Ontzlake's page

Hrax is a desert Feudal World located in the Askellon Sector, where the clans of ancient Bastias battle fierce wildlife, feral orks and one another to gain the favor of their great god, the Battle Lord, known to the rest of the galaxy as The Emperor. All men and women of the world can kill with a knife from the time they are children, and the best of their best are tithed to the Astra Militarum, where they serve as the Hraxian Bloodknives. It was into this world that Ontzlake was born, in the Bastia of the Golden Light; the closest thing Hrax has to a planetary capital.

Ontzlake's childhood was much like that of any other on Hrax, eager to prove himself to his clan and his High Marshal. He would sometimes climb above the valley the Bastia rests in, to watch the dawning sun strike the great Imperial Altar atop it, refract through and around its many golden decorations and artwork, illuminating the whole valley in the Battle Lord's holy light. But at night, however, he'd look up and see the Great Eye...known to the wider Askellon Sector as the Pandaemonium warp storm...staring down at him and his sleep was haunted by dark and disturbing dreams of the future. When telling his family and clan of these dreams, the older and wiser among them recognized these as signs of psychic sensitivity. They instructed Ontzlake to remain strong and wait, for the Battle Lord's servants would come to the planet and bring him with them, to serve among the stars. Ontzlake was excited for this news, assuming he would become a Bloodknife as many of his kin had in the past. This assumption was cruelly shattered when the Blackship arrived.

Ontzlake and the other nascent psykers he had been gathered with were herded aboard the vessel, as if they were mere beasts, and separated into cells by strange women who did not speak, but whose presence Ontzlake could feel as a terrifying absence. The journey was terrifying, and Ontzlake is actually grateful that what happened next messed with his memory to the point that it is largely forgotten, but it ended with him arriving on the Throneworld, and bearing witness to its golden glory. It made the Bastia of Golden Light seem small and insignificant, as Onztlake and those others that had survived the journey from Hrax were ushered into the Schola Psykana.

Once again, Ontzlake took to his training as a psyker with the grit and honor of a Hraxian, believing this was his final test before being sent out as a Sanctioned Psyker to fight alongside the Astra Militarum. But yet again, his expectations were shattered, when he was instead told he was being given an even greater honor: he was to be brought before the Emperor himself, his soul being bound to the Master of Mankind. Ontzlake could scarcely believe it. The Battle Lord himself...the great god-king all Hraxians strive to honor...he could barely contain his excitement as he was brought to Eternity Gate and ascended the steps, feeling the immense psychic pressure even before he could see the titanic figure of the Emperor himself, and kneeling before it.

As the ritual began, Ontzlake seized at the intense pain and stared wild-eyed upon the silent form of the Battle Lord, golden light reflecting off the walls all around him and illuminating him just as the Bastia of Golden Light's altar illuminated its valley. It was said that the Bastia's warriors, when fighting under that light, were invincible, and to Onztlake's battered and fevered mind, here in the holy of holies, this light shining down on him would similarly make him invincible. He took in the light and wept for joy as it became the last thing he would see with his own eyes. His world went black, and his mind's eye could see far clearer than it had during his training. He was ready to serve...before learning his new status as an Astropath was not that of a warrior, but a messenger.

Ontzlake served dutifully, but bristled under the demands placed upon him now. Surely the God-Emperor, the Battle Lord, hadn't had Ontzlake brought into his presence to be a glorified herald? A man who'd spent his entire youth learning to fight and eager to strike against his enemies, and then stow him away on a remote station, forever singing alongside the Choir he'd been assigned to day in and day out, relaying mundane messages of troop movements, merchant fleet shipments and tawdry propaganda seemed a cruel joke of fate. He craved action, and began subtly neglecting his Astropathic powers in favor of the discipline of Biomancy. His body had been ravaged by his Soul-Binding, but he refused to let it remain so, even if he never wielded a blade in battle again. This made him unpopular among his fellow Astropaths, thinking him an ungrateful, savage bully who didn't understand the glorious purpose they fulfilled. Ontzlake ignored their chiding, as he knew his will was strong and his sword-arm just as strong. The fact that he survived the formation of the Cicatrix Maledictum when other Astropaths' died in spectacularly gory fashion filled him with no small sense of pride. But it also meant he was needed in his duty now more than ever, with so few astropaths left and the Indomitus Crusade beginning to re-establish contact with those now cut off from the Battle Lord's light.

Yet fate seemed to have other plans in mind for Ontzlake. The Choral Relay station he called home received a strange collection of visitors, almost seemingly around the same time Ontzlake had begun feeling strange psychic vibrations around it. There seemed discordant notes in the Choir's song, and even he, with his relatively basic Astrotelepathic skill could sense it. The strangers' arrival could be no coincidence, especially when they began asking questions of all the Astropaths, Ontzlake included. His curiousity piqued, Ontzlake began observing the movements of his fellow Astropaths and the guards of his station. He heard dark mutterings in his mind, as he was not the only one forming suspicions...but he began hearing a repeated chord of thought among one of his colleagues and many service-men and -women aboard the station, as if their minds were in agreement on something, but it was hard for him to pick out what.

He relayed his suspicions to the group of new arrivals, sensing they weren't going to leave until they had learned what they came here to find, and one of them, a man named Bouchon, encouraged him to follow this "chord" further, let the Astropath who seemed at the core of it all know he'd "heard" it and wanted in. Ontzlake had enough memories of hunting to know he was being used as bait, but he accepted Bouchon's suggestion and spoke to his colleague. The Astropath was surprised at Ontzlake's turn towards friendliness, but admitted he needed all the help he could get. A ritual was about to be performed, one that would avenge years of unfair treatment at the hands of their masters, and declare their allegiance to a different, more powerful Throne. Ontzlake was offended at this declaration of heresy, but he held his mental tongue, knowing he couldn't give the game away too early.

The day of the ritual came, and the treacherous Astropath revealed his true nature, bony spikes emerging from his ribs and shoulders, and a pervasive feeling of rage overwhelming the minds of the rest of the Choir, except for Ontzlake, who stood firm. He waited for the right moment, and drew his mercy blade and struck. He slashed the traitor's throat, preventing him from finishing the blasphemous words of the ritual. He then began stabbing the foul ritualist over and over, to make sure he could not do any more harm. When he stood from the bloody deed, he suddenly found himself in darkness. A different darkness than he was used to, for his psychic powers enabled him to see without eyes, like the Warp was obscuring the universe from him. And then the Eye opened.

He recognized it immediately as the Great Eye, that he had looked up and seen in Hrax's sky as a child, and in the nightmares before his Soul-Binding. But this time, instead of swirling and shifting from far away, it rushed towards Ontzlake, trying to swallow him whole! In the angry red clouds and sparks, he saw the Throne his enemy had spoken of, and two pinpoints of baleful light, eyes within the Eye, observing him. A name came to him unbidden, one he had heard used as a bogeyman to scare Hraxian children and inspire Hraxian warriors: Charnagal, the lord of Skreiga, the god of the underworld. The golden light of the Battle Lord formed around him, shielding him from the horrific entity's gaze, and then in his mind he heard it speak. It was like the grinding of steel against steel, the rasping buzz of a chainsword, the wet punch of a blade meeting flesh and the sickening drip of blood, a thousand upon a thousand battle cries and screamed pleas for mercy! It said "YOU MAY PROVE WORTHY YET." And then he snapped back to reality, as Bouchon's men and those members of the Station's security who'd remained loyal gunned down the last heretics. The Station had been saved.

Bouchon commended Ontzlake for his bravery and cunning, and noted he himself was in need of an Astropath of exceptional quality. Ontzlake accepted without question, and it was only upon departing the station that Bouchon revealed his true identity: an Inquisitor, and that Onztlake would not just be serving as a mere Astropath, but as part of his warband: he had witnessed Onztlake's ferocity in slaying the ringleader of the cult that had infiltrated the station, and sensed his unique skills would serve Bouchon well in hunting and rooting out the Emperor's enemies hiding in plain sight. Ontzlake could barely contain his joy: he was now going to serve the Battle Lord as a true son of Hrax should, not just as a herald of his word, but a blade of his justice. But the memory of that terrifying blood-stained vision haunts him to this day. He fears that Charnagal watches him even now, and feels he will need all the protection his Soul-Bond to the Battle Lord can muster, if he is to learn what the dark god intends for him and how to stop it from coming to pass.

Hrax is a desert Feudal World located in the Askellon Sector, where the clans of ancient Bastias battle fierce wildlife, feral orks and one another to gain the favor of their great god, the Battle Lord, known to the rest of the galaxy as The Emperor. All men and women of the world can kill with a knife from the time they are children, and the best of their best are tithed to the Astra Militarum, where they serve as the Hraxian Bloodknives. It was into this world that Ontzlake was born, in the Bastia of the Golden Light; the closest thing Hrax has to a planetary capital.

Ontzlake's childhood was much like that of any other on Hrax, eager to prove himself to his clan and his High Marshal. He would sometimes climb above the valley the Bastia rests in, to watch the dawning sun strike the great Imperial Altar atop it, refract through and around its many golden decorations and artwork, illuminating the whole valley in the Battle Lord's holy light. But at night, however, he'd look up and see the Great Eye...known to the wider Askellon Sector as the Pandaemonium warp storm...staring down at him and his sleep was haunted by dark and disturbing dreams of the future. When telling his family and clan of these dreams, the older and wiser among them recognized these as signs of psychic sensitivity. They instructed Ontzlake to remain strong and wait, for the Battle Lord's servants would come to the planet and bring him with them, to serve among the stars. Ontzlake was excited for this news, assuming he would become a Bloodknife as many of his kin had in the past. This assumption was cruelly shattered when the Blackship arrived.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Ontzlake is a man on the tall side of average, thin like many psykers and especially astropaths are, but with a wiry strength that wouldn't look out of place on a Guardsman. His skin is an ashen bronze, a sign of a healthy upbringing on one of the Emperor's worlds changed by the deprivation and trials of the Blackships, bearing numerous scars, some self-inflicted marks to show loyalty to his High Marshal and the God Emperor, some the lasting remnants of battles worn proudly, and two sunbursts of burn scars spider out from around his pale, useless eyes, framing an aquiline nose. His hair, bleached white from the trauma of his Soul Binding, is long, worn in a high braid with a long tail that almost seems to blend in with the psycables attached to his temples and forehead. He dresses in the green robes of the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, with a white flak vest worn over it. He wears a sturdy necklace holding a sheathed knife, flanked by preserved teeth he has taken from old enemies.

While large fragments of his past and identity were changed by being Soul Bound to the God Emperor, Ontzlake prides himself on never forgetting that he is a son of Hrax, having learned how to kill the Battle Lord's enemies since he was old enough to hold a knife and keeping his physical health and swordsmanship strong. He scoffs at the popular stereotype of astropaths (and psykers in general) as weedy, brittle folk. He considers himself a herald of the Emperor, a grave and serious duty and his new duty as an acolyte to the Inquisition is merely an evolution of that role into a dispenser of his justice. However, he is also fully aware that his status is precarious and contingent on his usefulness to his many masters, and the need to balance their various conflicting needs. He strongly wishes to maintain that status, because to a certain degree he is jealous of those not bound by the same duties his life demanded of him: because of his psychic powers, he was denied the chance to fight in service of his clan on Hrax, and because he was deemed suitable to be an Astropath rather than as a Primaris or Sanctioned Psyker, he was further denied the honor of serving in the Astra Militarum as a Primaris or Sanctioned Psyker for the Hraxian Bloodknives. And when Ontzlake first encountered Space Marines, particularly Librarians, he became even MORE envious at not being considered worthy of them, both as a psyker AND a son of Hrax. He takes comfort in the fact that such psykers cannot claim the honor of having knelt before the Battle Lord Himself on Holy Terra, and while he would never speak ill of any branch of His Imperium's servants, and serves them in his capacity as an Astropath dutifully, he maintains an air of cool dignity when interacting with such figures.