Dominion Bryn'adûl | Dominion of Ankhypt

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Six
Tags - Hraelga Nacht | Krael Vizkla | Galak

With the smallest gesture of a hand, Tathra disregarded the notion of Drone's rising beyond the rank of horde members. The promotion had indeed emboldened the female Baedurin. Still perhaps it was a sign of something more, Tathra's features softened by a fraction; weighing the proposition in his mind for a small time. Ultimately, his interests lied within what benefitted their species the most - his own prejudices be damned.

"I will think on it, a discussion would need to be had with the Therons of the Drones. We shall see."

Once more his eyes glazed over the Marauder, noting the arrival of Krael to the banquet laid out before him. Tathra's eyes returned to Hraelga at the comment of boredom. Boredom? Tathra almost smiled, scoffing with amusement at the notion.

"I suppose it is, boredom."

Tathra leaned forward, elbows against the armrests of the sandstone chair as his hands clasped in front of him as he looked out past Hraelga. She was a Marauder, a student of his will - one of those who represented him. It was equally his duty to see her do well as it was her own.

"It is my duty to be bored. My self indulgence comes secondary to the prospects of my species. A lesson, you have yet to learn, Marauder."

Opaque aureate eyes now shifted to her now, fixing on the Marauder. Tathra had no intention of entertaining small talk or social pleasantries - the attitude was an issue. Her priorities were in question, and that was a dangerous place to be. Hraelga would come to understand that her position required a more serious mind-set than she at the very least presented.

Now Hraelga was beside him, there was nothing above him - no higher authority. She answered directly to him, his displeasure was no game. Her canter implied of a ignorance to the reality they'd all been reminded by at Maldra.

 

[Osam]

Post 4
Objective: Don't Be Killed
Hraelga Nacht

Osam was grateful for the fact that the assorted marauders, brutes, and zealots were seemingly preoccupied either in conversation and celebration or in their own martial contests. He had passed by several at this point, and none had seemed to mind his presence for more than a couple of moments, scoffing and returning to their important distractions. Nevertheless, there was a sickening feeling of being a pariah among social betters who could at any moment turn upon him and dash him to pieces. He kept the kukri at his side clutched firmly in his hand, not making a show of displaying it as if though it were a trophy, but not letting it slip from beyond his grasp either.

Of course, the security of the entire ordeal became somewhat tighter when he reached the Hall. It was truly grandiose in appearance, far greater than anything that could've been constructed by the Sraelvun, though Osam wondered whether or not it had been erected entirely by Draelvasier hands, or whether it had simply been adopted impromptu by the crusaders after their assured victory. There was no real dishonor in taking something built by the vermin of the galaxy if it had been taken with force, was there? After all, the strong took whatever they desired, and stamped the weak underfoot in the process, and whatever had been the possession of one became the possession of the other. It was their right to use whatever they had taken by conquest however they saw fit.

He paused for a moment, his entire body coming to a halt as he gazed at the entrance of the Hall, overseen by a pair of Baedurin brutes. Was that thought what they had meant by 'heresy'? Was taking what could be taken and using it instead of casting it all into fire an unnatural and perverse thought, or was that how all of the others thought as well? He supposed it would be imprudent to ask such a question of anyone because if he revealed that he had been privy to an uncouth idea, they would put him to the sword as quickly as if he were just one of the races with which they warred. He steeled his resolve, screwing his courage to the sticking place as he abandoned the idea and refocused upon the task at hand.

Approaching the pair of Brutes, he extended the kukri, directing the blade downward so as to further emphasize his lack of threat -- it wasn't as if though they needed any reminders that they stronger than the Sraelvun -- and awaited their attention. It was quickly gained, and the pair of warriors loomed over the drone, their mere presence a continued question of why he had chosen to come. "Invited by Baedurin to meet. Proof-blade." Seemingly satisfied by the answer, the two began to move away, pointing an extended digit behind them to a slight alcove. He was 'technically' inside of the Hall, but far enough near the outside that he would never see the glory of the Primarchs or the Chieftain.

This was as far as he would be allowed, no doubt, even with the kukri. Hraelga Nacht would simply need to discover him here.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Six
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok | Kad | Sarask Hiskt

The Shaman seemed briefly intrigued, even if perhaps that was the only thing prolonging his restraint from delivering a cruel death.
"And you believe your purpose is to fight on the front lines, to create a sect of force users that do the same?"
Drek'ma asked plainly, simply - he would give Hrajlmak one opportunity to clear his name, only one. His next words would have to be chosen carefully. Or else his rank would be forfeit.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: Avoid immediate execution
Post: 6
Tags: Primarch Drek'ma

______________________________________________

Hrajlmak inhaled inaudibly. The game of conversation was an art the Primarch held with an iron grip. The Shaman was equal parts a mentalist as he was a practitioner of the Force. How the Primarch had come to such a precise conclusion was beyond Hrajlmak. And he certainly wasn't about to spend time figuring it out. The air between them was tense. Both Shaman's stank of dark intent. Something they would both doubtlessly be aware of.

"Yes". Hrajlmak took his gaze to the table he was sat at. "I am convinced my being here is a testament to this idea. I recognize my failures but I also recognize my successes." He brought his eyes back to the Primarch. "Which stand superior to the former". Hrajlmak kept his response short. He was on thin ice. Every word made it thinner. All he could do was ensure the Primarch's satisfaction. Play his game.

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Seven
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok

The tightened shoulders of the Primarch seemed to grow lax, his chin slightly deepening and brow loosening - whether due to frustration or some small relief, none could tell. However, at the very least they were on the same page on his proposed intent.

Superfluous as it was.

The Primarch was silent but for a moment, eyes shifting from Hrajlmak. If only for a split-second as they refocused with great intent on the small 'Warlock'.

"My having to come to you, is a testament to otherwise. If so sure of yourself, why not bring your proposal before the Ish'makra?"

 

[Hraelga Nacht]

Objective: Partake in the celebrations
Attire: Standard Zealot outfit
Post: 4
Tag: Osam | Tathra Khaeus | Hrajlmak'Natok | Galak | Primarch Drek'ma

Hraelga almost snorted when the Chieftain responded rather unsurprisingly straightforward, agreeing that it might've been indeed boredom which made him sound...so tired and detached from everything. However, when he seemed to reprimand her for the fact that she herself had seemingly yet to figure out her place within the well-crafted structure that was the Bryn'adûl, the female marauder was hard pressed to keep a proverbial straight face, luckily helped by her carapace exterior. "Well...I am but a teen, where you could very well be as ancient as time itself compared to me. My knowledge and intellect are but scraps compared to your boundless wisdom, sire."

For a moment, the marauder got silent when a Zealot, one of the shadows undr her command bowed before the chieftain before turning his attention to her. "The Drone you have sent for, has arrived...he seems not to wish for any commotion and has thus not approached you himself...should we bring him here?" This was interesting news, Hraelga clacked her tongue, motioning the zealot to go and get Osam and to bring him safely to her.

Turning back to the chieftain, Hraelga made a gesture of respect, saluting him before attempting to explain herself even more. "Sire, it appears that the Sraelvun which I mentioned has already come to meet with me, may I perchance ask you to look at him to make your personal judgmentin regards to my aforementioned proposition?" There were enough options now. Either the chieftain would flat out refuse her request and still seek the council and opinion of the therons or maybe he'd at the very least show some curiosity to her idea. It didn't matter though, if he didn't want to meet the drone, she'd just go to collect him either way and make sure that he'd be recognised by the others among her ranks.

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: Partay
Post: 6
Tags: Primarch Drek'ma
______________________________________________

Hrajlmak exhaled sharply through his nose. For the duration of the discussion at the table, the delegates present seemed unconcerned. Bored. Having to listen to the exclamations of an ambitious but ultimately disagreeable Shaman who's reputation was stained with enough controversy as it was, was how Hrajlmak looked at them. Whether or not that was their opinion didn't matter to him. He was angry with it all either way.

"The Ish'makra.." Hrajlmak thought. Carefully. "Stick to what they know. The only changes come from the Chieftain or you, Primarch. I have no advantage. My effort with them would be wasted".

 

[Primarch Drek'ma]

Post: Eight
Objective: Partake in An'shaerneghm
Tags - Hrajlmak'Natok |

The Primarch would have laughed if he could.

How ignorant, how arrogant.

Perhaps the Shaman was simply blind or stupid, his ignorance was something that could be mended. However his heart and mind were in the right place, as to what use those implements were worth alone without the properties to utilise them, he could only guess.

"Speaking from experience? I thought not. Our very way of life presents you with equal opportunity, our meritocratic ways present you with the all the tools to 'fulfil your purpose'."

The Primarch gestured to the so called delegates sitting, now looking at Hrajlmak.

"Instead you insist on the nature of the Ish'makra whilst persisting in ignorance of it. Your position and the response to it, are entirely of your own making."

The Primarch stepped a foot closer to Hrajlmak; "The Chieftain himself, sits idle in wait of those who would broach topic. Yet you do not seek audience with any of relevance."

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

Objective: Partake in the An'shaerneghm festivities
Post: Seven
Tags - Hraelga Nacht | Krael Vizkla | Galak |

"Seniority is irrelevant, Marauder. Your peers both younger and older understand these faults. In both body and mind you are as much an adult as I. Experience is all I have, but that experience reaffirms my perspective. Excuses such as these are heretical Correct them or I will."

Her thought process was baffling, the laws of the Draelvasier and subsequently the Bryn'adûl were clear. Hertical thoughts, excuses - it all had one end. The same suffered by Grosck and all those who had followed him. Tathra's gaze shifted to the Guards standing present, nodding to them as two moved to find Krael and Galak among the crowded tables.

His eyes returned to Hraelga, leaning back in his chair - exhaling. "Leave."

With that word, it was as if the Marauder no longer existed. His eyes reaffixed, waiting as slowly both Galak and Krael would rise to stand before him at his throne. His left hand opened, the Long-Axe pulled to his hand by what seemed like a magnetic pull.

The golden shaft of the Axe shimmered in the boiling sun, its crystalline Beard igniting into a vaporous inferno of molten energy; the molten red gas danced around its head like a glistening veil into hell.

"General Galak, Captain Krael. Step forward."

 

[Hrajlmak'Natok]

Objective: Cool down, kill a man
Post: 7
Tags: Primarch Drek'ma
______________________________________________

The Primarch ripped Hrajlmak to shreds. Lambasting his arrogance and slaughtering his argument. Hrajlmak straightened in reflex when the Primarch approached him. Educating the Shaman on the ways of the Bryn'adul like a child. The difference in height made him feel like an infant. He refused to maintain eye-contact now. Refusing to crane his head back to meet the Primarch's gaze. He looked mindlessly at the Primarch's diaphragm, infuriated. Suffering a discomfort worse than death.

"You are correct, Primarch". Hrajlmak was beyond furious. With himself, with the Primarch. Anything that breathed was, in this moment, his enemy. A combination of defeat, shame and frustration boiled in his chest. "I will bring the proposal to the Ish'makra".

 

[Krael Vizkla]

Decency: Leather Kilt
Post: #2
Tags: Tathra Khaeus Galak

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Krael's eyes drifted to the General who had raised a drink to his arrival. A good thing for it to, as Krael could pick no difference between the Brutes he found himself surrounded with. Another side effect of his recent mutation, though this one was more temporary than his lack of respect, respect that he personally thought had no place among the lower tables. They were all of the same blood, born in the same species, had all been raised and educated the same. The only differences between them was of opinion, strength, and rank. Though the last two were so closely linked in Krael's eyes that they could be a reason by themselves.

The Captain nodded to the General, and reached down, grabbing at a barrel. When his form straightened, he ripped the top cover off of a barrel of ale, raising it in a mirrored gesture. The Elite Ravager decided not to seat himself at a table, for it might well tip over or break under his immense weight. He tipped his head back and raised the barrel higher as the warm, sweet liquid splashed down his gullet and into his stomach, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and throat.

The Aeravalin that had mutated him and released him on this day did say to find his limits, afterall. Though his celebration was short lived, for as he reached for the third barrel, his hand retracted as one of the Chieftain's guard got his attention. Within the following moments he found himself lead through the crowds and up towards the Forefather's Throne. Even the genetic defect that made him temporarily devoid of respect paled when met by the Chieftain. His body pushed itself down to one knee, though even at half height he was still the size of a typical Baedurin.

Krael's head was bowed low, though his eyes did not need to flicker up to glimpse the weapon of his forebear. The glowing blade, gleaming crimson red, was a beautiful contrast to the golden handle. One could only imagine what it was like to be the victim of such a vast weapon. Though as the position he was linked with the position the Chieftain was in, the implications dawned on Krael.

Was this to be an execution, one of the most cowardly ways for a Draelvasier to meet their end, one of the most cowardly acts one could commit? Had his dedication to the Bryn'adûl on the fields of battle, amongst the tables, in the gladiator pits not been enough? Had he been deemed to weak to die a good death? Or had it been decided that he was too powerful to be given a trial of combat, for he might win? The situation was only further confused by the Good General's summoning. He deserved to die fighting, if nobody else did.

Krael's head raised slightly, further surveying the situation he was in. A glance at the guards told him that they would be a challenge, but his new form could make work out of them. Though it was the others that concerned him. If he attempted to escape this death, would the General turn against him for a chance at redemption? Or would General Galak change sides to fight with him?

The Captain imagined many scenarios that would play out and could lead to his escape, though one obstacle faulted every one. The Chieftain and his axe. If he managed to grab it first and wrench it from the Chieftain's grasp, they would be fighting unarmed, but Krael did not know the true feats the Chieftain could rise to, he did not know the Chieftain's peak of performance. Had it not been so recently that his genetic donor had survived certain death?

Krael condemned himself for being so foolish to not read the signs sooner, not predict the scenario. He knew only that if this would turn to execution, then Krael would die a good death by his brothers with his body in pieces and savaged by their strength than with his head severed with a clean cut from the Headsman's axe.

His head lowered again, waiting for a separate outcome, or for the time when he would fight his last battle, but against the name he had fought for.

 

[Galak]

Post: Six
Tags - Krael Vizkla | Tathra Khaeus

When he was summoned, Galak rose to the task as always.

Standing alongside the massive Captain made Galak feel something he hadn't since he was but a hatchling; he felt small. An unusual but not unwelcome feeling, he didn't need to be that size. Efficient variety was a crucial factor to the strength of the Barricas. Galak felt the sun on his shoulders as he moved to stand before the Titan.

He'd fought on the battlefield alongside him a dozen times over. But somehow, more formal procedures always felt different. Galak bowed concurrently with Krael, low and proud. He'd seen these kinds of things before, he didn't know why exactly. But he could guess. Krael had done incredibly well in recent battles, and Galak had been fighting successfully as a General for a long time now - too long.

They both deserved better and he'd only ever known Tathra to give those what they deserved most. His eyes couldn't help but move to the larger Brute, seemingly nervous as much as he tried to hide it.

"Relax, Captain." The Brute whispered under his breath.

 

[Sarask Hiskt]

Objective: Introspection

Post: 5

Tags: No one in particular

It seemed as though she had made another enemy this day. Good. It kept her on her toes, a lax hunter was a weak hunter. A dead hunter. She walked past the tables, her wrist ached a little. She looked at it. It seemed as though a bit of the crystalline had cracked when she was grabbed. Interesting. She plucked one of the pieces out for it to heal. It was hot. She didn’t like the air breezing on the flesh beneath, but there wasn’t much she could do about it other than to let it heal.

She strode back to her hiding spot, still nabbing a bit of worm or other morsels from people’s plates while they weren’t looking. She didn’t risk another lesson like before. She wasn’t sure whether her arms could handle it. At least she knew that the Shark Head wasn’t lax. She didn’t even know the name of the one whose head she pushed into his plate. She’d have to remember his face, just in case.

That was the aim of the game, after all. Keep her on her toes. Focused. Like now, stewing over the information in her head. The Shark Head forgot about her immediately after one of the Primarch arrived, so she may be safe there. Though she hoped he didn't do the same in battle. Probably not. May never know. Definitely not with the other one. She’d have to avoid spikes in the future. Avoid spikes, yes. Watch her back. Watch for his face. Rival. Enemy, perhaps. Zealot.

 

[Tathra Khaeus]

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

Two fine Warriors. Two different types of Warrior.

One he had known since his hatching, the other he had come to know through prowess and ruthlessness. Galak was a soldier, an uncompromising leader that lead his troops to success no matter the personal cost. Time and time again the Brute General proved his worth and skill as a Draelvasier and a Brute. For such things are mutually inclusive, it made him a spectacular specimen.

Krael was a beast, one that required direction. Youth and a stern hostility had granted him many gifts. This would instead be a reward based on the merit of action - not musing mutational gifts.

A low growl emanated from the depths of the Titans chest. He was unfazed, Tathra had seen many Warriors of the Draelvasier in his time. He had seen those greater than the two subjects who came before him now - but that was irrelevant, their purpose extended beyond that of combat. Opaque eyes looked down at the two Baedurin before him. Steam rolled off the ancient Drael's tongue, a hot puff of air intertwining with the gaseous red vapour twirling around the Beard of his Axe. In the grand silence, the only sounds to be heard were the crackling micro-explosions of kinetic energy pulses within the crystalline blade held only half a metre from the bowed heads of his subjects.

In truth, Tathra knew both Galak and Krael were less so overwhelmingly deserving of his recognition and were in truth, prime examples. Staples to follow. Beacons of the strength brought by the upholding of the tenants. A guideline he would hope to be seen as more attainable by their kin.

Aureate eyes shifted to Krael, the large Drael neared Tathra's height even when bowed. Yet he smelled the stench of fear around him all the same. One born of ignorance than practicality, one born of the unknowns. This was no surprise, the air grew dense around Tathra; like a gravity well pushing everything to the ground. His mutated eyes noting the pacing of the Captains heart beat with mild amusement.

"General Galak, Captain Vizkla. You have both acted as exemplars of our ways. You have both lead and fought well!" Tathra declared proudly and loud - his powerful bellow reverberating through the silent corridors and the canyon below, he held out the Axe in space between the heads of the two Brutes.

The molten vapour encircling, testing them - even now, he pushed them. But Tathra also reminded them that discomfort and pain were pathways to progress. Every moment was an education. He would dispense with the foolish pleasantries.

"Rise now, as Captain Vizkla. Rise now as Marauder, Galak!"

 

[Osam]

Post 5

The zealot didn't catch him off-guard this time around. When the approaching Draelvasier figure seemingly came forth from the shadows, the Sraelvun's eyes were locked onto its position. Of course, the Major was on high alert in the presence of so many of its superiors, seemingly expecting one of them to jump out and strike at him at any given moment for having the audacity to appear in the same region as the beloved Chieftain, let alone the same structure. Nevertheless, he had been summoned to this place, and he was under obligation to appear if he intended to grow beyond his current subservient station.

Unarmed except for the sickle claws that tipped his hands, the Sraelvun entered into the confines of the structure, humbly stepping behind the zealot sent to retrieve him from his hiding place, intentionally staying almost too close to it in order to give the impression to others that they were together. If the zealot realized, it didn't bother him with acknowledgment, perhaps focused on the task at hand, or perhaps deeming it entirely unnecessary to scold a mere drone for something as ridiculous as following too well.

The pair arrived roughly in time to see the dismissal of Hraelga Nacht , though the Sraelvun remained beyond the entrance of the room proper, out of sight of the Chieftain and his most loyal and mighty companions. Osam simply waited there in the hallway, pressing himself against the wall so as not to prevent anyone who needed to pass inside to see the almighty leader of the Bryn'adul, and thereby drawing less attention to himself in the process. From the sound of things, it seemed as though his patron's attempts at conversation had ended poorly, but... others had quickly taken her place, speaking about other matters which didn't concern the Sraelvun.

And so, once again, Osam found himself waiting just behind a doorway, out of sight of his superiors, like vermin scrounging through the walls of a rotten building, hoping that he would be able to find his rewards, and not be stamped upon by irritated residents.