- Pronouns
- Eldritch/Horror
- TNP Nation
- Yamantau/The Black Cathedral
- Discord
- Mercy#2357
“Who's will do you serve?” the Warcaller shouted, pacing back and forth across the landing of the great staircase. The green armor clad titans before him stood shoulder to shoulder, rifles held tightly across their chestplates. They stood in their battle groups, forty wide, forty deep, with just enough space between the groups for a roaming priest to swing a thurible side to side, the smell of the clove-tinged incense filling the air.
“The Queen!” they answered in unison, the thunder of their voices rising to the high arches of the cathedral, adorned with Gnesi motifs.
“What is the Queen's will?!” asked the Warcaller, as he scanned over the seemingly endless sea of soldiers.
“To do our duty to those who saved us!” came the reply. The dim lights reflected off the polished surface of their armor, the pauldrons bearing the image of a Gnesi daemon on the left side, and an image of the holy flame of eternal war on the right.
“What is your duty?!” the Warcaller demanded.
“Defense of the defenseless! Slaughter of the unjust!” the multitude called back, stamping their feet in unison to punctuate their answer.
“Today will mark a momentous occasion, brothers! Today our Queen sends us out as emissaries to the just, and as a plague to those who wish to destroy our allies! You have earned your place among the ranks of the Ephrus Pyre! Earn it again with each new dawn! Earn it through wrathful justice! Bring glory to your name! Bring glory to your brothers! Bring glory to your banner!” the Warcaller cried out, throwing his arms into the air.
The cavernous space erupted with unified shouts of the motto of the Ephrus Pyre: “Unto the anvil of war!”
The Warcaller stoked their fervor, calling for the war cry again, as the gathered chosen responded in kind. The voices of sixteen-thousand echoing off the walls.
The Gnesi overseer looked on from the balcony overhead, clicking his mandibles together in approval. The Ephrus had come a long way. From scratching around in the dirt, to being the crowning achievement of Gnesi science and technology. Tarakus, the Banner-Master of the horde stood next to the overseer, a small prideful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Tarakus had been the first of the Ephrus to be elevated. His body still bore the scars of the many surgeries that had made him what he was. He flexed his hand, feeling the metal reinforcement around his joints shift below the surface of his dark green skin.
“Are they to your liking, my lord?” Tarakus asked.
“Yes. They are most impressive, Banner-Master. How are you adjusting your new station?” the overseer remarked, turning to ask Tarakus the question.
“You have bestowed a great deal of trust in me. I will not fail the Collective.” Tarakus answered, his gaze never breaking from the still fervent Warcaller.
“That is not what I asked.” the overseer stated, his tone betraying a deeper compassion.
Tarakus finally turned to look down at the insectoid overseer, whom he towered over. “You have given us such great gifts, more than we deserved, when you handed over the command of the Pyre to me, I could think of no greater honor, but I have fear in my heart. Not of what we are asked to do, but that I may falter in what is asked of us. We cannot repay what your people have done for us, but we can hope to uphold our end of things.” Tarakus answered, before again turning to face out over the sea of deep green armor, the servos of his armor softly whirring as he moved.
The overseer clicked his mandibles together once more, knowing better than to push further. He would soon send his report back the collective, he had but to ensure the battlegroups boarded their ships and disembarked from the cathedrelian super-structure. Half of the ships would patrol Gnesi space, the other half would go where they were needed, perhaps to aid the Aremites, perhaps to exact the justice of the Queen. Either way, the Gnesi intended them only to be a force for good.
“The Queen!” they answered in unison, the thunder of their voices rising to the high arches of the cathedral, adorned with Gnesi motifs.
“What is the Queen's will?!” asked the Warcaller, as he scanned over the seemingly endless sea of soldiers.
“To do our duty to those who saved us!” came the reply. The dim lights reflected off the polished surface of their armor, the pauldrons bearing the image of a Gnesi daemon on the left side, and an image of the holy flame of eternal war on the right.
“What is your duty?!” the Warcaller demanded.
“Defense of the defenseless! Slaughter of the unjust!” the multitude called back, stamping their feet in unison to punctuate their answer.
“Today will mark a momentous occasion, brothers! Today our Queen sends us out as emissaries to the just, and as a plague to those who wish to destroy our allies! You have earned your place among the ranks of the Ephrus Pyre! Earn it again with each new dawn! Earn it through wrathful justice! Bring glory to your name! Bring glory to your brothers! Bring glory to your banner!” the Warcaller cried out, throwing his arms into the air.
The cavernous space erupted with unified shouts of the motto of the Ephrus Pyre: “Unto the anvil of war!”
The Warcaller stoked their fervor, calling for the war cry again, as the gathered chosen responded in kind. The voices of sixteen-thousand echoing off the walls.
The Gnesi overseer looked on from the balcony overhead, clicking his mandibles together in approval. The Ephrus had come a long way. From scratching around in the dirt, to being the crowning achievement of Gnesi science and technology. Tarakus, the Banner-Master of the horde stood next to the overseer, a small prideful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Tarakus had been the first of the Ephrus to be elevated. His body still bore the scars of the many surgeries that had made him what he was. He flexed his hand, feeling the metal reinforcement around his joints shift below the surface of his dark green skin.
“Are they to your liking, my lord?” Tarakus asked.
“Yes. They are most impressive, Banner-Master. How are you adjusting your new station?” the overseer remarked, turning to ask Tarakus the question.
“You have bestowed a great deal of trust in me. I will not fail the Collective.” Tarakus answered, his gaze never breaking from the still fervent Warcaller.
“That is not what I asked.” the overseer stated, his tone betraying a deeper compassion.
Tarakus finally turned to look down at the insectoid overseer, whom he towered over. “You have given us such great gifts, more than we deserved, when you handed over the command of the Pyre to me, I could think of no greater honor, but I have fear in my heart. Not of what we are asked to do, but that I may falter in what is asked of us. We cannot repay what your people have done for us, but we can hope to uphold our end of things.” Tarakus answered, before again turning to face out over the sea of deep green armor, the servos of his armor softly whirring as he moved.
The overseer clicked his mandibles together once more, knowing better than to push further. He would soon send his report back the collective, he had but to ensure the battlegroups boarded their ships and disembarked from the cathedrelian super-structure. Half of the ships would patrol Gnesi space, the other half would go where they were needed, perhaps to aid the Aremites, perhaps to exact the justice of the Queen. Either way, the Gnesi intended them only to be a force for good.