Day One: Part 1

[Okor]

Okor rolled his massive shoulders, the bulky survival bag slung across his shoulders. Its weight was easily manageable by a being of his stature. The pilots of the aircraft had complained vehemently about his smell, but some things just couldn't be helped. They seemed to be rather ecstatic to be rid of him, shoving him from the craft before he had a chance to step off of it himself. He brought the duffel bag around to his front, and checked its contents. Nutrition, water, map, comp- Oh. His rotting mouth opening in a savage grin beneath his helmet, he lifted his gift from the bag, and shoved it into his tabard. Surely it had some greater purpose than apparent. It was doubtful they would give someone of his standing a simple toy. That would be simple madness. Pouring the water and nutrients into an induction port, he began his heavy tread towards his destination.

His boots sunk into the soft earth as he shambled up the incline, leaving invigorated vegetation in his footsteps. Was this all the challenge this island had to offer? Hills? Chuckling to himself, he began to think of his allies...

Galel. A Thousand Sons, long since divorced from mortal struggles, seceding from the world on their planet of sorcerers. While their arcane prowess was undeniable, he was unsure if their martial proficiency had vanished in those long centuries poring over forbidden lore. While he found Tzeentchians unsavory, he had little choice but to ally with them in this arena. Still, what exactly made Tzeentchians tick? All they accomplished were temporary things, building glimmering towers that fell to the ground the moment entropy claimed their constructor, weaving magick that, while impressive, did more harm than good. The Rubric of Ahriman was an ideal example of this, turning most of their legion to ash in the blink of an eye. It was simply better in the long term to embrace the inevitable end, in order to never meet it. Better the Daemon you know than the Daemon you don't.

Tartaros. Luna Wolf, and that was curious. The Legion had followed their Primarch Horus into Chaos, with only a rare few individuals staying loyal and escaping the first act of the 'Heresy' of Istvaan. Was he one of them? A twice-traitor? It was a worrying thought. Could someone such as he break the bonds of brotherhood, betray his Primarch, and turn to the Corpse-Emperor? No. He must have faith in his brother. Whatever his past may have been, it hardly mattered now. All he could do was hope that the loyalty of the Legions would see him keep his oaths of alliance in this strange, new realm.. Little to do but trust.

Ah, but the time for idle wondering was over. He crested the hill, spotting his destination. Eying the building, he began to circle it. While unfortunate, he could not have anything impede his victory. He began to move forward, cautiously seeking whatever foes may lurk here. None would stop him. He began to gather his energies in his fist, although they would hopefully be unneeded.