#adrian malek

[the-ossium-court]

A Contract of Bone, Passion, and Auram.

(guest appearance of Lord Adrian Malek from @the-perfect-entropy)

[Jorrun, a moment when available.]

The man could not help but flinch as he heard Tenebris' voice in his combead, looking over his opposite shoulder in anticipation of catching a glimpse of his master in some hidden corner of his peripheral vision. But no avail, either He was already gone or never truly around this part of the vessel.

Jorrun felt the eyes of his Third, a child of Caliban if believed, waiting expectantly on him. "Sire?"

"Nothing Gwain, think nothing of it. What were you speaking of just now?"

Gwain's emerald gaze was unwavering, tapping a soft rhythm on his dataplate with his free hand.

"Hmmph, I'll try. Again, Sire, I'm talking of the reports from our outposts close to the Sol Sub-sector. There has been an increase of patrols, as well as sightings of more Inquisition Acolytes,,"

"And for every Acolyte they have seen, there's surely half a dozen they haven't seen. They will be rattled, spook easily if we are uncareful. Send an encrypted ping back, start working back to their fall-back positions, ensure there is no trace of their movements."

Gwain taps a few keys onto the slate as Jorrun spoke, the deep emerald hues dancing over the screen while Gwain's superior waited to see the results.

" I will see to it that the message is sent through the proper channels. And before you ask, no, I haven't seen Korul, not since breaking fast. Anything else, Sire?"

Jorrun chuckles drly with a shake of his head, crossing his arms behind his back "Nothing else Gwain, thank you."

"May the boughs offer you shade on your journey."

With a soft smile and a great deal of practice Jorrun responds to the elden parting words to Gwain. "And may the spring waters offer you relief on your journey."

The Caliban native offers a curt bow of his head, before turning heel and trotting away.

----

"Jorrun! We meet yet again my fellow Vanquisher of the Mechanicum!"

"Lord Commander Malek, I see that you survived that little expedition. You fare well my lord?"

Jorrun does his outmost to not clench his teeth nor glare at the extravagant attire the Son of Xerxes was clad in. The amount of finely woven silk (Jorrun thinks it might not even be Synth-Silk) and gaudy baubels adoring the tall warrior was no doubt eye-wateringly expensive, but it was not all for vanity.

The choice of colors and patterns could herald one's province of birth on Xerxes, the style of rings might suggest a higher status among the hierarchy of nobles, the head scarf folded in a certain manner, even the cut of leather for which the traditional kaftans were made from might tell another Xerxian something about Lord Malek. Yes, The Dark Prince Slannesh adores vanity and pride and beauty it all things, but Malek still felt a need to be clad in his ancestors garb, plus, twas a truly special occasion: Lord Adrian Malek was to meet Jorrun's Master.

*Tenebris Rex.*

"Oh I tell you this, I fare quite well this day. My Warband are well fed, we were welcomed warmly by your fellow Warhost leaders, and I get to meet His Mightyness Tenebris Rex. Oh this has been a great day~"

Jorrun need not be a Psyker to taste the slight against his Master from Lord Malek's words. He knew full well that Malek had only a select few in his eyes as truly worthy of calling someone by their Titles. And Tenebris was maybe not among them.

"Then let us not keep my Master waiting then. Please, this way, His chambers."

Malek made a soft nod with his covered head before padding past Jorrun and the wide bulkhead doors.

The usual noise of a running vessel abruptly quietens when passing the threshold into Tenebris Rex's personal quarters. It's an eerie stillness that He has asked for, and it is unnerving for all who experienced it. Jorrun has grown fairly accustomed to this quiet but it's never truly something you an ever ignore. At first it feels as if the room was unoccupied save for Jorrun and Malek's presence, then they notice the heavy Terminator armor sat to the side of the chamber, surrounded by the flickering candles and fragrance of lit incense.

[Aah, my greetings to you, Son of Xerxes. I do hope that my own Sons have been accommodating to you and your Warband. We are oddities even among the myriad of Excommunicate Traitoris.]

Tenebris' voice seems to simply appear in the air, both emitting from the vox-hailer in the armour and inside Malek's and Jorrun's head.

"They have been warm in their welcome, Lord Tenebris. Though I did sense that a few among them were not subtle in their dislike of our more,, warp-gifted."

[This is to be expected of them, for our tenets see the uncontrolled maledictions and mutations from these so called gifts by The Dark Pantheon as hindrances to what we Astartes could attain by the will of our souls, and the purity of our bones. Those few of us given a link to the Empyrean are the exception, not the norm. I do hope you will be understanding in this, Anusiya?]

Jorrun can sense that His Master is testing, perhaps teasing Lord Malek slightly to try and gauge how he will respond to these words while being a guest aboard Tenebris' ship. Adrian did his outmost not to flinch at the casual drop of his old title he held during his time on Xerxes.

"Strange indeed are your followers, but effective. Lord Jorrun and his cohort were excellent examples of this, showing great skill and control for the whole time. It would be a great day indeed were we to fight side by side again."

It seems that Malek could take the verbal blow with grace, not rising up to the challenge. Malek was still speaking directly at the unmoving Armour, but Jorrun suddenly felt a presence to his left, a familiar presence,,

{And what if you were to fight by My side then, Paszar ol Xurok?}

Adrian Malek's eyes widened before snapping round, reaching for his blade, his eyes flashing with killing intent as the man sought out the origin of this new voice. But he barely touched the hilt of his sword when he froze in motion,, the edge of a simple dagger resting featherlight on the artery of his neck, held by a golden tanned hand.

Adrian's eyes slowly turned up, the giant before him clad in soft colored silks and crimson linens, black carapace ports jutting out from the perfectly toned flesh,, and those golden eyes that has beheld eternity, and never blinked.

"What,, what are you?"

{I, am what Terra will deny the very thought of. I am the greatest weapon to wield that Abbadon or Vashtorr will never claim. I am the Abyssal Royarch that Constantin Valdor created during the darkest hour of the Thunder Warriors.}

Adrian Malek's eyes finally beheld the sight before him. As beautiful and terrifying as the Dawn and the Night. Fair as the Sun, the Sea and the Snow upon the Mountains. Dreadful as the Storms and the Lightning that cracks the skies. All would love Him, and Obey.

Jorrun stood idly by, he too was once at the receiving end of Tenebris' overwhelming presence and the almost blinding light of the man's soul. He had no desire to feel the weight of such wroth, or to try and rescue Malek from his fate.

{I bear the name of Tribune, Companion of the Hetaeron Gaurd, Slayer of Khuresh and Thunder-Breaker of Mount Arreat. I have borne witness to the many faces of Neoth, and lived.}

{I. Am. Gilgamesh.}

[empress-of-xerxes]

The Shahmaran

Worn fingers, calloused and weathered from centuries upon centuries of conflict traced over the trim of armor that had been his during the best and most tumultuous of times. They trailed along the curve of a pauldron aged and grey that still had flecks of the once beautifully lacquered royal purple that had once presented itself across every piece of his wargear. His thumb pressed against a rivet that once held in place a symbol of bravery, victory, and most importantly that of a Legion steeped in martial prowess and the strive toward perfection. He could not recall when the Palatine Aquila had broken or shorn away. Something deep inside had told him it was in fact himself that removed it, out of spite or painful memory.

He smiled then and pressed his index finger against the symbol that now adorned the pauldron, a pentacle that held a curling snake entwined within it but was now debased in cruel mimicry and faded. He had taken his knife to it ages ago to remove the symbol of his former homeworld and yet somehow the snake would slowly find it’s way back in time only to be removed again. He tapped the symbol twice now with his index and middle finger then set the armor piece aside.

In front of him, Adrian looked over the rest of his armor with the fiery brilliance of his golden irises. Mark IV pattern Maximus, extensively modified and aged. It’s eyes once glowed in crimson lights but now shimmered in heavy rosen-gold lenses. Gone were any markings of rank, the plume or crest of his helm. Gone were any affiliation with the Children of the Emperor. He had refinished his armor to match the ashen grey of his brothers and the crimson trim of his homeworld. Only to be exiled, to be cast away from wanting more than stagnation. Indeed, even the teal that had once enwrapped his right gauntlet and up the forearm was becoming stripped away, though the shimmering scales still rattled and bristled upon the surface in a kaleidoscope of color.

Then there was the chest piece. A tunic was clasped across it’s shoulders, made of gilded lodge coins, ancient brass currency, brilliant red archeo-tokens and kept tied together and taut with silver thread. They would clink and chime as he walked speaking of the secretive lives he had taken to secure a single lodge coin or the soft sigh of his knife as he pulled it from a gods maddened techwitch. Every coin had a story and he recalled them all to the last minute detail. He was proud of his wargear. It was an extension of himself and it’s machine spirit pronounced this in every way. Always driving itself further and further, taking blows that should have killed him but simply shrugging them away. Giving precious power to life support systems that had no right to remain functional. He had shown his armor love and an attentiveness that few dared attempt in an age of constantly low resources and it repaid him handsomely. No man was ever completely immune to the damage of war but if Adrian could squeeze out any advantage then he would.

Adrian chuckled and rolled his shoulders, standing from his admired crouch and beginning the slow and arduous process of placing the suit upon himself. Every piece, every plate was done himself as serfs were almost nonexistent and slaves weren’t trustworthy. Only he was allowed to touch the armor and occasionally the odd lover. This thought made him grin now, the gilded golden fangs of his canines flashing in the lumen light. Who had been the last to touch it? An enemy or a gentle hand? He took his time with the rising memories and the process and he felt the armor appreciate his careful nature. Induction ports smoothly connected, plates never chaffed or rubbed wrongly against the black of his body glove, every piece was perfectly fitted for the man and with all of them set he felt a rise of bliss. 

He would lose a few coins. Gain a few more even. But such was the price to pay for the tally-man to look the other way. 

[the-perfect-entropy]

Dossier: Adrian Malek, "The Beautiful"

Designation: Commander, Arstibara, Anusiya

Classification: Traitoris (?)

Homeworld: Xerxes (Location Unknown. Status Unknown.)

Legion: Emperor's Children (Pre-Heresy Era)

Warband: The Perfect Entropy

Description: Dark tan skin with golden eyes. Long jet black hair, undercut on either side and pulled into dreads threaded into gold rings. Small beard and mustache. (Basically Killmonger). Both arms are marked with long service scars in ritual mutilation for the years of service for his Homeworld.

Armor: Not lacking in embellishment, Adrian's power armor is a classic MKIV dressed in faded royal purple & gold with a teal chalice emblazoned on both wrists guards. His right fist is painted black. The left side greave is studded with alternating gold and crimson while the right side has a stylized serpent coiling around it. Over his center he dons a tunic made from challenge/lodge tokens taken from former Son of Horus or affiliated members of the warrior lodges of old. His helmet is praetor-pattern with a shorn plume of crimson hair taken from a former son of Guilliman. (Rarely worn).

Weaponry: Archeotech Spindle (Voice of Echoes) that fires sharp needle like projectiles that cause sonic reverberations wherever they embed themselves. Ancient Power Lance (Wit of the Wicked) that is a reminder of who he once served as it's phoenix motif burns with every strike.

Bio: Adrian was born on the perpetual night world of Xerxes Prime and alongside his father served within the Xerxian Cohort. He showed to be an incredibly skilled swordsman and the capacity for leading that would pave the way for his eventual rank of Anusiya, a member of the royal guard known as the Red Blades.

But, it was the coming of the Emperor's Children that saw Adrian chosen and elevated as an Astartes along with hundreds of other Xerxian's in what would become the 10th Millennial. The 10th Millennial, lead by Adrian's father Xurok, proved themselves time and again as perfectionist in the art of war as their quick strikes and guileful deployments caught the eyes the Primarch who expected nothing less from the Xerxian-born. Pleased with their growing commendations, Fulgrim gifted them the moniker of the Ardent Serpents allowing for a few among them to join his Palatine Blades.

Adrian accepted this role and with it a weapon fashioned from the greatest weapon crafters in the Legion a power lance that felt as if he had always been meant to wield it. The weapon danced in his hands and with it he helped secure his Primarch across compliance after compliance.

When word came of a civil war on Xerxes, the 10th Millennial was allowed to return home to quell the rebellion. A small fleet was dispatched and Xurok lead many of the 10th toward Xerxes.

Adrian, however chose to remain at the Legion's side along with a handful of other Xerxian born. His ambitions were growing and his fondness for his homeworld was long overdue to fade.

It was curious then that Fulgrim struck Xerxes from record in all but name. It's location, population, which warriors were uplifted from there... all gone. Only the Xerxian's still beside the Primarch were allowed to remember the world for what it was and all connection with the 10th Millennial was severed.

Adrian wouldn't dare question his Primarch as to why but his suspicions only grew in the aftermath of the Laer conflict. When everything became twisted and even he found himself lost in the hedonism...

TBC...