The Temple of Artemis(Pre-Event/Intro Thread)

[Okor]

Beneath his oxidized helmet, Okor sneered at the assassin. Venom, both literal, and metaphorical dripped from his words as he looked down upon the belligerent brat standing before him. ”Wolfe.” The abominable oculus of the Plague Marine bore down on the youth, analyzing and cataloguing every mortal failing contained within the lean figure. It was not a quick endeavour. During their brief time together, Wolfe had quickly demonstrated a complete lack of honour, skill, and loyalty. How in the six circles of Slaanesh’s sick and twisted realm did this failure gain entrance to the Institute? At least the Gods were merciful enough to restrict the waste of life from his own department. He gave silent praise to the Ruinous powers, as the rage and annoyance that had built up inside of him with every second of existence in this damnable mockery of reality threatened to boil over. ”Is it not… Ironic? A kingslayer, a traitor, and a…. Coward, should be given the task of uniting this hellscape.” A gnarled finger, parasites crawling beneath the dessicated skin, jabbed in the direction of the alabaster-clad girl guarding her crimson companion. ”That young woman is… ten times the warrior than you could ever be, Assassin.” He twisted his decayed head towards the impassive visage of his subordinate, blank eyes betraying no emotion towards current events. Was he incapable of showing it? Or were they simply wise enough to hide any objections? Either way, they certainly seemed to carry themselves as a veteran of a Long war. Not The Long War, but a conflict worthy of respect, nonetheless.

This realm was not his own. Such a relentless assault against one of his comrades, no matter just how incompetent they proved themselves to be, would be unlikely to be tolerated. In the Screaming Vortex, a ‘man’ such as this would have been drained, skinned, and worn as a damned hat before the day was out. What remained would have been rendered into ritualistic materials, or protein paste to sustain lives that somehow mattered even less than Wolfe's. That would not be allowed here, to his dismay. Laws aside from the whims of the strong existed here, shackling and restraining basic human nature. Perhaps it was for the better. Tearing off Victor’s small skull would only mean he would have to endure some horrific pun three days after that moment of blessed relief. It was but another reason to topple the reign of the Smiling One, to bring back the blissful release of true death.

His claw moved swiftly, changing its target from Weiss to Victor, its pointed nail stopping just short of disgustingly soft, pale flesh. ”I give you a single chance, Kingslayer.” The giant hissed. ”Today, you redeem yourself. I took care to leave your spine intact when we fought, whelp. This is the day you… show it. Prove yourself worthy of the Omnillium cursing your veins.” He ceased his triade, the anger slowly seeping from him like a lanced boil. Sigil-emblazoned shoulders slumped, abandoning the aggressive posture the ancient warrior had so readily slipped into.

He turned once more to the Huntress, his cataract-laden cornea twitching as it settled upon her guarded posture, gazing upon the woman behind her. Weiss displayed an admirable loyalty to her friends, even if her opposition towards himself was misplaced. ”Strength in numbers, Schnee. Strength in Strength.” A hint of mirth creeped into his rasping voice, adding a sliver of humanity to the unhallowed ululation stemming from his ravaged form. ”I can… assure you, we have both in abundance.” Well, perhaps Victor detracted from their sum. Nonetheless, they were still in a strong position. Organization, power, and loyalty. Adding one as capable as his former opponent would be more than enough to guarantee victory, in his eye.