>>6006211>1/2It is an ill omen. His father is well known for his prophetic bouts, and this premonition should be taken seriously.
The golden light, undoubtedly a symbol for the Imperium. And the dark the forces of his enemies, disparate polities beyond Terra’s light, recidivists chafing under its rule, and xenos who would wipe humanity out in an instant.
The galaxy is as treacherous as it ever was. The matter is settled.
With mind set the legionary stands, and moves to the personal armorium connected to his chamber. The room is marginally more spacious, and is home to a variety of lockers, maintenance tools, and hygienic facilities.
He makes his way to the latter area, and begins cleansing himself. The process is swift, his robe is removed and discarded to be cleaned by the serfs at some point later in the day. A cleansing with soap and water follows, then a douse of scented oils and other accouterments.
Nails are clipped, and he moves to his head, with pale skin, dark hair and black eyes. Shaving takes but a moment, and his hair is set into place with the aid of a simple brush.
With ablutions finished he moves to a locker, drawing out an immense body-glove. The black pseudo-fabric and circuitry easily fits into place around his body, and over the plugs that allow him to interface with his war gear.
He moves to a larger locker now, and activates the twinned servitors attached to it. They rouse with a series of clicks, jerking movements, and grunts, coming to attention as two heavily armored doors swing open. Within lies his panoply, artificer wrought power armor of deepest blue. It is bedecked in lightning, mammalian wings, red, gold, and striking bone. The badge of the Night Lords sits proud upon one pauldron, the winged skull of Curze.
To a mortal it is terror manifest. A monster from the depths of their nightmares, the Emperor’s ultimate sanction.
His cousins would likely note the company and chapter markings borne upon it, marking him as Captain of the 34th company, and Lord Regent of the 13th Chapter of his Legion. Some would further ridicule or praise the decoration based on personal taste and the standards of their own fathers.
But to his brothers, the plate is worthy of naught but scorn and mockery. The bright and inescapable red of his gauntlets proof of his status. An execution that is only temporarily stayed. The same as his subordinate brothers.
With a sigh he banishes further thought on the matter, it was already decided. Stepping forward the armoring process begins automatically, and he takes a moment to further consider his plate.
