"I must admit that it is an honor to receive a legend such as yourself," the Qol'vandav-tal said to Lord Dronos, as the two of them walked along the hallways of the magnificent Qol'rah Palace. Close to them, the Qol'ahrar stayed close to their leader, their blade-pikes ever ready. Lord Dronos wondered just how ready the guards were should an attack really occur.
"I never expected my reputation to precede me this far out in the Multiverse," he replied with a warm smile, hoping that his warmth may diffuse the tension the Qol'vandav-tal felt in his presence. Honestly, he never did want to leave such a godly impression over the Qol'rash-nai. Besides, how did he become so hero-worshipped by a race that never had revealed itself for the past thousand years or so?
The Qol'rash-nai were a big mystery. He had only recently discovered their existence as they were passing through the so-called empty Mren'datha Universe, and even so it was by sheer chance the ship detected bio-signatures on the surface of the barren world of Qol'nar. It came as to a surprise that they would find a race living here when everyone - the Technolords included - claimed that an entire Universe held no life within it. Unless they feared the Qol'rash-nai? Feared them? A race no one even knew existed? It was just like fearing the non-existent "boogeyman" of old Terran lore.
But he gave the Qol'rash-nai credit: they really SHOULD be feared. While these bipedal humanoids did not possess the technological might of the Technolords, they were still a force to be reckoned with - simply because they were a race born for the sake of war.
War flowed through their veins. War is their sole master, the one they dedicate themselves to. They were based on a culture of death, destruction and suffering - a lifetime of their history filled with countless battles between rival clans vying for control over the planet they call home. According to the Qol'vandav-tal's custodians, it was because of these long, bloody crusades that had caused their planet to fall into such a state - barely capable of supporting any life on it. The atmosphere was clouded with toxic gases that will continue to poison the air for many more generations. The soil and the oceans suffered a similar fate. Despite the wretched state of their world, the Qol'rash-nai nevertheless went on with their life of war.
Lord Dronos was still puzzled over their war-like nature. Why do they still continue? Though the Qol'vandav-tal now leads his people as a united race, there are still a small group of dissidents - the Qol'rakh-nai - that continue to adhere to the old ways. Perhaps the Qol'rash-nai will never know the meaning of true peace.
"Though we live in seclusion, Lord Dronos," the Qol'vandav-tal replied, "we still keep our ears out to the Great Beyond. Your legendary feats have indeed made yourself a name among the ranks of many - including my own men."
Lord Dronos noticed. The Qol'rash-nai looked up to him much higher than they probably revered their great leader. This idolatry, while humbling, is giving him the creeps.
"To have a legend walk among our people is indeed an honor," he added, as they stood to pause at a balcony facing the palace gardens, a beautiful little paradise on a barren rock.
Lord Dronos smiled disarmingly. "Please now," he remarked, "I am just a mere mortal in the end. You and I are not much different in any way."
"We have our differences, Lord Dronos," came the warmaster's nonchalant reply. "The principles that define me are incomparable to yours. You are an aristocrat, a man of peace, one who would not take up his sword unless the situation demands it. I, however, am born of war. The glory of battle runs through my veins, and nothing can satiate my thirst for it."
Lord Dronos nodded in understanding.
"But what if," he decided to ask, "at the end of the Armageddon, when it does come, peace and order are finally restored to the Multiverse, what of your people? They cannot continue to live as a culture of war in that era."
The Qol'vandav-tal nodded, his eyes gazing distantly into the horizon. "I do not believe that my people will live to enjoy such a time."
The Savior of the Multiverse was taken aback. "Why?" was all he could ask.
The Qol'vandav-tal looked back at him, hands on the balcony rails. "When the End of Days dawns, my people are prophesied to be the very first to charge into the Great Battle. Our fates have been sealed to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, and so shall it be."
"I do not believe that the end of your race would be destined as such," Lord Dronos answered, still unsure of the warlord's words.
The Qol'vandav-tal laughed, heartily. "For the mightiest man the Multiverse has seen, you are indeed a skeptic yourself!"
Lord Dronos laughed as well, scratching his head.
"Mere mortals have reason to question the scales of fate, do we not?" he replied.
"Even if it has already been set?"
"I do not believe that Fate's hand would have already dealt the cards; only point us to where we may be headed."
The warlord shook his head.
"Do you really think so, Lord Dronos? And would you say that you becoming the Savior has already been destined?"
Lord Dronos opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't. That very question made him remember that it was never his choice. He never wanted to become the Savior of the Multiverse in the first place. Though the responsibility has grown into him, he cannot help but wonder if Fate had already signed him up for all this.
The Qol'vandav-tal stood up and walked towards Lord Dronos. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, the Qol'vandav-tal looked him in the eyes.
"You are still young, Lord Dronos," he began, "and I can tell you that this Multiverse we inhabit possesses secrets we may never fathom in the long run. Fate is unkind. Fate is unjust. It is true we are the masters of our own fate. But ultimately, is it our choice? Or has it already been fated? Even I, who have lived over five centuries, cannot find a real answer. Or are we destined to find it after all?
"Heed my advice, Savior: there is yet a long road ahead of you. Just because you command one of the finest armies the Mutliverse has ever seen does not make you a capable leader. Just because you are a gifted psyker does not make you the master of all Life. Just because you banished the Darksun into an eternity of imprisonment does not make you a hero. In the end, we are still the victims of Fate. Any day, you may lose command of your glorious army, or admit defeat to another psyker, or fail to see the return of the Darksun - if it is such.
"Do not stop here, Lord Dronos. The journey is not over yet."
The Qol'vandav-tal patted Lord Dronos' shoulder and began to walk off, his guards keeping close to him.
Lord Dronos stood there and began to ponder the words of the Qol'vandav-tal, wondering if he would ever finally understand its secrets after all.
* * *
Being the only one to have visited the Qol'rash-nai homeworld, Lord Dronos compiled all that he has seen and heard in his journal - which is now missing after the recent Fall of DRONOS Ultima. After he departed from their homeworld, no one had ever set foot again on the barren world of Qol'nar ever again. However, there have been a number of sightings of Qol'rash-nai mercenaries out in the Multiverse, though not much else is known of them.
"I never expected my reputation to precede me this far out in the Multiverse," he replied with a warm smile, hoping that his warmth may diffuse the tension the Qol'vandav-tal felt in his presence. Honestly, he never did want to leave such a godly impression over the Qol'rash-nai. Besides, how did he become so hero-worshipped by a race that never had revealed itself for the past thousand years or so?
The Qol'rash-nai were a big mystery. He had only recently discovered their existence as they were passing through the so-called empty Mren'datha Universe, and even so it was by sheer chance the ship detected bio-signatures on the surface of the barren world of Qol'nar. It came as to a surprise that they would find a race living here when everyone - the Technolords included - claimed that an entire Universe held no life within it. Unless they feared the Qol'rash-nai? Feared them? A race no one even knew existed? It was just like fearing the non-existent "boogeyman" of old Terran lore.
But he gave the Qol'rash-nai credit: they really SHOULD be feared. While these bipedal humanoids did not possess the technological might of the Technolords, they were still a force to be reckoned with - simply because they were a race born for the sake of war.
War flowed through their veins. War is their sole master, the one they dedicate themselves to. They were based on a culture of death, destruction and suffering - a lifetime of their history filled with countless battles between rival clans vying for control over the planet they call home. According to the Qol'vandav-tal's custodians, it was because of these long, bloody crusades that had caused their planet to fall into such a state - barely capable of supporting any life on it. The atmosphere was clouded with toxic gases that will continue to poison the air for many more generations. The soil and the oceans suffered a similar fate. Despite the wretched state of their world, the Qol'rash-nai nevertheless went on with their life of war.
Lord Dronos was still puzzled over their war-like nature. Why do they still continue? Though the Qol'vandav-tal now leads his people as a united race, there are still a small group of dissidents - the Qol'rakh-nai - that continue to adhere to the old ways. Perhaps the Qol'rash-nai will never know the meaning of true peace.
"Though we live in seclusion, Lord Dronos," the Qol'vandav-tal replied, "we still keep our ears out to the Great Beyond. Your legendary feats have indeed made yourself a name among the ranks of many - including my own men."
Lord Dronos noticed. The Qol'rash-nai looked up to him much higher than they probably revered their great leader. This idolatry, while humbling, is giving him the creeps.
"To have a legend walk among our people is indeed an honor," he added, as they stood to pause at a balcony facing the palace gardens, a beautiful little paradise on a barren rock.
Lord Dronos smiled disarmingly. "Please now," he remarked, "I am just a mere mortal in the end. You and I are not much different in any way."
"We have our differences, Lord Dronos," came the warmaster's nonchalant reply. "The principles that define me are incomparable to yours. You are an aristocrat, a man of peace, one who would not take up his sword unless the situation demands it. I, however, am born of war. The glory of battle runs through my veins, and nothing can satiate my thirst for it."
Lord Dronos nodded in understanding.
"But what if," he decided to ask, "at the end of the Armageddon, when it does come, peace and order are finally restored to the Multiverse, what of your people? They cannot continue to live as a culture of war in that era."
The Qol'vandav-tal nodded, his eyes gazing distantly into the horizon. "I do not believe that my people will live to enjoy such a time."
The Savior of the Multiverse was taken aback. "Why?" was all he could ask.
The Qol'vandav-tal looked back at him, hands on the balcony rails. "When the End of Days dawns, my people are prophesied to be the very first to charge into the Great Battle. Our fates have been sealed to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, and so shall it be."
"I do not believe that the end of your race would be destined as such," Lord Dronos answered, still unsure of the warlord's words.
The Qol'vandav-tal laughed, heartily. "For the mightiest man the Multiverse has seen, you are indeed a skeptic yourself!"
Lord Dronos laughed as well, scratching his head.
"Mere mortals have reason to question the scales of fate, do we not?" he replied.
"Even if it has already been set?"
"I do not believe that Fate's hand would have already dealt the cards; only point us to where we may be headed."
The warlord shook his head.
"Do you really think so, Lord Dronos? And would you say that you becoming the Savior has already been destined?"
Lord Dronos opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn't. That very question made him remember that it was never his choice. He never wanted to become the Savior of the Multiverse in the first place. Though the responsibility has grown into him, he cannot help but wonder if Fate had already signed him up for all this.
The Qol'vandav-tal stood up and walked towards Lord Dronos. Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, the Qol'vandav-tal looked him in the eyes.
"You are still young, Lord Dronos," he began, "and I can tell you that this Multiverse we inhabit possesses secrets we may never fathom in the long run. Fate is unkind. Fate is unjust. It is true we are the masters of our own fate. But ultimately, is it our choice? Or has it already been fated? Even I, who have lived over five centuries, cannot find a real answer. Or are we destined to find it after all?
"Heed my advice, Savior: there is yet a long road ahead of you. Just because you command one of the finest armies the Mutliverse has ever seen does not make you a capable leader. Just because you are a gifted psyker does not make you the master of all Life. Just because you banished the Darksun into an eternity of imprisonment does not make you a hero. In the end, we are still the victims of Fate. Any day, you may lose command of your glorious army, or admit defeat to another psyker, or fail to see the return of the Darksun - if it is such.
"Do not stop here, Lord Dronos. The journey is not over yet."
The Qol'vandav-tal patted Lord Dronos' shoulder and began to walk off, his guards keeping close to him.
Lord Dronos stood there and began to ponder the words of the Qol'vandav-tal, wondering if he would ever finally understand its secrets after all.
* * *
Being the only one to have visited the Qol'rash-nai homeworld, Lord Dronos compiled all that he has seen and heard in his journal - which is now missing after the recent Fall of DRONOS Ultima. After he departed from their homeworld, no one had ever set foot again on the barren world of Qol'nar ever again. However, there have been a number of sightings of Qol'rash-nai mercenaries out in the Multiverse, though not much else is known of them.
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