First Warlock
STANDOFF
LOCATION: The Epitaph, Command Bridge
EQUIPMENT: Warlock's Armour | Battlestaff [Sig]
ALLIES: The Bryn'adul
ENEMIES: SJC
TAGS: Open
Forces: [TBD]
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Prior to the gathering on the Bridge, Hrajlmak stood amongst several other Warlocks on the infantry deck of the Epitaph. His many eyes glided in awe and appreciation of the unique Burrower model. The craftsmanship was clean and expert. Its engineering was something any Aeravalin could regard with jealousy. It had been built with an express purpose. It was the shuttle to carry the truth of the Bryn'adul. It was the delivery system for unity, strength, and everything else the Empire of Khaeus stood for. And it was beautiful.
Hrajlmak pulled his eyes from the towering structure above his head, and brought them to more mortal things. He could feel his nerves tingling in his limbs. He pulled in air, and exhaled a slow, almost shaky breath. Adrenaline was the drug that all Draelvasier were unequivocally hooked on. He picked his chest plate up off the ground and brought it to his torso. As he neared his attention quickly diverted to the topology of his torso. Stark images of every battlefield flooded his vision. His carapace was warped and mangled, decorated in the art of blaster fire. Some mere pockmarks from a desperate sidearm, others gaping craters that went so far as to expose the simple flesh underneath. Hrajlmak had barely paid attention to this. Now he stared at the skin buried beneath his shell. And he felt vulnerable. This flesh was the last line of defense. A thin sheet covering his bones and organs. The very things countless warriors have attempted to uncover, and failed to do so. He probed a crater, passing a talon over the flesh. Aeravalin flesh was moist under the carapace, a cooling mechanism. But these parts, exposed to air, had dried up. A side effect of prolonged battle was a rising body temperature. Another thing he had never noticed until now. He blinked, looked straight, and buried thoughts of age and weakness. For these were destructive thoughts antithetical to the warrior and the Draelvasier. His chest plate hissed and clicked into place, washing his torso in an ice-cold blanket.
On the bridge, surrounded by his ilk, he felt nothing but pride. Choking, swelling pride that manifested itself in a nervous tapping of his chest plate. His hands clasped the upper sides of the armour like a harness. At the helm stood the Chieftain. In his renewed sense of allegiance he looked on the Chieftain with zeal. He shared the sentiment no doubt. That the Draelvasier were here to prove themselves. Of course every battle was an opportunity to prove the Bryn'adul mettle, but this fight was different. This time, the enemy had every advantage. They had higher ground, double the numbers, home turf and were well dug in behind walls that would intimidate most siege armies. But the Bryn'adul, and Hrajlmak, had an inverse relationship with battle dynamics. The greater the challenge, the greater the passion. Sweeping through planet after planet with overwhelming force is a boring affair for the custodians of war. On the rare occasion the odds are stacked against the Bryn'adul, that's where the fun resides.
Hrajlmak's blazing red eyes spotted the Warlock Sethrak among the crowd. His brow furrowed. Here was a vocal and proven Tenebrak, stood alongside greater Draelvasier of unwavering loyalties. It was... curious at least. He questioned the Chieftain's motives for gathering such a varied and volatile mix. Power play, or Bryn'adul unity in the face of disadvantage made manifest. Contemplation submitted to the Chieftain's overwhelming voice.
Tathra delivered strong words that inspired all ears. And when those gathered took to the knee, Hrajlmak was quick to the join them, though he said nothing. Outside the nigh-impervious walls of the Epitaph, Concord munitions lit up the black of space. The bell that sounded the beginning of a battle that would be recollected for generations had rung, and the Draelvasier, and their new brethren, would prove themselves yet again, the judges of the weak.
