved through the great wreckage with a weight to his step that echoed not only his mass but the reinforced armour that he carried. Tathra Khaeus , their chieftain and hierarch of their people, had sent the hulking warrior off in search of a fuel capacitor that would see them free of this barren rock. The downed warship was a shadow of their ancient legacy, utilized by traitors and pacifists who had refused to recognize the Draevasier's superiority among the other lesser races of the known Galaxy.

Kathrok had not been present for the establishment of the mighty Bryn'adul Empire under their Chieftain's leadership. He had been fortunate to also be excused of the disgust that followed the stories that had been shared regarding the Empire's collapse under those that sought to welcome the other races into their ranks in the Chieftain's absence. Unlike all of the remaining loyalists to their Hierarch, Kathrok had been present upon their ancient Homeworld of Kardun, located in an Extra-Galactic Region of Space known to the Drael and them alone. Any threat to their civilization had been expunged with a violent reckoning, including that of their own kind for which Kathrok had earned the title of Kin Slayer, fighting for their true purpose and for their Chieftain's name.

Kathrok had much to account for, however. He had not earned the same respect as that of his Kin today. He had not been present for the many glorious invasions of lesser worlds in the name of their fallen Empire. He had not the blood of the Galaxy on his hands, nothing close to that of his peers who shared this barren wasteland today. He had remained on their ancient homeworld under Tathra's mantle and guise, his instructions were set and stone and obeyed without flaw, yet Kathrok hungered to make his place known to those who would seek to oppose their kind; Just as he had done to their ancestors for the weakness they had allowed to spread like cancer throughout their borders and people of Drael Space.

A mighty clash of steel upon metal echoed across the rock bed as Kathrok brought the blade of his Battle Axe against the bulkhead of the fallen warship, fighting to gain entrance to a decrepit part of the hull that looked to be some form of engineering station. The hull did not waver, and so he repeatedly struck at it with vast heavily strewn blows, clutching the great axe with both hands and yelling furiously until the metal finally gave way and part of the interior ceiling collapsed in response, spilling out a plume of dust and debris that enveloped him.

"Pftah!" Kathrok spat as he entered with thunderous stride, his boots falling upon the hull and sounding off within the vessel's confined quarters. To any weaker-sized species, the ship might have seemed expansive, yet the bulk of the Drael struggled to fit through the opening that he had created and soon began to rummage through the section's confines, making no small amount of discourse as he searched for the fuel capacitor. "I grow tired of your hiding!" Kathrok roared in anger, ripping one of the workstations away from the wall, wired tearing apart as the Warrior turned to throw it across the room, losing his temper and patience with what should have been such a menial task.

Why could he not have simply been sent to kill something?

The workbench hit the far wall of the hull and separated into pieces, draws and duraplast splinters showering the floor with a loud clatter, banging of metal and finally a silence that only emphasized the heft of the warrior's breathing. A subordinate would have taken care of such a job, was he back on Kardun, yet Kathrok understood that if he could not even accomplish this, then he would be of no use to their Chieftain and the coming, glorious return to the known Galaxy.

Access to the vessel's maintenance and engineering section deeper within the fallen warbird would see the warrior acquire what was needed of him. By this time, he had spared the ship's beaten state no small amount of further insult as Kathrok finally reached the fuel capacitor. It was used. Well-used. But it was better than none at all and looked in good enough shape to see their leave of the barren world. He would soon leave the wreckage of the ship and begin his hike back to where he had left the Chieftain, moving at a steady pace so as to not keep his kin waiting.

Tathra Khaeus | Ostak Cl'mana ​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

The sounds of scraping on the hull were a result of gravel shifting underfoot, grazing against the exposed metal. It wasn't Kathrok, he walked with a dragging weight to his heels, confidence and familiarity. He had no need to approach with strategy or haste. These footfalls were quiet but fast, moving with a precise rhythm. A trained step, carrying a heavier weight with as little noise as possible. He could tell by just how much gravel was grinding against the exterior of the hull as the unknown approach grew closer. It was a Aeravalin, or something of similar size and weight moving on two hind legs with military training. His eyes moved about the hull interior. Only for the moment he had before the Draelvasier was upon him, examining where the hull had dented harshly into a sharper surface. Then to the broken sword and cannon laying on the further workbench.

He rose, hand wavering above the Glaive fixed to the left side of his waist. Even thinking of the weapon felt like he was breathing the Heretic back into being, all the same it was his best choice. And a statement that Galak had been felled by his hand. He had defeated the traitorous cur and his cabal of traitor Generals. When the Drael turned the corner, Tathra's eyelids rescinded in utter confusion.

There stood, Galak with his modified Crippler raised to him. Blood dried from his neck wound, walking on legs that had been crushed and twisted by the collapse of the earth around them at the end of the civil war. The Titan froze just as Galak had. Both staring at each other as if they couldn't believe what they were seeing. His heart thumped in response to his living nightmare, echoes of the Warmind clawing at the grey of his brain.

"You live..?" The words were caught in his rigid jaw, so quiet that no soul could hear them. Throat struggling to swallow the lump at the back of his throat.

It was only once Ostak lowered his weapon, finally speaking that things became clear. In a blink, Galak was gone and the Overseer took his place before him. The wound taught heart felt relief in his chest, his left hand falling to his side away from the Glaive. The Titan hid his confusion as quickly as both came to their senses, his pleasure in seeing Ostak alive; fading into the dark behind his stern facade as well.

"Ver'kad unleashed hellfire on Kardun. The ground gave way beneath my feet." Tathra spoke almost as if it had happened to someone else, somewhere else like his thoughts had strayed too far.

His focus shifted to the chaotic burning hell beyond them, the planet's surface had collapsed upon itself entirely.

"I was spared from the destruction." He turned away from Ostak, returning to the repair of the manifold - settling down onto his knee once again. No amount of bravado could hide the shame of his survival being entirely left to chance. It hung over every word like a shadow. The least he could do was continue his work. He defeated Galak that day on his own merit, but perhaps he should've died too. Perhaps it was deserved.

"I cannot say the same for our brothers who fought for me on the battlefield." All dead. More than a trillion of his brethren slain in a moment that should have been their triumph. Tathra would have wiped out the Confederates in one glorious strike, cornering the Silver Jedi whilst the Empire would've attacked the Sith on their last legs. He would've returned to Bryn space with the heads of the Vaydralen and Akhenaton leaders in a bag. Their empire would've finally been united, and cleansed.

He spoke fiercely in defence of the loyalists, the word brother like a beating of the chest. The last word nearly a snarl. He could still hear the war in his head, Drael against Drael.

At least now with Ostak present, him mind was elsewhere and his work continued smoothly under the scrutiny of a fellow Drael. That pressure, he had almost been lost to rage without it. Tathra knew Ostak had been on Kardun during the final few days of the civil war. How.

"How did you survive, Ostak? How did you get here?" The words were short of accusatory, but the aggression did not fade from his voice. The anger carried in every syllable. Not toward Ostak, but that was not obvious.

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok
​

"How did you survive, Ostak? How did you get here?"

The Overseer let out a deep, pained breath and then began to speak.
​

"I was also caught in the inferno at Kardun." replied Ostak.

Memories of that terrible day flashed through his brain again, threatening to overwhelm him. The cries of battle, the betrayal of Drael against Drael, that desperate final moment in which Ostak had forfeited his spiritual powers.

"In the midst of battle, the Warmind turned our Enforcers against us. The agents of the Tachael-Vemnak cut down their Overseers one by one, their countless thousands absorbing our most powerful counterattacks. Even the Patriarch was slain."

It had been a gruesome sight to behold. Holding back forty Sraelvun with his spiritual energy alone, the eldest of the Overseers had failed to notice the half-dozen behind him until they had shot him in unison. Succumbing to the bullets, the Primarch's focus had slipped and the deranged Enforcers had dropped down upon him, crushing him with their sheer mass while stabbing and tearing off his flesh through the gaps in their pile. The horde had not finished until they had eaten the Primarch alike, leaving only bones behind.

"Eventually, I was the last standing. Fearing death more than dishonor, I committed a grave sin."

Ostak let out another deep breath. He was normally a skilled liar, but he could no longer find the motivation to do so. He had nothing to lose aside from his life, and he questioned its value more and more every day. It would be simpler to tell the truth.

"I forced the spirit of the great Hadad out from its grave and into a spectral vessel identical to its immense form in life. With this vessel, I unleashed its undying wrath on the turned. The spirit slew all who had pursued me. However, I had disrupted the circle of life, betraying the harmony of the righteous code. For this great sin, I was stripped of all my powers."

"Even to this day, my power is a fraction of what it once was."

As the Overseer spoke, he called upon his meager spiritual energy to demonstrate just how deprived he had become. In his hands emerged a single pink-hued spear, blurry and fading around the edges.

"It is a fitting punishment for the last of the Tachael-Vemnak. I arrived here seeking absolution, or at least some form of escape from the ruins of Kardun. What I found was everything that surrounds us now."

"In my search for penance, I can only hope that I may be of assistance."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

Tathra's progress halted when Ostak spoke of the Warmind. His hands were less steady, subjects even ancillary to the civil war returned it to its heart regardless. No matter how far away the thought was, he was always dragged back. Even with so much time having passed, he was still left wondering if they'd ever destroyed it. Kardun had become so unlike itself through the war that it became impossible to gain a sense of direction on its surface. If the Warmind had been destroyed or trapped beneath a mountain of earth, it was impossible to know.

"I know you were at Kardun. That is why I asked the question."

So many uncertainties. The idea that it could take over actual individuals was new information. Tathra listened as the weary Overseer poured his heart out, describing a gruesome scenario. The idea of the Warmind exerting power over thousands whilst commanding its own fleet of monsters was... nightmarish. Perhaps it had been learning, maybe growing in power. They would be lucky if it perished, or an even greater foe would be on their hands later.

He had nearly finished repairing the manifold now. But, he knew he had to look Ostak in the eye for whatever he was about to say. He could see the events replaying in the Drael's mind. Sin? What a human concept, as were spirits. But whatever Ostak had done clearly changed him. Tathra listened, but his suspicion of the severity of the crime was written all over his face.

The Titan cocked his brow. The certainty amused him.

"Hadad's spirit, Ostak?" Tathra stood closer, carefully reading Ostak. The guilt was genuine. But it was misplaced.

Tathra's eyes looked down at the blade appearing between them and then back up to Ostak. What? Was he supposed to pity him? Did Ostak lose all of his years of training and discipline because of a small setback? It was pathetic and Tathra was apathetic in the face of it.

Stern and reserved exploded into a fit of snarling anger, gritting his teeth at Ostak. The Titan clamped down on Ostak's wrist, forcing the meagre blade of energy to dissipate.

"You have no idea what you did. What you say is what you believe." The force was not something quantifiable, and it was stupid to believe simply in what you see.

If Ostak tried to pull away, Tathra held him in place. He did not see penance or redemption, but weakness taking hold where strength once was.

"Shall I, judge you simply because you want me to, boy? Is that all it should take?" Ostak may have been one of the few truly loyal Drael that remained, but Tathra could not hide his seething rage. Tathra was angry, angry in his bones, even if he was trying to teach Ostak in the moment - the rage was real. He would not chance disillusionment.

 

[Kathrok]

Climbing one of the many dunes of the barren wasteland, Kathrok's armored boots dug deeper into the sands with every step. Carrying the great Battle Axe over his right shoulder, the Drael Warrior exhaled a low growl of determination as he pushed through the dredging heat of the dense desert-like air, finally climbing to the height of the deadened earth to find himself looking upon two distant figures, misshapen by the influence of the sands reflection of the suns above, but undoubtedly his fellow Draelvasier.

What words might be shared between them went unheard at a distance, yet it wasn't difficult to see the two in such close proximity to one another. Had Kathrok missed witnessing a battle in his absence? Curse the spirits were that true. The history between his brethren was something that Kathrok himself did not possess, kept back from the glorious war between the Bryn'adul and the Galaxy's smaller races, what disputes that remained throughout those surviving Drael went amiss to the hulking mass of anger and pride, the Warrior who sauntered down the sands en route to observe what entertainment might remain between the two.

Clutching the fuel capacitor in his left hand, Kathrok approached without word nor sound, the exception of his heavy footsteps that would give away his presence to the pair. Even so, he remained silent and merely stood his ground some meters from Tathra Khaeus and Ostak Cl'mana, watching with a toothy smirk, sharp fang-like bones lacing together to fill his monstrous maw, more creature than man and far from what resembled among the common species of the known Galaxy. The Drael's glowing insidious eyes looked between the two kin with anticipation, as if he were hoping they might come to blows.

Unlike the weaker species out there, violence wasn't something to be avoided in Kathrok's eyes. There was honor and respect to be found in the glorious exchange of flesh and blood, anger and mettle strewn together in a showing of strength and conviction. What battles his foes had walked away from in the past, Kathrok had come to respect. Grievances with fellow Drael, he had often settled through merciless battle until one would submit. Sometimes he would be the one to be forced to withdraw, other times his opponents had been less fortunate, but every time there was a sense of pride and honor shared between them.

He expected no different of his fellow Drael, not knowing (or perhaps thinking) they might not be alike in this regard.

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok

Ostak flinched at the Chieftain's vice-like grip.
​

He had not expected such a harsh reply, not when he was so clearly prepared to atone for his mistakes. His anger made the Overseer anxious, reminding him of the power imbalance between the pair, exemplified by his drained energy reserves. In a moment of weakness, Ostak considered caving to his instincts, kneeling before the Chieftain and agreeing with his every word. It would certainly make it easier for the Overseer to keep his head.

However, the carnage at Kardun had changed him. With the betrayal of the Enforcers and the slaughter of the Overseers, Ostak had lost all whom he had considered close kin. In the days following the battle, he had seen Draelvasier corpses stacked higher than the tallest Siege Towers. Ostak was haunted by nightmares of Hadad's corpse rising up to smite him, its indescribable mass swallowing the helpless Overseer whole.

The fear of death no longer gripped Ostak as it once had.

"It is not a want, my Chieftain." growled the Overseer. "It is a need."

With a sudden burst of motion, Ostak strode forwards until he was a mere meter away from the Chieftain, still bound on the wrist but now staring him down at point-blank range.

"If the Overseers - if I had not made any mistakes, Kardun would have never happened."

"The Tachael-Vemnak was made to root out traitors and preserve the unity of the Draelvasier against all odds. But in the end, what did we do?"

"We failed."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

Tathra's grip didn't loosen, staring down the panicked Overseer - the rage still fresh on his face. Nothing about how Ostak reacted fazed him, he could see dozens of thoughts running through the younger Drael's mind whilst his wrist twisted uncomfortably in his grasp. A reflex, no more than instinctual defiance. Ostak stood his ground by speaking more than fighting back. That was what Tathra wished to see, that fire in his chest. Not self-pity.

Should he have been so candid with Galak, perhaps things would not have gone that way. If he had left him behind, there was also the chance Tathra would return as an enemy, not a conquering hero. He could not have predicted the traitor's turn any more than Ostak the abilities of the Warmind.

A need, a need for penance. But it wasn't about ghosts and spirits. Tathra nodded, his grip still firm as he bit down on his tongue - letting the emotions run through the Overseer.

"Your need is to see the past undone. It is impossible, so you first blame spirits. But there is the truth. Things we could not account for, physical, practical failings of our own and others we couldn't make right."

Tathra almost threw Ostak aside, stopping himself as he pushed the Overseer's hand back. Tathra turned toward the bleeding planet of Kardun, visible from the exposed carriage of the Strider Shard. Just coming round the side of another wreckage, in front of them both was Kathrok - standing will full capacitor in hand.

"We all failed, Ostak. Leave the grievances of this war buried with the dead Drael who took our places for us." Failed. Heavy, guttural like the word was forced from the bottom of his stomach.

It wasn't about them or their mistakes. None of that mattered, there could be ten hundred thousand million Draelvasier in the Galaxy or there could be none. That was all that mattered now - allegiance to the Drael, to being Drael - to holding to their fundamental beliefs.

"Hand it here, Kathrok." The Titan outstretched his hand, raising his wrist with an open palm.

Beckoning Kathrok close. He would have these two Drael meet. Two Drael with beginnings that could not have been further apart. But similar in their zeal. He was fortunate that both had survived, they would be essential in dealing with whatever was to come. If the fuel capacitor worked, there was only one more thing they needed to make the Shard space-worthy.

 

[Kathrok]

"Hand it here, Kathrok." The Titan outstretched his hand, raising his wrist with an open palm.

Kathrok let loose a low growl in frustration as it appeared there would be no fight to be found there. His approach hastened with the beckoning of Tathra Khaeus , and soon the fuel capacitor would be placed squarely in the hands of their chieftain, however, the Drael Warrior's disappointment would be made known; "There is no fight here?" He questioned the obvious, looking between the two senior Draelvasier with a snort of defeated breath.

"Then let us leave this rock!" he suggested impatiently. If they two were not to engage one another in a splendid and glorious show of might, then Kathrok himself wished to do so, for all the time they had wasted being stuck on such a barren graveyard of a planet. Regardless of its history to their kind, and the husks of fallen warbirds subsequently devastated; the sight was nothing short of a bore as the younger Warrior among them wished eagerly to experience the bloodletting of the inferior races, as Tathra and Ostak Cl'mana had done so.

Among the three, Kathrok was hot-headed. He did not think with the wisdom of the Chieftain nor the experience of Ostak's. Kathrok was inexperienced by comparison and wished to compensate for this with a war renewed with the known Galaxy. No doubt this will and rage would be of great use to their future aspirations, the will of the Chieftain and those who would once again follow loyally; However it did nothing for Kathrok to be stranded among the glories of those since past.

Such as this graveyard. Even in their death, they mocked the Warrior's inexperience and yearning to kill, maim and make their superiority known in the most violent fashion imaginable.

"What remains to be done here?" Those burning cyber eyes looked from the chieftain to Ostak and back as he questioned any further instruction. Kathrok wished to be useful, to be busy, to bury his hunger for war with some form of distraction.

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok

We ALL failed.
​

Something about those words struck a chord deep inside the Overseer, bandaging up a wound that had been festering for years inside him. Ostak had always placed the blame on himself, for failing to forsee the failures of the Vemnak and the betrayal of the Enforcers. Why did he deserve to live, when he had failed to protect the others and had nearly lost all his inner energy? Yet to hear the Chieftain himself admit to failure was a deeply humbling moment. The Overseer need not place all the responsibility for the horrors at Kardun on himself, and no one could have anticipated the massacre that had sprung out of it.

Ostak's deep-set depression was far from cured, but the Chieftain had just helped him make an important first step.

"Thank you, my Chieftain." responded the Overseer, his voice full of raw sincerity. "I will do my best to ensure their sacrifice was not in vain."

Ostak moved to speak more, only for a third Draelvasier to enter the scene.

It took all the remaining restraint he had not to take aim at the incoming figure. His fingers tightened around the Crippler, but he did not raise it, deciding to face down their guest instead. The Chieftain spoke before he could, introducing the Drael as Kathrok. No one Ostak had ever heard of before, but clearly an ally if the Chieftain trusted him to hand something over. He eased his grip on the Crippler and turned to face Kathrok as he conversed with the Chieftain.

The Draelvasier appeared to be younger than either of the two, his brashness easily seen in his impatient declarations. Was he a junior that the Chieftain had found among the survivors? Maybe. But now was not the time for questions. It seemed as if all three of them shared the same goal of leaving the system, and Kathrok had just delivered a capacitor essential for restarting the Shard in front of them.

"I have just recently arrived here." stated Ostak in response to Kathrok's question. "The Chieftain would know better than me what should be done. Nonetheless, I can be of assistance. While my powers are still regrowing, I have enough in me to summon tools capable of creating and modifying fine details."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

Tathra eyed Ostak as Kathrok came close, the young Drael handed him the capacitor, asking about what he'd overheard. A rattling growl he couldn't keep down lingered in the back of his throat, still audible, softly nodding to Ostak in acknowledgment. Somehow he'd gotten through to the foolish Drael, what exactly it was - he didn't care. But it was enough to know he'd be less of a pitiful waste while needed. As for Kathrok, he refused to humour the younger Draels question, the three of them were going to be stuck inside this ship on their way back to the Galactic sphere for months. Any infighting could be settled once they returned to known space.

In another instance, he might've lashed out again for asking such a thing at that moment. But he had worked to do.

His mind flashed back nearly thirty years ago, recalling that jovial violence from the younger Drael. Wrathak, Galak, Amunra, Hraelga. Draelvasier brothers and sisters. All dead. Though only maybe one or two were loyal in the way Kothrak had been throughout the war. Another reason to not take his head from his shoulders.

Tathra opened up an access hatch that allowed him to work freely at the underside of the engine, beginning to install the fuel capacitor whilst the other two Drael spoke behind him. Bringing his mind to what they needed next. They needed to get home, back to Draemidus Prime. The old Drael missed the smell of the underground cities. They would complete both of their next tasks simultaneously. Hit two Draeyde with one stone.

"What we need next, is fuel. For both us and the ship. Ostak, by what means did you arrive on the moon?" Tathra explained, walking past Ostak into the crew quarters of the vessel - reemerging with a cloth in hand, cleaning away the grizzle, sweat and oil marks from his face and hands.

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok

"I arrived from Kardun in an abandoned Shard." replied Ostak.
​

"It ran out of fuel shortly after landing on Ardak, and I have been unable to find any since. But aside from that, it is in flightworthy condition even if it does have its own fair share of damage. Should we find fuel, I can guide you and Kathrok to my ship, my Chieftain."

Reaching inwards, he channeled his spiritual energy to create a thin arrow pointing off towards the wreck-hewn landscape in the distance. His point made, Ostak released the arrow, which flew off into the distance for some time before dematerializing.

For the first time in years, Ostak let himself hope. He had found the Chieftain and a new comrade, and the trio were well on the way to fixing up a ship that could take them out of their paradise turned graveyard. Once they made it back to Dramedius Prime, a great reunification could begin as the Draelvasier rose from the ashes of their failures to ascend once more. It could be a new age, leaving behind the shadows of the old for good and learning from the mistakes of the past.

But with a sudden realization, Ostak's optimism was dashed by a cruel reality.

There might not be enough Draelvasier left to recreate what once was.

Countless trillions had died on Kardun, and even its moons had not avoided the devastation. For all he knew, Ostak, the Chieftain, and Kathrok were the only survivors of the final battle against the heretics. Would the Draelvasier ever be able to muster large armies again? Could the major organs of power be replenished? Ostak was keenly aware that he was the last not only of the Overseers but of all the Tachael-Vemnak. Could a vast tree once hundreds of thousands strong be revived from a single root? The question had haunted him on many a sleepless night.

Ostak had to snap out of it.

The question of reconstruction would come soon, yes. And it would likely be the hardest task ever given to him and his kin. But for now, there were more pressing concerns. They had to get off the planet soon.

Nothing but bad memories and worse omens would keep them company on Ardak.

 

[Kathrok]

"It ran out of fuel shortly after landing on Ardak, and I have been unable to find any since. But aside from that, it is in flightworthy condition even if it does have its own fair share of damage. Should we find fuel, I can guide you and Kathrok to my ship, my Chieftain."

Kathrok gave a nod to Ostak Cl'mana with a toothy smirk and a look of direct approval to his fellow Drael; "Perfect, should the Chieftain agree" the youngest of the Warriors replied and soon turned to look to Tathra Khaeus for his approval. It was not Kathrok's decision, yet this fellow Drael seemed to have offered the best hope of escaping the dead rock with a timely pace; Lest Tathra needed only the fuel capacitor to help them disperse from such a place.

"What fuel for us though, nothing but weeds from what I've passed. Not even a corpse with meat enough to salvage" Kathrok growled lowly in clear frustration. He needn't show it, for it would have been clear from the beginning, his disproval of their current whereabouts. "Perhaps you..." Kathrok turned back to Ostak who seemed more prepared for their exfiltration than Kathrok had answers, "Have seen something worthy of my Axe. What life remains here to be feast upon" the young warrior questioned bitterly.

Ever apparent in their first impressions of one another, that Kathrok seemed forever in a foul mood without either a shank of meat in his hands or that of the lesser species he so dreamed of crushing in open warfare. His demeanour was likely to frustrate his peers, yet the young Drael did not care for the complexities of social bonding, he did not need to make friends, he would act as one of few remaining swords to be utilized by the Draelvasaer who yet still lived and sought to redeem their fallen lineage.

"Should we leave this place, there is certain to be food to be had on a nearby world. Ours for the taking" he suggested. A suggestion laced in personal bias as he also saw it as another opportunity to exert their dominance over the lesser species of the Galaxy.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

Tathra's tongue slapped against the roof of his mouth, making a snapping hiss sound. He'd hoped to hear otherwise, a flight-capable shard even only able to make it from moon to moon would have been helpful. More useful than that, it would've been fuel for the Stryker they were standing in at that very moment. A receding rattle of irritation followed from the throat as he thought, eyes scanning over the hull above their heads like it would give them answers. A dull heaviness was in his chest, he could see the same problems playing out in Ostak's brow as it twitched and burrowed in on itself.

Kathrok on the other hand was eager as a newborn hatchling to fight as it would be to feed.

"If we get this heap airborne, I'm not risking landing anywhere till we return to Draemidus." Tathra replied sharply, snapping back - needlessly he knew, but he wouldn't risk being stranded anywhere again.

Kathrok had struggled to find 'food' because Tathra didn't want him to become it. The only place on Ardak with any meaningful storage of food was a death trap. He turned to the inside of the hull, explaining as he pulled the plated Kraelmundr he'd been wearing for four years over his undersuit.

"There are... creatures on this moon. Wild Sirracus. Poisonous. But the marrow in their tendrils isn't. That's our food." He was mulling it over in his mind.

They'd be knee-deep in gunk and swill, surrounded by the wyrms. But he was bringing firepower to match. A crimson left palm grabbed the massive cannon leaning against the hull, raising his right gauntlet and sliding the weapon along a ridged plate, snapping it into place as it linked with his suit. He felt a little less apprehensive about facing off against them with Ostak. Weakened as he was, he was still far less green than Kathrok. The moment the Titan turned his back the only other Drael alive on Ardak would've been swept under the filth of the swamp and eaten alive. He was still taking no chances there. Tathra took the shotgun from his back.

"East of us is their swamp. In the middle of that bog is an untouched and mostly intact Gunboat. It's sunk too deep. But the fuel could be accessed if we pry open the deployment bay door."

Tathra trailed, throwing the shotgun to Ostak.

"Forget your Stryker, Ostak. THIS is our only way home."

- ONE HOUR LATER

The three Drael came to a small plateau overlooking the swamp interior, the wreckage of a dozen ships had been webbed over by thick, yellowed slime and the liquid base of the swamp was an opaque, dirty pale green. The residue of the Sirracus. Many Drael corpses, bones and their armour were resting in the filth. At a certain heat, it was flammable. But Tathra didn't want to wake the whole nest of critters. Who knew what forced the Sirrcaus to the surface.

Tathra's grip around the fuel canister tightened, quietly reminding himself that he was relying on them to keep the Wyrms from the hatch. If they came for the boat, it'd sink deeper along with him in it.

"Look." Tathra spoke softly, nodding toward some white nubs pushing through the slime. They were like ribbed protrusions, easily mistaken as some part of the disease-ridden marsh but Tathra knew it was one of them. Quickly, it was obvious that at least a dozen of the nine metre long wyrms were nearby. At least, the ones they could see.

He rose, firmly clenching the fuel canister underarm as he made his way right, down a slope of broken corpses and slime. Ostak was to go left and Kathrok down the middle. The more spread out the vibrations, the less likely they were to alert the vermin.

"Don't miss."

 

[Ostak Cl'mana]

Tathra Khaeus | Kathrok

It had been a long day, and it would soon become longer still.
​

The trio now stood before a Wyrm-infested swamp, the sly creatures barely visible amidst the bog. It was a sign of how desperate they were that they were hunting for Sirracus marrow in the home turf of the worms, a difficult task for even the most seasoned of warriors. Still, as the Chieftain had mentioned, it was their only way home. They had to beat back the Wyrms to reach the Gunboat and extract its precious fuel. There was no way around it, at least not one that did not demand enduring even more months on this wretched moon.

So Ostak entered the swamp from the left, hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

The slime made a sickening squelch beneath the Overseer's feet, which sunk all the way past the heel into the ground with each step. He was on high alert, well aware that he was at a significant disadvantage in this environment. The soft, squishy ground perfectly suited the lighter Wyrms, who could maneuver with ease and ambush Ostak from nearly any angle. While he had formerly been a capable Shaman, his greatly depleted powers meant that his ability to mentally link with and control the creatures was limited at best, and if he got carried away he could possibly alert the entire nest to their presence.

So the Overseer turned to stealth, conserving his energy as he slunk deeper into the swamp, hoping above all else that the Wyrms would behave.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Tags: Ostak Cl'mana | Kathrok

Every squelch made him grit harder against his teeth, gnawing into the gum. He'd stepped on corpses before, but the half-eaten bodies were different. Covered in the foul leavings of the Sirracus, the smell was enough to knock a cannok cold. His feet aimed for the flesh and secreted slime, finding the soft spots to tread, too much creaking and he'd have a dozen of the vermin coming down on him. Tathra came to a stop just before the dense bog surrounding the fallen Gunboat. Kathrok and Ostak were both moving at a similar pace, slow and careful. The last thing any of them wanted was to be swept under by a serpent. Nobody could count on the other to go after them if it happened.

Someone had to make it back to known space. No matter what. That was true.

But Tathra had no intention of dying here. Not on this dead moon, nor by the hand of the creatures he once commanded. He cursed Drek'ma under his breath. The damn fool had cost them everything, the only thing that stopped the Titan from hating him was the fact he'd done the same. But that was the past, they were dead. All of them. Galak, Drek'ma, Ver kad. So many died or were lost in a pointless civil war over inferior species. That wasn't happening now.

No more pointless deaths.

Tathra slowly slipped into the bog, arm cannon, and fuel canister both raised high. He didn't want to chance either malfunctioning. Not now.

Every step was calculated, watching small and massive ripples in the bog move about around them. They could step on a baby any second and set off the whole nest without knowing. Tathra looked to both, nodding to them to keep going.