Deep in the Kraldja Mountains of Caradim; lies a place of celebration crested upon the precipice of a series of waterfalls. An elaborate feat of pristine Aeravalin design. A semi-circular coliseum carved into the face of the mountain, its construction sprawling outward from the mountain to the earth beneath them alit with fires and parties. Its arena; the precipice over a four-hundred metre drop.
Here, the Bryn'adûl would gather as part of an event known as the An'shaernehm. A celebratory gathering honouring combative accomplishments, in this case the expansion of Bryn'adûl borders. The festivity is alive with feasting, mating and dance. The Arena awaits those seeking honour, as the mighty Chieftain presides over the festivities, boasting a host of nearly twenty thousand Draelvasier.
Select individuals under the eye of the Ish'Makra have been invited alongside their accompanying troops. Others have arrived of their own intuition.
Sat upon an elaborate bronze throne, the Chieftain of the Bryn'adûl; Tathra Khaeus watches over his subjects as the festivities proceed throughout the day. A variety of Zealots, Brutes were assisting himself and other members of the Ish'makra in overseeing the events. Drek'ma & Rohm both were overseeing various areas of the festivities. A long line of Draelvasier females stood in a diagonal to his left, behind him and to his right two Zealots stand adjacent to a small alcove. just beyond his reach the females wait, each bringing forth their newly born child for Tathra to inspect.
Many blessings of strength are passed onto the pure born children of Drael, almost all. It was a long task, Tathra had not eaten in several hours, and his mood grew foul as his stomach began to turn on itself, chewing at the fat.
His grand paw pulled the babe from its Aeravalin mother, allowing its form to sink into the gaps of his anchoring fist. The small thing burped, wrestling with the descending calloused fingers that inspected its form. Its mandible like jaw instinctively nuzzled, tearing into the edge of his thumb.
Bemused, the Chieftain returned the newborn with a blessing of strength; raising a hand to call for a halt of the next Drael's advance. His muscle-bound mass reclining slightly.
It was a clear amber sky, beautiful. But that same amber sky was the result of fierce and invasive storms, its colourful grace was granted by a far harsher environment than any human species would retain. The Brutal truth is all there is to this Galaxy. At least, that was what the sudden moment of reflection told him.
Edited by Tathra Khaeus, 30 July 2019 - 11:22 AM.