05-26-2015, 10:13 AM
The ride in the aircraft had been a short one, relatively speaking. The blackened windows were nothing new, in fact, the idea of windows in the transport compartment was a new one. Thunderhawks had no such structural weaknesses, instead opting for video cameras on the outside hull that sent their feed to the Heads-up-Display on the Space Marine's helmets. Even the Valkyrie transports of the Imperial Guard didn't have windows, and instead had viewscreens inside the troop compartments. That any culture advanced enough to produce aircraft would provide windows anywhere except for the Cockpit was a mystery to Galel, although he supposed that if this craft was not military, it could explain the egregious oversight.
Soon enough he felt the aircraft descend, and he sat up, his millenia-old power armour creaking as it scraped against itself. The seats had been too small for him, so he had been forced to sit on the floor. His books had been confiscated by the organizers before he boarded the aircraft, so his mind had time to wander, examining the beings he had met during his travel to the competition; Okor, Tartaros, and Carn Val.
Okor, the plague marine, herald of Nurgle and member of the Death Guard legion. An infested hive of scum and filth, but a consistent one. He seemed the most easily trusted of the three, and the most likely to keep his promises. Nurglites were always consistent, of course. Consistent to the point of boredom, in Galel's opinion, but he had never truly hated them. Opposed them, fought them? Of course, but that was the will of his god, and so he must obey. Despite the differences, however, he liked Okor the most of all three potential allies, and thus made a mental note to avoid betraying him.
Tartaros, the Luna Wolf, an enigma wrapped in a mystery, but not very well. Perhaps the least trustworthy of the group, and the one Galel would always be watching. His iconography and colours were too old, too worn to be made out clearly, but he was clearly offended by his Primarch's name. Such a thing was the province of the rare intersection of loyalist and traitor, the renegades who turn their back on all things. They were the worst of all space marines, unwilling to acknowledge the betrayal of the corpse-emperor and accept the light of the Dark Gods, and unwilling to defend their former master's domain. Tartaros would likely betray both Okor and Galel, given the chance.
Carn Val, the 'Anomaly', the Warpspawn. A mystery cloaked in a riddle hidden within an enigma, and very well. An unknown factor, and one that could prove to be the downfall of any schemes he made. Best to keep it at arms length, no closer, no further. The wild card in his plans, but a promising prospect that would need to be researched further.
The aircraft slowed and thudded against the ground, jolting Galel from his thoughts as the door opened and air rushed into the craft. "Alright, we're here. Good luck big guy, you'll need it!" One of the attendants said, patting him on the lower Pauldron. Galel nodded to the attendant. "Watch for my brethren and I, and watch closely." Galel said, grinning beneath his helmet and striding out of the craft. He slung his duffel bag onto the ground in front of him, looking inside and examining its contents. Nutrients, Fluids, a Map, and a Compass. He thought as air rushed down towards him, blowing the map about. Had be not been holding on to it, it would've been blown clear away. As it was, the map tore ever so slightly. Galel frown, glancing behind him as the Aircraft began to ascend and leave him. Now, to find Alpha, Omega Lamba...
The Sorcerer looked back to the map, the rapid chopping sound of the aircraft's rotor blades fading away quickly. A large red X marked his current location, causing him to raise an eyebrow. Interesting. He pondered, and then folded the map and placed it back in his bag. Standing, he examined his surroundings. A small clearing greeted him, obviously cleared prior to the competition to be used as a drop-off point, as evident by several nearby stumps. Galel checked him compass, then nodded and turned right, setting off. I'll scout the structure, and then head to the rendezvous point. He noted, his walk speeding into a run. The loud clang of metal could be heard, and were he walking on a structure, the floor would've shaken beneath the weight of the Astartes.
Soon enough he felt the aircraft descend, and he sat up, his millenia-old power armour creaking as it scraped against itself. The seats had been too small for him, so he had been forced to sit on the floor. His books had been confiscated by the organizers before he boarded the aircraft, so his mind had time to wander, examining the beings he had met during his travel to the competition; Okor, Tartaros, and Carn Val.
Okor, the plague marine, herald of Nurgle and member of the Death Guard legion. An infested hive of scum and filth, but a consistent one. He seemed the most easily trusted of the three, and the most likely to keep his promises. Nurglites were always consistent, of course. Consistent to the point of boredom, in Galel's opinion, but he had never truly hated them. Opposed them, fought them? Of course, but that was the will of his god, and so he must obey. Despite the differences, however, he liked Okor the most of all three potential allies, and thus made a mental note to avoid betraying him.
Tartaros, the Luna Wolf, an enigma wrapped in a mystery, but not very well. Perhaps the least trustworthy of the group, and the one Galel would always be watching. His iconography and colours were too old, too worn to be made out clearly, but he was clearly offended by his Primarch's name. Such a thing was the province of the rare intersection of loyalist and traitor, the renegades who turn their back on all things. They were the worst of all space marines, unwilling to acknowledge the betrayal of the corpse-emperor and accept the light of the Dark Gods, and unwilling to defend their former master's domain. Tartaros would likely betray both Okor and Galel, given the chance.
Carn Val, the 'Anomaly', the Warpspawn. A mystery cloaked in a riddle hidden within an enigma, and very well. An unknown factor, and one that could prove to be the downfall of any schemes he made. Best to keep it at arms length, no closer, no further. The wild card in his plans, but a promising prospect that would need to be researched further.
The aircraft slowed and thudded against the ground, jolting Galel from his thoughts as the door opened and air rushed into the craft. "Alright, we're here. Good luck big guy, you'll need it!" One of the attendants said, patting him on the lower Pauldron. Galel nodded to the attendant. "Watch for my brethren and I, and watch closely." Galel said, grinning beneath his helmet and striding out of the craft. He slung his duffel bag onto the ground in front of him, looking inside and examining its contents. Nutrients, Fluids, a Map, and a Compass. He thought as air rushed down towards him, blowing the map about. Had be not been holding on to it, it would've been blown clear away. As it was, the map tore ever so slightly. Galel frown, glancing behind him as the Aircraft began to ascend and leave him. Now, to find Alpha, Omega Lamba...
The Sorcerer looked back to the map, the rapid chopping sound of the aircraft's rotor blades fading away quickly. A large red X marked his current location, causing him to raise an eyebrow. Interesting. He pondered, and then folded the map and placed it back in his bag. Standing, he examined his surroundings. A small clearing greeted him, obviously cleared prior to the competition to be used as a drop-off point, as evident by several nearby stumps. Galel checked him compass, then nodded and turned right, setting off. I'll scout the structure, and then head to the rendezvous point. He noted, his walk speeding into a run. The loud clang of metal could be heard, and were he walking on a structure, the floor would've shaken beneath the weight of the Astartes.