First Reply Omens of the Fallen

[Amra Sar Azrael]

​

Only the dead have seen the end of war - Azrael remembered the line from one of the tomes he was studying at Fortress Vasmenor as a young squire. It was a philosophical ideal of war undoing all good in people and it having no true victors at the end. It was one of the hints he took in between studying the art of killing and receiving lectures of how killing is bad. Hypocrisy.

Since then he had marched across several battlefields and through campaigns, thanking his early martial education but praising what he had claimed for himself. The path of a Sith does not lead one through dogmatic adherence or petty half-truths, it was a reality one could choose. Azrael had chosen. The dead were not the ones who saw the end of war, but who pathed the way to victory. There was honour in the death of those who fought for the truth, honour in loyalty, in sacrifice and brotherhood.

He knelt in silence in front of the shrine, a single candle lit, it's flickering light breaking in the sword which hilt his face was resting against. The cavern he was in was carved out of the bedrock, pure stone finely hammered and melted away to fit a small temple in there with a single room. The origins or builder lost to the aeons, the face of the single statue he knelt in front, unknown, only hints of a cape, hood and a bladed weapon remaining.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Amra Sar Azrael

Gerwald passed through the mouth of the cave following a sense and presence which was unknown to him. The force drew him toward this place, but the reason for it was still a mystery. The cool and damp atmosphere of the rocky sanctuary reminded him of a dream long past. The dead had been here, or remained. He knew the hand of death, what it could do, and the chill it left behind. Pain of loss was not something this place knew. No, it had been a shrine to some deity at one point in time, the Dread Wolf was certain of that fact.

A lone figure knelt at the ruined altar just in front of a broken and weathered statue. Gerwald could not place the warrior as his back was turned, but the armor seemed familiar. The visage on the statue could not be identified. Whatever features the face once held were washed away by centuries of erosion. The candle which burned was the only thing which did not seem to be ancient history, yet it did not seem out of place.

The Dread Wolf stood beside the kneeling man. His eyes were trained forward on the shrine.

"And which dead god do we honor today?"

There were those among the Sith which mixed religion without their practice. Was this one? For his own part, Gerwald had long abandoned the gods of Stewjon and those his species had invented. He knew what he was, and no divine creator had brought him into being. The Lupo had evolved from an abandoned Sith experiment. He could respect those who needed the comfort of their practice, but he found no use for it.

 

[Amra Sar Azrael]

Gerwald Lechner​

The moment his senses picked up the footsteps behind him, the grip around the hilt of his blade tightened, black armored fingers clutching the weapon tighter in readiness to defend himself. The aura of familiarity, of the Dark side swept in with the figure, cold and menacing. It did not put him at ease, but suggested that the threat was less imminent. Azrael did not trust any Sith or Dark siders, but he believed in their reason rather than dogmatism.

His eyes had opened when the stranger entered but he kept the head down and his gaze forward, silently following the approach without given off a motion of himself. Though he would emit a feeling of readiness and willingness to fight, a calm before the storm if it should be necessary. Azrael was confident in his speed and technique and the protection of his black armor. The voice which spoke, was familiar, the realisation of who came before him, clear.

"Only the blind would trust into what they cannot see." His deep, gravelly voice answered in its deliberately slow pace and added after a pause. "Lord Wrath."

The dark paladin rose to his full height, the armor clanking and buzzing as it supported his every move. Azrael looked down towards Lechner and offered a brief bow of his head, the bright eyes shining with their characteristic sternness and ambition. The gesture was a show of respect, not submission.

"I honour war and my devotion to it. Only in the fires of conflict our minds and bodies are forged into the weapons they are. My Order believes in nothing less and I do not tolerate anything else among them. War is our judge. Here I simply reflect upon it."

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Amra Sar Azrael

The answer pleased the Wolf and drew a slight smile. This one understood rank and file, how to show deference and respect to the chain of command. He was a good soldier. The Sith Order needed good soldiers. Gerwald's Second Legion needed good soldiers. It also needed warriors who could lead. Perhaps if this one proved himself valuable in that capacity he would find an invitation few had received thus far.

When the Sith brought up war and conflict the Dread Wolf did not make any attempt to challenge his thinking. While he had learned over time it was over simplified view of how one was forged, there was more truth to the statement than fiction. Comfort did nit build character, it cheapened it. Many powerful figures from days past were now nothing more than a memory on the galactic stage because of complacency. It had been the lavish lives and the arrogance of thinking they were invincible which had led to their demise.

Even Sith fell victim to it.

Gerwald adjusted his stance to look at the man. The way he carried himself was impressive. Everything about him screamed that his life had been spent learning the way of war. He had been honed and sculpted to be the perfect killing machine, yet the Dread Wolf could see the pensive nature the paladin held onto. Like the Sith Lord, this soldier was not just fodder for the weapon. He was a hand to guide it, to wield it.

"Your order? Forgive my ignorance. We have not had occasion to cross paths often. I am unfamiliar. Tell me of this order of yours."

If the Wolf was intimidated by the soldier it did not show. Gerwald had felled many a foe, and many a monster.

 

[Amra Sar Azrael]

Gerwald Lechner​

Pride was a luxury. A luxury a warrior and leader could ill afford. Therefore Azrael was not insulted or offended by the Emperor's Wrath not knowing about his small order, he did not lead them to the battlefields of the Galaxy yet and had spent the past year in preparation for it. For him, the Sith did not value half-measures nor wasted potential.

The Rhobarian kept his hand, relaxed, on the sword which still stood in front of him, a calm stance. His eyes stayed on the Sith Lord, the gaze not lowering, not faltering in the presence of an accomplished, powerful being such as this Dark Lord. He may not carry the title but he embodied it with every inch and second of his life. It was awe-inspiring, not overwhelming but encouraging, sparking the ambition in Azrael himself.

"The Order of the Dreadhost, originating on the world of Rhobar II. A rather unimportant feudal planet South of Jutrand. We have been Knights, protectors of our people from beast, pirate and monster alike but hypocrisy and complacency paralyzed the minds of the leaders. After I returned from the Sith Academy, I reforged their hearts into an asset for the Sith Empire."

The voice resonated through measured pace, calculating and reflecting upon its very meaning. It was not sluggish or stuttered, but for no second it seemed like Azrael had to consider what he was saying.

"I am Azrael, Sith Knight and Grand Master of the Dreadhost."

Ash blonde hair, bright yellow highlighting his affliction and embrace of the Dark side, a weathered face which suggested a life of hardship rather than halls and banquettes. With cybernetic parts covering his right temple and side of head around gruesome looking scars Azrael seemed to live up to what he stated. His armor was beautiful, covering him from neck to toe, it was of black metal, gold and silver trim highlighting origins unknown and it was partly covered by a red tabard.

He felt oddly comfortable in the presence of the warrior. He was stiff and in a way, at attention, but it was the feeling in his gut of a mutual being that stood in front of him. Older and further down the path, but not too dissimilar.

 

[Gerwald Lechner]

TAG: Amra Sar Azrael

The warrior stood about 8 inches taller than the Dread Wolf. It was an impressive height to be sure. He was built like a tank. His Order seemed to be built for what the man symbolized. Gerwald nodded at the answer and started for the cave’s exit.

“There are many planets which have warriors to offer the Sith Order, but not many which boast to be trained by a graduate of the Academy.”

If the warrior wanted to follow him, he could. There was something he could do for the Wolf. Hopefully the warrior would be interested in knowing there was glory ahead for his order if he wanted to walk down the path Gerwald was taking.

“I have taken hold of the Second Legion. I have made it mine. I require warriors and berserkers as much as I need those who can command ships. The Sith Order broke the back of the Rimward Trade League, but their worlds remain free. They have resources our order needs. They have planets I want.”

The Dread Wolf held out a coin with the insignia of the Second Legion on it. It was more like a puck, allowing Azrael to find the location where new recruits were meeting. He did not have to accept it of course, but the Wolf hoped that he did.

“It seems you know who I am by reputation. If you think you need to earn the chit, then follow me outside and prove your worth.”

 

[Amra Sar Azrael]

Gerwald Lechner​

Sar Azrael listened solemnly. The stoic, sulphuric gaze remaining on the Wolf as he was issuing an offer to the Grand Master, an offer of a place in his Legion. He had seen reports of the Second Legion, of the so-called Jutrand Raiders. Their record has been fresh, but inspiring, even though a 'raider' was not exactly fitting the description Azrael envisioned for himself and his Order.

But there was no discipline of combat he and his Knights could not master. Before long they would be Legion and they would lead the speartip of the Sith against the enemy.

His gaze lowered to the coin and its symbol. He had not heard of this token before, a slip in his meticulous preparation that was unacceptable, but for the moment he swallowed his failure and listened further. Did he challenge him? To see how capable he was?

"I do not believe I need to earn it, I deserve it. But words are just that and every Sith and every Knight of my Order better back up their words with action."

With that Azrael turned, his dark bladed sword held below the handguard and headed out, ready to face the Dread Wolf.