Faction The Bryn'adûl | Relaxation of Rinn

[Osam]

The unremarkable planet of Rinn had been subjugated with efficacy and talent by the forces of the Bryn’adul Crusade. The Draelvasier had swarmed over the world as they had many others, annihilating the meager defenses that had been erected to prevent them, and managing to exterminate a significant portion of the population of the world. Arguably, there were still other “Tintinna” hiding elsewhere in their underworld burrows, but the establishment of terraformers would soon turn their residences into toxic prisons.

While the fighting itself had been relatively sparse, the last-ditched efforts of the Tintinna had manifested themselves in a surprise surgical strike against one of the Phedrak Carriers which had brought the Draelvasier to the world, managing to badly wound the beast and ground it upon the world’s surface.

It had managed to sustain its own life, utilizing the photosynthetic method it used to extract food from starlight to provide its own sustenance while a number of shamans and others versed in the care of such massive beasts went about the process of tending its wounds. It would be healed to full strength eventually, but it would be a process of several weeks. In the meantime, a second Carrier had been redirected from a nearby world, and was en-route to retrieve the stranded warriors and deliver additional supplies for the construction of Rinn’s military superstructure.

Basic shelter could be found both in the fledgling constructs already created for the superstructure, and in the Phedrak Carrier despite its wounds, and supplies were in no danger of running low at any point during the brief stay. Thus, the warriors of the Draelvasier resolved to simply bide their time, assisting in the construction wherever they were able throughout the day. When night fell upon the world of Rinn, bonfires, and places of meeting were prepared, and an impromptu An'shaerneghm – A Draelvasier celebration of victory where feasting and dancing – quickly came to fruition.

In the morning, the Carrier would arrive to carry away the victors of Rinn’s slaughter, but for one night, there were no wars to fight, and no opponents to slay.

Spoiler: OOC

This is meant to be a low-stress little social thread for the Bryn'adul. The battle's been won, and the enemy is gone, so come join in the celebrations and share your battle stories. Get to meet your fellow Drael, and exchange pleasantries, or join in one of the dance competitions of the species.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

The Primarch had not expected the Carrier to have been so damaged in the combat, it was a true shame that such a great beast had been brought to this pathetic planet only to succumb to its nuisance of a populace. Drek'ma now turned to observe the dotted groupings of fires and parked Orkales, Rhivaks and Brumaks growing restless as some slept, some stood guard.

Drek'ma was not one for niceties but he understood that they were kin more than brethren warriors. Unity was a key component of their strength, and a compassion shared beyond the Chieftain himself would strengthen their combat prowess no doubt. He stood warily by an isolated fire, watching the flames dance as his unblinking eyes made out strange shapes.

Perhaps it was a vision, or he was just seeing things in the flames. He could not know, did not care to. He saw a Zealot dancing between a strange creature and a small Brute. The image was strange, perhaps it was a unity of their kinds? His eyes moved upward at the sounds of Baedurin warriors growing bored, seemingly deciding to fight one and other.

When his eyes returned to the flames, the myriad of combat had disappeared.

- Osam

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Hrajlmak craned his neck back to take in the Nimscall before him. Stood at its base it towered above him. It's flesh oscillated and the spines around its "head" shivered as it inhaled Rinn's air and spewed out clouds of thick, red atmosphere. Hrajlmak patted it mindlessly and began to wander off. Being stranded, Hrajlmak felt oddly aimless. No war to fight. Only himself and his thoughts. His wandering took him past groups of varying size. Some acknowledged him, many were busy with tales and fights. His wandering took him to a large bonfire empty of Draelvasier. Hrajlmak took this moment to relax and think. As much as he yearned for the front-line, it was a tiring existence. He planted his staff in the ground, clasped both hands over its head and placed his brow on his knuckles. Maybe he would go and eat. Perhaps even fight. But for the moment his mind raced with thoughts of previous battles.

Primarch Drek'ma / Osam

 

[Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir]

Reidun Amersis
The Little Girl, Zealot minor​

Location: Rinn
Equipment: 2x Barad kukri | Barad Spike Rifle
Tag: Open

Thanks to her exams she missed her first battle; she arrived too late, when there are no more killable opponents left. That’s why she was pretty grumpy. How will she prove she is good enough drael, if she can’t fight?! Partly because of her young age, she burned with the desire to finally prove herself on a normal battlefield, but she can’t do this tonight. She could only listen to the stories of the others to the maximum and envy them. She felt a bit ashamed because of this. In the shadows she watched the warriors and her fellow draels. Since she knew her mind, she wants to be like them, strong, real warrior and normal drael, not a waste.

Because Reidun was shy, she stayed out from the fire’s light, waiting in the shadows and watching. Watched the dance, the feasting. She did not feel worthy to join them. She was ashamed she is less than them, even if her trainers tell otherwise. She passed her exams, she became an adult drael, but she still thought she was not worthy. Life was difficult with a minority complex. She squatted down and leaned against one of the walls, she tried to find her courage to join the others. It was different from combat, she was never afraid to attack or kill the weak, or worthy opponents, but speak with her fellow draels… yes, she was shy and uncertain, which was related to social interactions.

It seems to her, no one noticed her presence yet, and she didn’t know anyone here yet. She only met her trainers and group mates under her training. She never speaks to anyone else at this time. And she didn't really take part in a social event before, so she didn't really have an idea of what else to do besides eating and fighting. Of course she learned everything about culture, but learning is different from gaining experience. She was sure she was impressed by the dance, maybe she should try it later.

​

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Around dozens of campfires, stories were shared. But one in particular was a larger bonfire on the edge of the encampments, surrounded by those who exchanged stories of revelry and battle. So many of their brethren had died, war was a necessary evil that kept them strong. They all understood that, but unity through kinship was just as important. Beyond fighting, beyond death and blood. They were still here, for each other - with each other. Sometimes it was hard for him to see that, but today he did.

The Titan's footsteps caused the ground to rumble, but the same could be said for so many of his fellow Draelvasier. His movements were overshadowed as he skirted around the edges of the encampment. His eyes fell on a lone Baedurin also standing on the outskirts of the camp. She was small for a Baedurin, but he recognised the markers of his own designs. He could even tell from the carapace she was young, a child almost.

Tathra circled round, coming up behind her left side. Tathra folded his arms, watching their brethren enjoying their time of peace. Peace was a luxury, War was reality. But one often needs luxury to be prepared for reality. This was the way of things, he maintained a firm grip. But he knew he had to pay attention, all his energy was expended for his people as it would be till the day he died. Part of him often wondered if perhaps Grosck would have remained loyal had he paid more attention. Who was to say? The Seers could not even know these subtleties.

"Why do you distance yourself from your kin, child?" The Titan finally spoke, his opaque eyes falling on the side-profile of the female Baedurin warrior.

- Hrajlmak'Natok | Osam | Primarch Drek'ma | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir

 

[Osam]

Storytelling was as much an art as it was the transfer of factual information. Embellishment was commonplace among the ranks of those who told many stories because it allowed for them to awe and inspire their audiences to greater lengths than entirely truthful recollections. Osam considered briefly how much of some of the stories he had heard was entirely true, and how much had been altered ever so slightly so as to present the teller in a more positive light. He had fought himself sat between a band of fellow Risen-Srael as they discussed their exploits over battlefields hither and thither, and of the different discoveries, they'd made in their lifetimes.

All of the Risen he had encountered seemed to have known of him before he knew of them. His feat of combat in the midst of the Ish'makra and the subsequent declaration of their independence from the lesser Sraelvun had done wonders for spreading his own reputation. While it didn't make him anymore significant than any of the other Risen in official terms, he appreciated the recognition that he received for his efforts. Among the Risen, he was the first to have achieved the title, and while it gave him no authority, it did garner him a greater deal of respect among their kindred.

Nevertheless, while his companions continued to speak and declare their stories, his eyes wandered across the field where a number of other bonfires had been established. Some, it seemed, had been ignited and then abandoned as their retainers meandered to their comrades in order to share in the storytelling or the conversation or even the dancing. The Major's eyes focused for a moment on a dancing competition breaking out between a series of Baedurin and Aeravalin, each one taking their turns in imitating a past conquest.

His gaze continued to wander, passing over the great Titan as he addressed a skulking Baedurin -- He had no reason to interrupt their father and immediately removed any thought of such from his mind -- and passed on to a few campfires lying on the edges of the encampment. At one was the fierce Primarch whose magnificent power allowed him control of the great Servitor capable of sinking entire cities into the ground, and at the other was another Shaman who Osam had seen across several battlefields, but who he had had little interaction with otherwise.

Reaching over the fire with abandon thanks to his genetic makeup, the Risen-Srael plucked an entire leg off of... whatever beast it was they were cooking, and arose from his seated position. He gave a respectful nod to his companions before departing towards the Shaman, choosing to speak with him before he would attempt growing close to the Primarch who appeared to be resting regardless. As he drew into the firelight of Hrajlmak'Natok 's blaze, he outstretched the fleshy leg in a peaceful offer.

"You were at Ish'makra, and at warrings of Tesh and Groth, yes?"

 

[Bazh'Thu]

Bazh'Thu's colossal visage stood in silence atop a ridge looking over the Drael encampments. His veteran Skag-beast, already at the peak of its age, laid by his side asleep. With utter interest, his cadaverous eyes wandered down below. The celebratory rites of the Draelvasier were uncannily similar to that of the heathen men, quaffing their vinous concoctions and prancing their hearts out with their fellow brethren - an absolute opposite of their barbaric state during war-time. Bazh'Thu viewed such festivities with slight disfavor, and a disservice to their departed brethren. He knew himself that peace-time was an inessentiality, and weakness continued to linger, but his body, becoming scarred from previous wars, needed rest.

His pale-white hands nudged over his silver chest plate, shifting it aside, unveiling his disfigured body underneath. Blackened scars covered his physique akin to a shroud. But to Bazh'Thu, these were not mere injuries, rather the emblems of power, as he had sustained each from notable adversaries. Throughout his entire existence, he had encountered the most vigorous of the Jedi-heathen, with high regard for their battle-prowess. The warlock deemed them worthy for their innate strength, despite opposing their ideology. But then, they were a threat to his brethren's existence, and so they must be purged.

Leaving his slumbering war-beast behind, Bazh'Thu maundered forward towards the encampments. His obsidian staff struck beneath the earthly soil, guiding him forward. The bonfires lit up the dark areas of the camp, along with the moon's light. Encircled around the bonfires were his fellow brethren, resting upon their feet. They had prepared feasts amongst themselves, narrating their personal tales of war, while some swayed with joyous laughter. Upon arriving at the entrance, Bazh'Thu approached a nearby fire, laying his eyes to the familiar figure of Warlock Hrajlmak'Natok .

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Footsteps approached and Hrajlmak stressed his ears to discern who it could be. They were light, but heavy. Short between them but not so short as the engineers. The thought amused him and when the voice finally broke the silence, his head rose from his wrists. All eyes converged on the hybrid's pair. A leg of flesh between them. Hrajlmak outstretched his left hand. Or what was left of it. A hand that bared the bone underneath, missing two fingers and clearly immolated, wrapped itself around the leg and relinquished it from Osam . Before he answered the ice-breaker, Hrajlmak took a deep bite, through flesh and bone. He munched thoughtfully and when he finally swallowed, he spoke.

"Teth, Groth, Sriluur, Kubindi, Hurikane, Nadiem, Kegan.." He trailed off. "And they still aren't enough" he grinned a savage, toothy grin and took another large bite. "You're the hybrid" he spoke between mouthfuls. Suddenly his face was awash with curiosity and he seemed to forget the food entirely. The leg dropped to the floor and Hrajlmak began to probe the hybrid's torso with his melted left claws. His ring-finger and thumb strode over the Sraelvun's exposed flesh. Soft-spots not covered by carapace. "Mm" he wondered aloud. "I remember you from the Ish'makra. Good fight.." As he began to question Osam 's trial on Malagarr, Bazh'Thu approached. Hrajlmak spun to greet the fellow Warlock. "Bazh'Thu! There was no opportunity on Teth but here now I can say it's good to see you! I was just speaking to this hybrid. He's an impressive one." His attention shifted rapidly again back to Osam "Tell Bazh'Thu about the trial on Malagarr. The fight was.." Hrajlmak looked as though he had eaten a gourmet dish "satiating.. to say the least".

 

[Kyrim Tenebris]

Flying low over the rows of campfire in a Striker Shard, trailed by three other shards, they made their fly-over dramatic by both flying low over the Drael and stabbing their shards into the ground in a rough, Zealot-like entrance. Definitely one to turn heads, if they hadn't lopped off any...

They had "parked" right outside the campfires, and out strode Rhivak Squad, back from a mission, and much overdue on any relaxation. All of the Drael were, but Zealots most of all, for while the main army could wait around, it was the Zealots who did the recon, the light harassment and the insane assassinations. Four Zealots instead of the normal five came to the campsite, for since sriluur a replacement had not been found.

As they settled down, with some of the nearby shamans moving away from Kyrim, whose ability was no longer a secret. It was now common knowledge to most shamans and to the Ish'makra that there was a Zealot who had manifested the ability to project a Force Blank, a Void. But still unknown to anyone aside from the members of the Ish'makra and the Chieftain, Kyrim kept his hybrid nature. His being the original hybrid, twisting the agility of the aerevalin with the strength of a baedurin. It was good to keep that anonymous, kept his power shrouded in mystery, if being a Void wasn't enough.

Taking leave of his group, Kyrim strode through the camp at his menacing gait, towards the Primarch Drek'ma, with whom he wished to speak with. If any were to stop him along the way, well there would always be another time to talk with the shaman...

 

[Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir]

Reidun Amersis
The Little Girl, Zealot minor​

Location: Rinn
Equipment: 2x Barad kukri | Barad Spike Rifle
Tag: Open

For now, she was just watching the others and thought that no one had seen her yet, so she could stay noticed. But she was wrong. As she continued her activities so far, she suddenly heard a voice that addressed her. Reidun raised her head and was incredibly surprised; she was addressed by none other than the Chieftain. She immediately jumped up and pulled herself out. She never thought she would be part of such an honor.

<”Chieftain, sire!” she started.”I wasn’t here at the battle, I was late, because my trials had not finished in time. I'm not feeling myself worthy to join to my fellow draels yet.”>

She heard the stories from here, and she could see the duels, so that's why she didn't go there, and of course she was afraid of what they would say about a “fresh meat” that wasn't even at war. She was ashamed of it and of course her appearance and did not dare to go to the others and the campfires. She thought for a few seconds, finally gathering her courage and asking something from the Chieftain.

<”If I’m not disrespectful, you will tell war stories tonight Sire?”> she asked with childish curiosity.

She hoped he was not too disrespectful and would get an answer from the Chieftain. She really wanted to hear some of the leader’s stories since he had seen and experienced so many things already. It would be a great honor for her all at such a young age.

​

 

[Osam]

It seemed that the offer of a meaty meal had been an acceptable one because it was taken from his hand without any fuss or questioning. They were brethren, of course, and there was no reason to suspect any sort of subterfuge between them. For the Draelvasier, an offered meal was simply an offered meal. For a few moments, Osam questioned whether or not his questioning about the presence of the Shaman had been acknowledged, however, though he waited patiently and was rewarded for it.

The warrior had fought on a number of worlds, and many of them held battlefields recognizable to the hybrid. At times, they all seemed to fade together into one great battle continuously being fought throughout a dozen different city-scapes and planetary bodies. Osam supposed that was the true meaning of war, but he suspected too that his close proximity to so many fights had made it difficult to discern the differences between fights of similar status and quality.

A commendation was given on the victory he had gained in the Ish'makra, and a toothy smile spread itself across the hybrid's face. He was particularly pleased with the outcome of the fight himself, but knowing that others of greater stature believed it to have been a good display of martial prowess did little to stop his head from swelling. There was a slight pressure against his chest as the Shaman had outstretched his fingers to prod at him, and the Risen-Srael took immediate notice of the melted finger-stumps on the hand. An exceptionally painful wound no doubt, he still remembered taking a blaster bolt to his own hand, but his fingers had fused together with his palm, not been removed completely, and some surgery afterward had returned them to their normal positions at the cost of light discoloration where the skin had torn.

As they spoke, another figure rapidly approached, a particularly tall member of their species. No doubt of Aeravalin bloodline given his immense size, and Osam began to question where he had seen him in the past. Was he not the Skag rider who had fought on a number of worlds? Bazh'Thu was his name it seemed, and the hybrid acknowledged the presence with a respectful nod. The first Drael introduced him as an interesting hybrid, causing another light smile, and then requested that he share the story of his fight on Malagarr, hinting at the ending with his comment on satiance.

"Test by Ish'makra" He began, casting a glance in the vague direction of the Titan as though indicating his presence as well. "Wanted see if Osam better than Sraelvun. Hybrids better." He patted on his own chest.

"Three Sraelvun come with weapons. Osam had none. Let one stab hand to take." At this, he opened up his palm, displaying the scar where the kukri had slid through his flesh and promptly been retracted out. Smack him down with head, lot stabbing into other's leg, bled death." He tapped at his leg at approximately the point he had stabbed the Drone and severed his artery. "Sneaky one stabbed back. Held him close, broke hip with knee, stabbed in head."
He mimed the motion of the thrust which had claimed the second life of the fight.

"Last one hurt bad." He licked at his teeth now as he was reminded of the succulent taste. "Ate throat, stole strength and meat. Tasty. Juicy. Ish'makra proud, make Risen-Sraelvun."

He hadn't embellished as much as some of his peers, but storytelling had never been something he was great at, and he simply hoped that the story of his ascendance was entertaining enough to the newcomer. Awaiting his response or one from his initial company, he slid down to the ground, sitting opposite of the pair across the fire.

Hrajlmak'Natok | Bazh'Thu

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Curious indeed. The Titan stood silent as his assumptions were proven correct, young and timid. He faintly snorted, amused by her lack of composure for a brief moment. Her fears were not unfounded, but not something to be crippled by. Unity was strength, she was ignorant to the opportunity before her. However she had passed her trials, and was no doubt worthy of her position. Tathra knew the Kad'Maris, as did every one of the soldiers ahead. They had all earned their stripes before battle. There would of course be teasing, some prejudice. There always was. But that was simply the way of life, to grow and to become stronger.

His demeanour shifted slightly as she spoke of stories. Stories. There are no stories, only the facts and the lies. Tathra was no liar, and never would be. The truth revealed weakness as the true enemy of all life, and the truth would set them all free. The Titan hummed lowly to himself, considering his next words before starting to walk toward the largest centre bonfire.

"Follow, child." Tathra spoke, a flippancy in his voice. Her actions would be her own, and he would stop her from making the mistake of not joining her brethren.

Tathra walked to the edge of the largest bonfire, ignoring the calls of his name and the heads turning as silence grew in his wake. Those at the largest bonfire had not noticed him, the majorities backs turned as one set of eyes finally noticed him, a gap being made between the seats for him to sit down.

"No, thank you my son." He spoke with warmth, stepping over the log turned seat and into the middle of the bonfire.

His arrival drew others to the large fire, the great bonfire standing a head taller than the Titan himself as it silhouetted him in black - a deep-seated glow, visible in his eyes. "My brothers and sisters! I wish to speak to you, not as your Chieftain. But as your equal, your fellow Drael." Tathra's voice was stringent, loud and powerful. But even its grand range could not encapsulate the entire camp that stretched nearly a mile in each direction. But the nearby vicinity grew silent as the heads of hundreds turned.

Joy was perhaps not visible upon his maw, but it shun a glee in his eyes. With a nod, Tathra sat down among his kin. He did not wish to stand over them, to laud over them like a Battlefield commander.

"You all know, what I am. I am your creator, genetic-forerunner of our great species. But you do not know from where I come..."

- Hrajlmak'Natok | Hraelga Nacht | Sarask Hiskt | Bazh'Thu | Ehud | Osam | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir | Primarch Drek'ma | Krarolk T'manu | Kyrim Tenebris | @

 

[Bazh'Thu]

Being acknowledged by his Aeravalin companion as he approached the Warlock's bon fire. Bazh'Thu sat nearby him, legs crossed, with his greaves scratching along the soil. His cavernous eyes came to inspect the Sraelvun who conversed with Warlock Natok with outright scrutiny, being well acquainted with the natural morphology of his lesser kindred. He respected the Sraelvun for their innate canniness, as opposed to the pure strength of the Baedurin, and the mere wisdom of the Aeravalin.

Bazh'Thu knew that each one of his kindred had their own exceptional talents for the benefit of their tenet. During the past war campaigns, the Draelvasier blood continued to triumph against other feeble species. With their guidance, the puny worlds fell into eternal abyss, as they slaughter until the last of man. Albeit being informed of their vulnerable position in the front lines, he held great regard for his Sraelvun brethren, not as the cannon fodder, but the daunting forerunners of the Crusade. Their inborn lust for the consumption of flesh and blood encouraged the strong hearts of the Drael to fight under the righteous cause. However, to Bazh'Thu, their volatility to run out bloodshed may end with them losing the dominance of their own wits. Nevertheless, Bazh'Thu knew that they are a vital part of their movement, and so admired them with a fraternal bond.

Due to the secretive nature of his occupation, Bazh'Thu was physically absent during the happenings in Malagarr. He had known of the culminating results of the trial afterwards through a communication stone. However, he intended to personally commend the Drael who had prevailed, who had risen his name from a lesser-elect class, to a Drael with noble honorifics. However, he was uninformed of the trial's actual proceedings. But at that moment, the venerable Risen Sraelvun stood before him, proudly singing his brave tale. Indeed, the Drael's adaptibility to survive despite dire circumstances was to be merited The pure might of multiple foes go under the ashes, and the wits of a single individual will remain. The Bryn'adûl continued to grow not only of its strength, but with both, empowering its inner will to perish Weakness until halted.

" Truly, you have ascended amongst your brethren.
Your cleverness in battle separates you from the lesser. "
​

Despite having devious characteristics, the Sraelvun are inferior in strategic intellect, focusing their raw strength in primal rage. Bazh'Thu noted that by tradition, their kindred were either cast out by superior blood, or purposively bred into mere fodder, but the shaman did not see them as such. With a sentiment that of his brethren's, he was conscious of how they were capable of naturally adapting their fiendish, yet reckless acts to deliberate behavior in the battlefield. Bazh'Thu clearly recognized how the ascended Draelvasier was able to triumph despite being outnumbered and unarmed.

Hrajlmak'Natok | Osam

 

[Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir]

Reidun Amersis
The Little Girl, Zealot minor​

Location: Rinn
Equipment: 2x Barad kukri | Barad Spike Rifle
Tag: Tathra Khaeus | Open

Reidun was surprised to hear the flippancy in the man's voice, but he seemed so fatherly. It was a strange but somewhat pleasant feeling for her; she had never experienced it before. She stood up by the wall, so now perhaps everyone could see even more how smaller she was than everyone else, and then she nodded at the Chieftain.

<”Yes, Sire!”> she replied.

She followed her chieftain to the largest bonfire, where she also sits down, among the others. Because he noticed she was far from the others, this time she did not sit down far from the others. Anyway, she really would have sat further away from everyone, but she didn't want to anger their creator on her first day. She nodded again, just like the others – in vain she was very young –she also knew who the man was.

However, she really hadn't heard of the other thing, she knew he had made their race, but besides, she knew nothing about the leader. It seems to her, she is not the only one who does not know about this. She grabbed some food and waited for the story with child reverence. She felt it for a few seconds, she may be part of something special tonight.

​

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Hrajlmak nodded in concurrence with Bazh'Thu . "An impressive specimen. And a prime example of our era of rapid change." His eyes lingered on Osam before drifting to the fire. A hapless pile of combustible rubble consumed in what he only perceived as bright light.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

He was admittedly somewhat disturbed by what he assumed had been a vision. But discomfort, disruption. These were new feelings, ones he did not intend to accommodate for long. Drek'ma settled into a seated position, his stiff posture softening as he leaned against the mid-length of his Staff.

Still, he looked into the fire. Was he a clairvoyant like the Seers? The question plagued him, even as possibly the most gifted beast master of all their kind; the Primarch felt momentarily displaced. He could not set himself right on his purpose, that frightened him. Perhaps he would eventually become a Seer in his old, senile years. He wished not. In truth Drek'ma wished for little more than to be of service to his Chieftain, and to uphold the genius he had founded.

Drek'ma looked into the camp, hearing the call of the Chieftain. The Primarch looked to him, through and throughout the Titan. Where that crimson warrior stood, Drek'ma saw a hope for a brighter future. But equally all of that dependent on one Drael alone made him nervous.

The thought of another Heretic uprising unsettled him, causing him to think back on his conversation with the Seer, Ehud. These were dangerous times, as their influence and control expanded to new worlds so did the Titan's grasp loosen. Though the Emissaries were intended to remedy this - would any of them ever be what Tathra was to them? Could any Draelvasier ever be a truthful successor? He did not, could not know.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

When those who wished to gathered round, Tathra began to think more than speak. How to ensure he spoke truthfully but also how to articulate it best so they understood. Took away from it what he had.

Tathra sat forward slightly, staring at the fire now. He couldn't look any of them in the eye to start this story, he had to look within. His mind drifted to a time so long ago, it felt like another life time. His joy faded.

"Over a hundred years ago I was born into a world without our kind. Like you, similarly to you I was a full grown adult within a few years. I was a slave to masters of greed and weakness."

His stare grew long and hard, thinking back on the shameful existence he once had. Flashes of emotion exchanged in rapid waves across his face. Reliving hundreds of moments at once.

"But I broke away from those chains, and I travelled into the long dark in search of my own kind. First to Draemidus Prime, finding the old ways of our kind. Beast-riders and Warriors. But we were solitary and had no warning when our world was destroyed." A sadness consumed him then, even with so many Draelvasier at his side. Even his achievements were a ever present reminder that he was in truth the last of the True Draelvasier. The ancient Draelvasier. But he had rather been that then what THEY had become.

"When I travelled into dark space; there were creatures, civilisations and wars beyond what you could imagine. This Galaxy believes itself the centre of the universe when in fact it is such a small part of a bigger world. Even in the face of true, aimless terrors I continued on. I followed the trail, and it lead to a quiet world..."

Anger crept in, a genuine hate he had never wished to feel. One for his own, his own flesh. Opaque eyes looked to his own flesh and bones, the only real reminder of what they had become. His mind flickered as the similarities and differences both forced their way back into the forefront of his imagination and memory.

"When I found what remainder of the old Draelvasier I discovered a horrible truth. They had become pacified, reliant on the technology that consumed them. So many of them, consumed by a fear of being the last of their species had reverted to an almost catatonic state. They believed their machines could make them immortal, they declawed themselves; let themselves within to rid them of any strength." Tathra hunched over slightly, arms resting on his knees. The memory of what had become of his kin horrified him, to this day.

"They had resolves to withering away into nothing. So I granted their wish. I who had fought tooth and nail against primordial serpents of endless back skies to return Home found no home at all, but those who would not have cared if their children drowned in their own blood. I.. I could not save them. So I killed them. Slaughtered them, and vowed to start anew."

- Hrajlmak'Natok | Hraelga Nacht | Sarask Hiskt | Bazh'Thu | Ehud | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir | Gorrge | Primarch Drek'ma | Galak | Krarolk T'manu | Kyrim Tenebris |

 

[Osam]

Recognition.

The Risen-Sraelvun hadn't realized just how much he prized recognition until he had ascended from among the throngs of his lesser kindred. Once he had fought in the presence of the Ish'makra, and seized a destiny for himself from the jaws of mediocrity, he had begun to appreciate the opinions and exaltations he received from his brethren. Of course, that was a double-edged sword, and though he didn't consciously consider the implication of placing so much on the opinions of others, it was evident enough that what affected him positively had the potential to affect him negatively.

Nevertheless, here in the presence of Hrajlmak'Natok and Bazh'Thu he beamed with pride over their appraisal. Their culture had a tendency to value such forging ahead and the gathering of strength, but to feel the effects of their tenants in a more personal fashion was something far greater than simply acknowledging that they ought to appreciate the advances of their race.

Of course, there were others who had done far far more to advance their species. One in particular served as both their father -- genetically he was each of their predecessor, the ultimate ancestor -- and as their leader, providing encouragement and punishment wherever it was necessary so as to direct the Bryn'adul to victory and strength. The Titan, Tathra had strode across the field, evidently having chosen to interact openly with his children, though the way that he had allowed the others to surround him seemed to indicate that he would join in the celebrations as opposed to using his position and authority to dictate orders.

With a respectful nod towards the two companions, the Risen-Srael directed his attention toward the central fire, hearing as the mighty voice of the Ancestor spoke about the nature of his metamorphosis from a mere slave to the mighty leader of their people. His story spoke of an impossible quest to seek out others of his kind, only to find disappointment when finally he had discovered the desiccated remains of his people. Osam tried to imagine what a cybernetic Draelvasier might look at, allowing his imagination to run wild as a grotesque and grim figure took hold of his mind's eye. Apparently, the race had abandoned any pretense at strength, choosing instead to prolong life in strict opposition of everything else, their adherence to the tenant of survival had overtaken any other.

He understood a bit of what they must've felt, though. Osam knew that death was the end, the specter that haunted every battlefield. An adherence to strength and antagonistic tendencies towards the weak would not halt death from claiming him, but perhaps a prolonging of life such as they had done would allow him to see the end of days, when all of the stars in the skies above finally burned out and left the galaxy in an endless darkness.

Had it been right to commit the kinslaying to remove them from their lives? He wasn't able to judge, and Tathra was their leader and father and any judgement of his actions verged on heresy regardless... but could he condemn the 'weak' who had fought to stay alive?

No... he was Risen, but he still held Sraelvun blood, and it whispered that to survive was the hidden tenant, the greatest tenant.

 

[Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir]

Reidun Amersis
The Little Girl, Zealot minor​

Location: Rinn
Equipment: 2x Barad kukri | Barad Spike Rifle
Tag: Tathra Khaeus | Open

Reidun continued to sit next to the bonfire as the Chieftain started telling the story and even stopped eating to watch him. She had only heard what the official story was so far, so now everything here was very new to the young girl. She tried to listen and learn in amazement, but with no open mouth, but it did not succeed in its entirety. Perhaps precisely because of her young age. The whole was much-much different than she thought before. The Chieftain wiped out their former race and then he created the new one? It was insane!

But from what was said, Reidun felt justified in what became the fate of the original race. In their view, what they learned, and he also learned, they were weak. And everyone here, even she, knew exactly what the fate of the weak was, this is what the originals got. That is why Reidun wanted to prove more than anything that she was strong too. But in light of this at least everything became clear to the girl.

Though a question was still there in the girl, if only because there were countless hybrids among the members of their species. All she had to do now was find her own courage to ask the Chieftain. She had the courage to fight, but to the social interactions? No. That’s why it took a few seconds for her to gather herself and dare to speak. Before that she even raised her hand to indicate that she was asking for a word.

<”Chieftain, does that mean our species isn’t perfect yet? That later we may be able to develop even more perfectly? Is that why are you let to born hybrids, and you experiment to create hybrids? “> she asked curiously.

​

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Drek'ma was drawn to the fire as others were, he lingered on the edge of the fire. He watched as Tathra once again proved he was their only true leader. He was their true commander and a warrior of years beyond any Draelvasier standing. Though, the permanence of that was a matter of time.

He had heard the story before, words spoken in private. All of the Ish'makra and Seers knew of the dark seeds that had sown their past. Though even to this day it seemed every time the Titan recalled the tale, his vision grew darker in every telling. Not to say he lied, but rather that the light in his eyes faded with every passing tale. It was heartbreak, or so he thought. One he perhaps enjoyed revisiting less and less as time went on.

But it seemed a necessary pain, a warranted one. We all carry our imperfections. That brought his attention to the question of the young female Baedurin, a curious question in which he indeed also had an answer for. But he would rather Tathra be gifted the opportunity to answer. Now was a good time, after such unrest and war to further cement his leadership.

None could replace Khaeus.

- Tathra Khaeus | Hrajlmak'Natok | Osam | Bazh'Thu | Adrian L'lerim-Vandiir |