Dominion Bryn'adûl | Dominion of Ankhypt

[Primal Architect]

​

Ankhypt - a world reformed by the Bryn'adûl.

The Anubians were in the process of rebuilding their home when an invasion force arrived. In a matter of days the planet was ours. Now, several months on - Ankhypt's city of Tairos has been reformed into a Bryn'adûl installation. However Ankyhpt is not just any other installation; but is intended to act as a forward operating base for ventures deeper into Wild Space and Dark Space and will serve as a anchor of power for control across the border.

After the battle of Kesh and Eadu and with the creation of this additional installation on Ankhypt underway, the Chieftain; Tathra Khaeus enacted an An'shaerneghm. The Bryn'adûl have gathered on the planet in celebration of the defeat of the Deep Space Coalition, and the rapid expansion of the Bryn'adûl's borders, using the old installation as grounds for their festivities. All across the Installation, the Aeravalin and Baedurin of the Bryn'adûl join in festivities of feasting, dancing and battle. Offerings of honour and glory are given among the many divisions of the Barricas, battles to test strength are initiated and new plans are drawn for the future of the Bryn'adûl.

The Brute and Zealot barracks alongside the Shaman Temple have been converted into a massive feasting area with various arenas for combat and sparring. Warriors of the Bryn'adûl of all kinds are in the barracks, sharing stories and spending time with their battle-earned brethren. The Marauders of the Bryn'adûl have their own set of tables, with the Chieftain presiding over the main hall.

The An'shaerneghm is an opportunity for all whom wish to speak with the members of the Ish'makra, those present are willing to hear the thoughts of all who would deign to shape the Bryn'adûl in hopes of quickening their crusade.

OBJECTIVES -
Objective - Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities!

TAGS - Osam | Hraelga Nacht | Leknion | Rahm | Krael Vizkla | Primarch Drek'ma | Galak | Fomoris | Sarask Hiskt | Hrajlmak'Natok | Xrobas H'kahn |

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: One
Tags - Hraelga Nacht | Osam | Leknion | Rahm | Krael Vizkla | Primarch Drek'ma | Galak | Fomoris | Sarask Hiskt | Hrajlmak'Natok | Xrobas H'kahn

Ankhypt was dry and warm, for many others species the heat would've been almost intolerable; but for his kin it was soothing. There was a cold wind on the air, slow and calm. Tathra sat in a gilded throne made of sandstone, tall and thick - its back dotted with holes as to let the air flow through, its armrests raised as to allow for a recline. The Titan himself wore the armour he had fashioned once they begun their Crusades. The armour's base was of hundreds of small interlocking plates of golden Kraelmundr, above it were dozens of plates of silver-grey Verikast, the huge plates of metal that decorated his upper torso and legs boiled in the sun, shimmering reflections of Ankhypts sun glazed the armour in pale reflections of the sandstone constructions around him, that glimmering light a stark contrast to the maroon carapace of the Titan; revealing the hundreds of tiny scrapes and dents in the armour and his own flesh.

The Axe was propped up against the left armrest, its crystalline beard silent outside of Tathra's grasp, it was sight to be seen for those of his own making. Their Chieftain, basking in the light - awaiting any and all who wished for discussion. Some who came brought their newborns, others came seeking acknowledgement. The air around Tathra was laid thick with the grandeur of his presence, his scent. Every motion calculated, every word a product of a mind often concluded. Most Draelvasier continued to enjoy the festivities, and left him at peace.

It made sitting around quite relaxing, it felt good for him - to recline every once in a while. He felt the years of toil on his body, the mutagens helped, but he was ten times or more the age of most Draelvasier, and he could feel that age. The body and mind aged differently in states of such constant conflict and duress, and even though Tathra savoured moments like this; the quitter it was - the more alone with his thoughts he became.

The festivities themselves did not bring him the merriment it perhaps did for others, but a full stomach and the company of Warriors was nothing to scoff at.

 

[Osam]

While the superior races went about their feasts and conversations, the Sraelvun had their own celebrations underway. The different tribes often had different forms of celebration, typically some mildly corrupted version of what their superiors did. Nevertheless, certain behaviors and activities that would not have been present among the Baedurin and Aeravalin could be found within the tribal gatherings of the Sraelvun. Pit-fights between the drones were less about sparring and more about demonstrating prowess and resolving any sort of disagreements that had been made in the past. Casualties and injuries were typical, but with so many Sraelvun alive, such things could be afforded, and the brutality of the verminous tribes could be tolerated.

Osam was involved in a different sort of celebratory conflict. His claws clasped against the stonework of a structure, hauling his impressive form atop it, and leaving grooves where they naturally lethal implements had caught. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, taking notice of bright lights at each of the corners of the residential block, denoting the ends of the 'arena'. A couple of fellow Sraelvun stood guard here at these sections, guaranteeing that none of the simplest avenues of escape were available for the prey within.

There, movement caught the eye of the Major, and he observed as the fleeing shape ducked into one of the structures, apparently heaving as they caught their breath. Elsewhere, another flash of movement denoted the presence of another hunter, though their way of moving seemed to prove that they hadn't noticed the prey and were still searching for any clue.

Climbing down from his vantage point, the Sraelvun drone raced to his destination, taking whatever alleyways and hidden paths he was able so as to throw off any hunters who had noticed him. Finally, he reached his destination, listening intently for the sound of the prey breathing within; they had been natives of the planet once before they had been exterminated from the local area, and the survivors entrapped beneath the ground for the amusement of the tribes and their Hunts.

Claws held up in a typical fighting position, the Sraelvun charged into the structure, and prepared to slay his prey, and win glory for himself among his kin.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: Celebrate
Post: 1
Tags: Tathra Khaeus / Osam

_________________________________________

The conquest had been going strong, very strong, for years now. The Bryn'adul made short work of the wild space systems within their reach and the growth in their territory was exponential. But these were weak achievements. As much as they bathed in drink and food a thought of remote intelligence could discern that it was all relative. Many a success but all against no enemy. For this reason Hrajlmak'Natok, a shaman of no significant fame busied himself with members of the Ish'makra. The royalty of his caste to be specific. At a sandstone table laden with myriad food and drink, Hrajlmak was engaged in a heated debate.

"They're simply too important" A pompous and considerably well dressed Shaman stressed to Hrajlmak who turned on him and shot back, "So important that they should do away with our most fundamental values? Hiding behind more capable Zealots who protect them like they're children?" He shot back. The former placed his hands on the table and waved them while he spoke, "It's not that we are doing away with traditions. If anything, this is a tradition. We command the battlefield itself. To lose a Shaman is like giving a warrior brain damage on a larger scale". Hrajlmak grumbled audibly. "I am saying we shift focus from large-scale co-ordination behind the lines to a more modular and mobile equivalent located on the field. To keep us locked away is absurd. Not even to mention the advantages in response time." The individual who had been challenging Hrajlmak seemed to contemplate for a moment and sat back. Another further along the table leaned forward. "But has it been done before?". Hrajlmak's face scrunched. "You're looking at me". The new speaker smiled. "Yes of course." He seemed to surrender before adding, "I was just thinking of Eshan". Hrajlmak's eyes widened. He burst up from his seat and a heavy cup was immediately launched across the table.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: One
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok | Tathra Khaeus |

Drek'ma raised his hand, hushing the Seer. They had spoken enough on the topic and the Primarch had other meetings to be dealt with today. Drek'ma bowed his head to the Seer, the Ish'makra had been in some discourse regarding the recently busy Shaman Hrajlmak. No doubt he was engaged in discourse at this very time, a time to rejoice no doubt.

Drek'ma felt the eyes of the Chieftain on him, no doubt wondering what the discussion was about. This was a time to rejoice, a few hours luxury of relent from endless questions and tasks. Drek'ma returned to the righthand side of Tathra, gesturing flippantly to set aside the topic as unimportant.

"Politics, how tiresome." Drek'ma sighed, walking up alongside the massive throne Tathra sat in. The Primarch clasped his hands in front of him, eyes shifting around the area ahead of them, dozens of tables full of primarily members of the 10th Regiment, he'd fought with some of them; lead others. Drek'ma had more of a leaning towards specialised groups, like Zealots. One of which he'd worked with most recently on Kesh, Sarask - an interesting creature to say the least. But his thoughts were not off those he could see, but rather the gargantuan elite of their species opposite him.

The Chieftain remained quiet, or so it seemed. The Primarch felt it gnawing at him, the troubles among the council regarding the Shaman Order was his responsibility, he had to deal with it before the Ish'makra decreed it unfavourably. Perhaps now was the time to draw his attention to more internal matters.

"Sire, have you heard of the Ish'makra's concerns regarding Natok?"

 

[Kad]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: One
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok |

Gredak had been silent for the majority of the discourse, but they'd all worked with the tenth Regiment a dozen or so times by now and they'd all heard of Hrajlmak's mishap on Eshan, but the debacle had grown so heated that the other Shaman used the shame to silence Hrajl. It was amusing, Gredak and the other Zealots at the table couldn't help but snicker.

Gredak on the other hand, full of ale - burst into laughter, continuing as the Shaman chucked his ale at the other. Gredak suckered down the last drops of his own, half choking as the commotion almost sent him into a laughing fit. It was pathetic really, wasting time debating among themselves like this - if they wanted something, they'd have to go after it themselves. That included Shamans.

"I know you Shamans get it easy, but whining about what you want won't get you it Shaman Natok!" The Brutes and Zealots laughed, the hearty grunts of their larger brethren almost drowning out Gredak's own snickering. He wondered what the other, now soaked Shaman would do.

 

[Hraelga Nacht]

Objective: Partake in the celebrations
Attire: Standard Zealot outfit
Post: 1

This was literally hell for Hraelga, to find herself in such a warm, endless desert-type of world. She hated both the sand and the heat and was greatly annoyed by the fact that the planet seemed so lifeless from the start, making it pretty hard to find anything worth hunting. However, as this was to be a celebration for the members of the Draelvasier who had seen and fought many battles over the past years without any sort of reprieval, the Marauder was smart not to voice her opinion all too loudly, as it was expected from the Marauders to be the examples on how to act and carry oneself at all times, something in which Hraelga had managed to fail not once, but twice already.

Moving on from the Zealot Barracks where she had some surprisingly casual conversations with a few of the members in regards to their outfit and their aspirations for the next crusades to be called upon by the Chieftain, a lot of words were also spilled on the difficulties during the Kesh dominion and rebellions, which had costed the Bryn'adûl quite the number of soldiers.

The Marauder surprisingly found herself looking not at the discussions between the so-called superior members of the Drael race, but was keen to see what was going on with the actual fun: the fights, hunts and excitement held far from the tables where one could find shamans and other higher ranked members of the Bryn'adûl dicuss their battleplans or tactics. Hraelga was nowhere to be found within the grand hall, she was having her own fun, following a particular drone she had set her eyes on. This one was fast, agile and dare she say, even intelligent, but apparently lacked the general senses she herself possessed.

Just as the little drone tried to attack the prey provided to those who wished to go for the hunt, she jumped down behind the drone and clacked her tongue to distract him. "You sneaky little drone," Holding out her Kurki, the Marauder looked at Osam with a twinkle in her eyes. "Use this for a change, show me if you can be a bit more sophisticated than your brethren." changing her hold on the blade, she offered the weapon to the drone just to see if he was capable of wielding it in any sort of fashion.

 

[Velok Brokentusk]

Redacted

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Two
Tags - Primarch Drek'ma | Hrajlmak'Natok |

Opaque eyes lingered on the back of the Primarch, wondering what exactly was being discussed. Even in a time like this, there were always rumblings amongst restless minds. Forever were their lives dominated by the path laid out before them, the task of saving this Galaxy was one that allowed no respite - even if they pretended as much.

When Drek'ma returned, his reassuring words fell on deaf ears. Tathra knew more was to come, he could smell it on him. Tathra groaned under his breath, eyes on the flock of Drael ahead of him, nostrils flaring as his open hands thumb grinded against the sandstone, small chunks shattering off the armrest. He couldn't hide all of his irritancy, the Seer nor Primarch had done much to hide their discussion, and yet the Primarch danced around the subject with pretence.

"Speak, Primarch."

Tathra spoke few but pertinent words, matters of politics were tedious enough - but as Chieftain it was his responsibility to represent a studious approach. Thusly he prodded the Primarch to speak - which he did. Regarding the Ish'makra's concern of a particular Shaman. Hrajlmak, he knew that name. An adept combatant, for a Shaman.

"Indulge my ignorance, Primarch. What disruption has this Shaman caused?"

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Two
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Tathra Khaeus | Hrajlmak'Natok

The Chieftain treated every moment in any scenario like a strategic move and as per usual was three steps ahead at every turn. Tathra knew Drek'ma had something to say, Drek'ma had always been fond of that vigilant mindset, it kept them all on they're toes. Drek'ma did not keep silent for long, at the order of his Chieftain.

Ultimately Drek'ma did not know what to think of the aggressive Shaman, he had a point' for abilities to regarding use on the frontlines. Not to mention, with the creation of new worlds came more Shamans. They could spare those not so tactically minded, more equipped for combat with blade and brawn than of grander scale.

"Sire, he does not wish to be a Shaman. But rather a.... Warlock."

It could prove beneficial, those who were destined to fight alongside the Brutes would not cause reoccurrences of mishaps such as Eshan. No doubt he was curious as to what exactly a Warlock was; Primarch would ensure Tathra had all the facts at his disposal.

"A warlock being the chosen term for a type of offense based warriors that did not align with the Shamans views, directly at least.."

Weaker Primarch's such as his predecessors no doubt would've outright refused the proposition, however it was a fair one. Hraljmak Natok would get his chance to prove the value of Warlocks.

 

[Sarask Hiskt]

Objective: Partake in celebrations.

Post: One.

It was hot. Uncomfortable. Sarask retreated for a moment to a cool placer. Thinking. At the rebellion of Kesh, she was given a mundane task. To lower shields. Was her usefulness so spent on the destruction of inanimate objects? She thought. Perhaps she wasn’t efficient enough. Perhaps the shields were more important than killing. Perhaps. She felt the cool air blast her body, and she grew comfortable again. Ready to brave the heat once more. They were celebrating. She had to celebrate too, though she’d rather be dismantling an outpost, one by one.

She looked down, her weapons were tied around her waist like a belt, still there. Good. She likely didn’t need them, but she wanted them there. Just in case. She gave one last glance around the cooler area, before walking out of it, feeling the heat wash against her crystalline body again. Even with the protections brought from her outer layer crust, it was uncomfortable. Hot. Maddening. She’d have to retreat once again in an hour or half. She had to be quick each time though, it would seem disrespectful to continue leaving during their victory festivities.

She returned to the barracks and temple that had been converted to the feasting area. It seemed one of the Shamans had grown a bit belligerent as he launched himself over the table. Amusing. She wasn’t sure whether it was in jest or serious. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. Likely the latter, given the Shaman’s expression. She moved past the tables and feasting warriors as a veil would in the wind. She didn’t like to sit, so she kept herself moving, taking morsels from the tables at her whim, or even from warriors’ plates while they weren’t looking. If they couldn’t guard their own nourishment they weren’t worthy of it.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Three
Tags - Primarch Drek'ma | Hrajlmak'Natok | Hrajlmak'Natok | Osam | Sarask Hiskt | Galak | Krael Vizkla |

Tathra's eyes shifted to Drek'ma at the mention of a new class of Warrior. Opaque orbs stared right through the Primarch, he did not care for what the Shaman wished to be called, it was this methodology he took issue with. Prowling around, making a fuss rather than seeking change through the appropriate channels. This drama wasn't the work of dedicated minds, but born of a complacency and wish to disrupt. Or so he would think until proven otherwise.

"Warlocks." He thumbed over the term in his head, he supposed it was fitting. Efficiency and variety were not mutually exclusive from one and other, and no doubt not all Shaman's were as inclined toward strategy and beast mastery as others. Perhaps those who remained of low rank for such reasons could be deposited to the goal of creating a new band of force warriors.

His interest was in strengthening the Bryn'adûl as a whole - keeping to outdated and static systems was not the path forward. The Shaman clearly had his doubts regarding that line of thinking, otherwise he would have brought it forward by now. Tathra would not seek it out, it would come forward when ready.

"I will inform the Ish'makra to maintain a distance, allow the enforcers to keep an eye on things - until then we wait." Besides, they had other matters to attend to. Tathra would have been absent had it not been for the arrival of Galak and Krael at the An'shaerneghm. It was the perfect opportunity to honour both.

However, he would not call upon them just yet. Opaque eyes travelled below, watching the fighting. Two Brutes, unburdened by armour were boxing in the arena. The left was slightly smaller, larger triceps and a broader back where as the one on the right was thicker, heavier probably weighing a few thousand pounds in muscle. The one on the right seemed to prefer to counterattack, using the left's speed against him to trap him in a arm-lock. A mistake, the left brought its legs into either side of the rights singular arm, moving quick to avoid the impending strike, grasping the arm with both hands as it used its broad back to wrestle out of the lock, grappling the arm of the larger Brute - twisting it as its left foot kicked the larger Brutes knee as it swung, then yanking as it threw the larger Brute staggering sideways.

The next strike capitalised on the opportunity, a kick to the ribs. The larger Brute bashed away the foot with a low guard of his elbow; catching the foot and knocking it away. Both gave the other space, circling the other. Tathra saw the flaws in both warriors strategy, the left was too passive whilst the right didn't adapt - much.

 

[Galak]

Tags - Tathra Khaeus | Krael Vizkla |
Post: One

Galak hadn't spent that much time outside of a medical facility since Kesh, but the best they had put him back together. He was fortunate Tathra had requested as such, otherwise he might have not had survived. Tathra had saved him when he absorbed the majority of the tendrils. Even so, one was enough to nearly kill Galak.

It put things in perspective. But it also made him feel honoured to be among his kin. Galak had been called upon, he knew why he was here; to be seen before Tathra alongside Krael Vizkla, an impressive Baedurin. But he did not know why. He sat now, among his brethren of the 10th Regiment. He shared in their merriment, speaking of those who had fallen before their very eyes. All those who had shared the battlefield of Kesh understood the trauma it brought them. They understood the anger and confusion of so many brethren being torn from the earth by unfair and unjust sorcery.

There was anger, but also gratitude that they were among the living.

 

[Osam]

Post 2

The prey was cowering now within the confines of the structure. Osam knew that it had not bothered to leave the building, perhaps believing that it was safest away from the prying eyes of additional hunters. It may even have deluded itself into thinking that it would be able to fight against a single drone so long as it separated it from the rest of the pack, but given the physical aptitudes of the two races, it was highly unlikely. That wasn't to say that the occasional Sraelvun casualty didn't occur, whether by means of cunning or by the acquisition of concealed weapons and their use, but such things were certainly the exception instead of the norm.

Focused as he was on the prey, Osam hadn't even noticed the presence of a member of the greater race within the confines of the hunting ground. Typically, only Sraelvun engaged in this sort of violent bloodsport, though that wasn't to say that there had never been visitors to the tribes' camps. All of the meetings and spars and feasts seemed to distract them from the adrenaline rush that came with chasing down a grotesque lifeform and picking the marrow from their measly bones, but the Sraelvun were dominated by their nature and did not allow it to be overshadowed by a desire to commune with one another over matters they had no control over.

A click of a tongue forced the Major to wheel upon his heel, his claws ready to rend apart whatever had intruded upon the hunt. It was not reasonable to brutalize a fellow member of the race, but in his lesser mindset, he hadn't considered that the only reason he could understand at all was that the intruder had spoken his own language. Recognition dawned on him a moment later as he observed the Brute, his clawed hands peeling back from their readied stance to lay at his side. The thick hide of the superior would have been more difficult to pierce than that of the vermin he hunted, but a lash across the throat may have been able to sever arteries nevertheless... drones were weaker than their brethren, but that did not mean that they were weak.

There was a brief dialogue, a subtle mockery of the Sraelvun nature tinged the words as the kukri was offered. The ordeal was curious to Osam, because he had used a kukri in the past during his battles, and had believed they were used occasionally by other Majors... but perhaps he was the only one to have used them properly. Did the others simply rely upon them when their claws had dented and cracked from over-use? The Major clasped at the bladed instrument, twirling it in his hand, comfortable with its presence despite his clawed fingers.

"Easy kill." He muttered in acceptance of the tool, glancing back at the building where he was certain the prey awaited him. With a deep breath, he stepped into the lobby of the structure, peering around corners, listening intently to the faint noises that could be heard from time to time as the jitters of stress reaped their dues upon the body of the prey. The discovery was inevitable, and the grotesque work of the hunt was quick. The kukri pierced flesh a number of times in rapid succession, here in the vital organs, and there in the guts where the stink of internal detritus would leak into the air, and there again in the abdomen, curling around ribs to strike a final blow to the heart.

There was a victorious shriek that echoed from the building, causing other Sraelvun hunters to peer towards the structure, acknowledging with heavy hearts and hungering stomachs that they had lost the hunt. Within, a vile butchery took place, the carving of what had once been alive, but now waited as a corpse. The meat was filleted, and fat tenderized briefly with great smacks of the palm, not enough to prepare it entirely for eating, but enough to show the others what they would need to do to it. Once a great amount of the body had been taken, the Sraelvun major left the remainder for scavengers from the other tribes, allowing them to eat his leftovers as they saw fit.

Stepping out of the structure after several minutes, Osam would approach the superior with a respectful nod of his head, extending in one hand the Kukri, it's tip clearly having seen use and covered in fluid, and in the other the stilled heart of the prey. "Proof of death."

Hraelga Nacht

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Three
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Tathra Khaeus | Hrajlmak'Natok

This was one of the few occasions where Drek'ma's concern was not alleviated by the Chieftain's decision. His order to let the pieces fall where they may, seemed to disregard the impact a negative outcome would have on the Shaman's position. Drek'ma stirred silently for a few moments, waiting to see if either Galak or Krael had arrived. Thus far no, he had time but didn't know which words to pick. The position of Primarch was one he had earned a hundred times over and had no plans on loosening his grip. Perhaps this was all selfish.

"Sire, I don't understand your reasoning. Why must we do it this way? Would it not be better to be dealt with quickly?"

Drek'ma stared long and hard at Tathra, he was in earnest looking out for himself but he also knew his value. He would not be undermined by an upstart. More so he would take measures to ensure that didn't happen, they all knew that the slightest show of weakness would earn him a dagger in the back. Drek'ma didn't want that, and neither would the Shaman order.

"My position may come into jeopardy if this creates more disruption, I intend to maintain control of the Order. One way or another." He had to be firm on the subject, filled with a determination to maintain his position at the top of the Shaman pack. He had already heard whispers of those who would see him removed, perhaps he could turn Hrajlmak to his advantage. Ah, yes of course. That was the step forward.

The Primarch looked to the Titan, hiding a faint grin as the solution had come to him. No doubt, that was exactly what Tathra had intended.

"Perhaps I can use this Shaman's ambition to our advantage."

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: Celebrate
Post: 2
Tags: Tathra Khaeus / Primarch Drek'ma / Kad

_________________________________________


The cup Hrajlmak had cast smacked square into the sarcastic Shaman's nose, drenching him in fluid and drawing blood. He burst from his chair, furious. A Zealot opposite him reached for his blade and shot a piercing stare at Hrajlmak while his brethren around him exploded with laughter.

"Insignificant Srael! You dare!?", the drenched Shaman called across the table. Hrajlmak raised his hands in feign surrender, his demeanor calmed. "I do apologise for my outburst". He returned to his seat and mumbled, "Don't call your Zealot". The nearest member to Hrajlmak hid his laugh with a cough. Gredak chimed in once his laughter subsided. His snark comment drenched in humour and ale. "Of course we get it easy! What do you expect? All we do is stand atop a hill or locked away in a ship while you watch the shadows for any, Khaeus forbid, monsters that may come out and stab us in the back!" Hrajlmak referred to his own caste with a tone that almost detached his membership from it. There were grunts of disapproval. And there were nods. "What we Shamans do at present is essential. Indispensable even. But we sit here celebrating growth. It is a simple fact that size is countered by mobility. What I propose is real-time, adaptable co-ordination present on the battlefield that will give our war-machine unprecedented flexibility and strength". Hrajlmak drained his cup while those present at the table shot back with their own points. Hrajlmak noticed the sudden change in the cohort. Some were disagreeing with each other.

"Pointless. Truly pointless young 'Natok. We throw a multitude of fresh, powerful brethren onto the field and the purpose you are preaching is stripped when they are killed soon after".

"So we are weak?". A Shaman of the same birth year as Hrajlmak immediately questioned the elder.

"No. We are not weak. Our strength is simply elsewhere. The Baedurin may be able to kick through a heretic blast door but they cannot rip out a city with a Servitor hm?"

"And you are content like this? Why not both? Why not the warrior-strength of our red cousins and the domination of beast minds?" The younger fought back. Annoyance on his tongue. Another voiced his agreement and soon the table descended into a fresh bout of heated debate.

 

[Galak]

Tags - Tathra Khaeus | Krael Vizkla
Post: Two

Galak was chugging down on his drink when he noticed the Brute across the table, staring at him. He lowered his drink, his one good eye unblinking. He felt weak, weaker than ever - weaker than even Hurikane but he couldn't show that. He was one of the slim few who had survived their experience within the Death Field. That made him special to some, the damn fools.

"What." Galak blurted out, setting down his mug - calm and collected. The Brute across from him slammed down his, causing the entire table to turn from their own conversations to observe. Galak didn't know this Brute in particular, obviously he was of the 10th, but anything more than that was a mystery.

"Brute Minor Karask, my bloodkin died in that Death Field, General. My father." There was misplaced resentment, but Galak sympathised with his pain, to lose a mentor was one thing - but blood truly hurt. Galak's single eye widened, Karask. He knew that name. His father had been a Captain, a darn good one at that.

"I knew your bloodkin, Minor. Captain Karask was one of our best." The Minor across from him stewed in his thoughts for a moment, forcing himself to hold on to his misplaced vendetta. "He was. Why did you survive and not him, huh?" His mug cracked in his grasp as he stood up, Galak didn't move - not yet. "What's so special about YOU." He motioned to prod Galak's shoulder, Galak let him.

A moment of silence past, and the General stood up.

"I was in the thick of the battle, I had nowhere to run to, no cover to take other than the corpses around me. I'd used my Bryn Shot, ran out of ammo and started gutting those little Humans with its bayonet. When the tendril came for me, it hit the Human impaled on my bayonet first. Thee is nothing special about me, Minor Karask. Now sit down before there is just nothing about you at all." Galak wouldn't be able to back that up, not in this state - but his bluff would have to be enough.

 

[Kad]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Two
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok | Sarask Hiskt |

It seemed as though Gredak's point had been primarily ignored by the passionate Shaman, Gredak cackled at the dispute. What was the point of any of this? When Kal-darak wanted to create the Zealot Shadows, he went before his Superiors and the Ish'makra. What made this Shaman so special that he could complain among his peers and extent change.

Gredak rolled his eyes as those alongside him began to argue. They knew it was pointless, but still they continued their arguing. How embarrassing.

"Oh please? You propose? This ain't the place for it, Shaman. Quit causing fights. I'm tired of listening to you Shamans whine."

At that point some of the other Shamans took offence at his comments, but he was Aeravalin - this wasn't a race issue, just one of entitlement.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Four
Tags - Primarch Drek'ma | Sarask Hiskt | Hrajlmak'Natok | Osam | Hraelga Nacht | Galak | Krael Vizkla |

Another dozen jabs and strikes were exchanged, each met with a counter or block as the two seemed incapable of bypassing the others defence with their own offence. They were feeling each other out, they could not see the openings Tathra might have - but as a spectator it was always easier to critique, it was in the heat of the moment that everything was different. All that mattered was winning, survival. It didn't really matter how.

Drek'ma spoke out in protest, it was nothing knew for members of the Ish'makra to question his decisions. This was particularly close to the chest for the Shaman, he understood.

"If we deal with it, we will not have seen the extent of this Shaman's ambition. I must allow my children to fail, failing is how you become strong."

Niether had control of the momentum in the fight below. Whoever took it would be victorious, the smaller Baedurin ran at the larger; darting with quick and precise jabs. The larger of the two wasn't as aggressive, luring the hot-heated Brute into his control - even without aggression, control was imperative and now the larger of the two had it, waiting for the right moment; getting inside the smaller Brutes defences.

Drek'ma responded, a decision of his own. The Order of the Shaman was his, as Primarch - he was entrusted with overriding most others views on it, in this case Tathra would allow himself to be included in that grouping. Opaque eyes sat on the back of the Primarch now; absentmindedly as the fighting continued below. It seemed as though the larger of the two choose the right moment to strike, rather than blindly searching for a solution - he waited and struck when the time was right. Drek'ma looked at him now, it was worded like a query but Tathra knew it was a statement.

All he could do in response, was nod. He had done what he needed to for Drek'ma and Hrajlmak both. He only hoped he would need not intervene at a later time.

 

[Hraelga Nacht]

Objective: Partake in the celebrations
Attire: Standard Zealot outfit
Post: 2
Tag: Osam | Tathra Khaeus | Hrajlmak'Natok | Galak | Primarch Drek'ma

It was quite fun to register the drone's obvious surprise of having the sleek, yet still much taller Hraelga having stalked up on him without their apparent knowledge. Than again though, she herself prided her nearly as much, if not more on her status and ability as a hunter. However, all blustering and selconsciousness apart, the marauder could only let out a satisfied huff when it seemed that the drone she had her eyes on was at the very least proficient enough to wield the weapon she had handed over to him, being quite surprised by how supple the drone's moves were when getting some familiarity with the blade.

She had seen this particular specimen in action twice already, having noticed a higher intellect than most Svealrun kin and apparently aided by superb instincts and a genuine appreciation for the hunt. With a certain degree of glee, Hraelga watched on as Osam went about and started what could only be described as a glorious bloodbath that did not shame the Draelvasier race's penchant for unmatched brutality, something even the smaller members of the race could obviously display with ruthless efficiency and unmatched ferocity. Hearing the shrieks, the wails, the general excitement, Hraelga just couldn't help but let out a purr akin to a mix between a chuckle and content restrained laughter.

Upon his return, the drone reached out, presenting the weapon she had given to him, flesh blood and pieces of meat still dripping off of it under the pretext of it being 'Proof of death'

"Proof of death indeed," A clack of her tongue resonated through the structure, a sound of amusement and interest. This drone wasn't fit to be 'just' a drone, but could perhaps be something much more. Slightly curious, the marauder tilted her head a bit to the side and chuckled. "State to me your name, drone. You are a very interesting member of your kin...would you like to be more than just a run of the mill drone? Providing you with some zealot training wouldn't be a bad thought. If you are interested, find me at the grand hall...just ask for Marauder Nacht." With that being said, she turned around and almost ran off to the hall before instantly turning her attention back to Osam , holding the bloodied kurki out towards him again. "Proof of worth."

After that she quickly moved towards the grand hall where all the big boys and girl within the Bryn'adûl ranks could be found, certain that the drones would probably first have their meal, the marauder thought she'd have at least some time to meet up with the Chieftain.

Upon arriving at the gathering, Hraelga slammed her sharp claws upon her chest, saluting those of higher rank than her after which she approached the Creator and the Primarch, letting out a clak of her tongue when weasling her way around the scuffle. "Sire, I greet you humbly," A chuckle escaped her throat, looking at the fight that was ensuing. "Shamans and zealots having a feast together without an incident, don't see that every day...."