I N D O M I T A B L E
BLOOD, ICE, AND STEEL - CHAPTER 1
KESTRI
TAG:
Romul Saxon
|
Vren Rook
GEAR: in bio
DREAM ON
[Continuing from: Shadows in the Vein]
KESTRI
TAG:
Romul Saxon
|
Vren Rook
GEAR: in bio
DREAM ON
[Continuing from: Shadows in the Vein]
The ramp of the Kar'ta Kelborn hissed open, venting the ozone-heavy air of the recent Shadow-Mantax engagement into the biting frost of Kestri. Zavar stepped onto the landing pad, his boots crunching through a fresh layer of snow that seemed too pure for the work he had just completed.
The matte-black surface of his Beskar breastplate was no longer pristine. At its center sat the dried handprint of
Careena Fett
; a visceral brand of iron and blood that had survived the vacuum of space and the heat of a hyperlane skirmish. Behind him, the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots announced his new retinue: the iron-bound warriors of Clan Fett and Clan Munin. They were the logs he had promised to bring back to the fire, and their presence turned the landing pad into a staging ground for a new era.
The Alor of Clan Kelborn marched directly toward the council chamber where the Rekav'dral awaited. The interior of the hall was a sanctuary of heat and shadow, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat and the steady hum of Kestri's pulse.
He found them there:
Vren Rook
and
Romul Saxon
. Zavar stopped at the edge of the firelight, the orange glow catching the crimson stain on his chest.
“The Storyfire is lit, but it is starving,” Zavar began, his voice a low, resonant rasp that carried the weight of the deep void. “We have spent centuries defending the dirt under our boots, but the galaxy is trying to pull us under.”
He tapped the dried blood on his chestplate, the legitimacy of his claim shrieking sharp in the quiet hall.
“I have brought you the blood-oaths of those who pledged their life to the endurance of our people.”
Zavar leaned forward, the firelight reflecting in his steady, unblinking eyes.
"Alor Rook, you are the Echo-Speaker; you hold the memory of who we were. Alor Saxon, you are the Flameward; you guard the flame of who we are today. But a fire in a closed room eventually runs out of air. To endure, we must carry the fire to the stars."
He looked between the two leaders, his posture rigid and unyielding.
“The Fett and the Munin are the first of many. The path is set, and the first marks are made in blood. All we need is a Voidbrand; the hand that carries the Hearth and the Storyfire through the voids.”
The matte-black surface of his Beskar breastplate was no longer pristine. At its center sat the dried handprint of
Careena Fett
; a visceral brand of iron and blood that had survived the vacuum of space and the heat of a hyperlane skirmish. Behind him, the heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots announced his new retinue: the iron-bound warriors of Clan Fett and Clan Munin. They were the logs he had promised to bring back to the fire, and their presence turned the landing pad into a staging ground for a new era.The Alor of Clan Kelborn marched directly toward the council chamber where the Rekav'dral awaited. The interior of the hall was a sanctuary of heat and shadow, the air thick with the smell of roasting meat and the steady hum of Kestri's pulse.
He found them there:
Vren Rook
and
Romul Saxon
. Zavar stopped at the edge of the firelight, the orange glow catching the crimson stain on his chest.“The Storyfire is lit, but it is starving,” Zavar began, his voice a low, resonant rasp that carried the weight of the deep void. “We have spent centuries defending the dirt under our boots, but the galaxy is trying to pull us under.”
He tapped the dried blood on his chestplate, the legitimacy of his claim shrieking sharp in the quiet hall.
“I have brought you the blood-oaths of those who pledged their life to the endurance of our people.”
Zavar leaned forward, the firelight reflecting in his steady, unblinking eyes.
"Alor Rook, you are the Echo-Speaker; you hold the memory of who we were. Alor Saxon, you are the Flameward; you guard the flame of who we are today. But a fire in a closed room eventually runs out of air. To endure, we must carry the fire to the stars."
He looked between the two leaders, his posture rigid and unyielding.
“The Fett and the Munin are the first of many. The path is set, and the first marks are made in blood. All we need is a Voidbrand; the hand that carries the Hearth and the Storyfire through the voids.”
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