I'll Make A Krogan Out Of You, Closed: Clan Woade and Clan Drau Only

So far, this "phase" as the Battlemaster had called it was less than exciting. It was truly ridiculous in Skrob's mind. It felt as if they were told to go take a leisurely hike from one point to another on the surface of Wrill. If it had been something worthy of mentioning, such as a great hunt for beasts far greater than them in size and strength, his outlook upon it would be a bit more curious and interested.

But no, it was to admire the wasteland panoramic view of Wrill for miles upon miles around. The Drau warrior wasn't native to Wrill by any stretch of the imagination, but it bore many similarites to Tuchanka. With an equally depressing landscape and moderately toxic atmosphere to boot, it was far from a paradise. Why couldn't this training have taken place upon Virmire? At least the surroundings would have been something tolerable with more food to eat.

"To weed out the weak and feeble-minded" Skrob mocked Xarak in his own mind, not fond of the blow-hard Ravanor Battlemaster as he sat huddled with the rest of his so-called squad upon the floor of what sounded and smelled like a vessel of some type. He didn't feel any light or heat from beyond the hull, a good indication there weren't any windows. The varren hide tied around his eyes prevented any sight. Lifting it or trying to peek would probably earn him a sound beating, it wasn't worth the risk.

Wherever they were going, they would arrive soon enough. It made sense in Skrob's mind, he knew what they were trying to do. The blindfold and lack of outside stimuli would disorient them in relation to where they once were at the training grounds. It would make it all the more difficult to decipher their location and direction they needed to go in to meet the criteria put forth. If he had to assume, given the 7 days allotted, they were going to have to hurry to make the deadline if it was just as demanding and harsh as the training had been up until this point.

The Drau felt the rush of hot air enter the bay of whatever vessel they were loaded onto as the rear hatch whined as it was lowered. Before he could get a good whiff of his surroundings, Skrob felt himself be forced to his feet with an arm around both of his from two different individuals. If he had to assume, it was the other Battlemasters that were assisting Xarak. Without a single word or order from any of them, he was released, only to feel a firm boot be planted on his backside and give him a forceful shove forward. A stumbling step off-balance and the nothing, he plummeted.

With sensory deprivation and no idea where he had been forced off of the transport into what awaited, he let out a yell of surprise. The impact upon the ground cut it short, the fall far from fatal, but painful enough. The krogan warrior rolled end-over-end a few times, hitting all manner of protrusions and rocks that cut and bruised his flesh. Skrob finally rolled to a stop, mildly dizzy as he lay upon the ground on his stomach, huffing a breath into the dirt as it blew outward.

Resting momentarily, he sat up with a groan to take the blindfold off to finally gather where they were taken to. For all he knew up until that point, he was being culled for his disobedience. Unsure if he was lucky yet or not, he stood to his feet and looked around. Nothing but miles upon miles of barren, parched wasteland. Low-growing plants and rocky outcroppings here and there, but for the most part, it was the embodiment of Wrill...it made Tuchanka look like a vacation.

Tainted air tore at his lungs as always, but not to the point of incapacitating like it formerly did. Their tolerance was slowly built up over time, but even then, a lack of oxygen still proved dangerous over time. With a cough in adjustment, he finally laid eyes upon the others. Fortunately for them, they survived their respective "insertions" and the five of them were left alone with the orders Xarak had given.

They were regrouping and muttering amongst themselves, the least favorite voice of them all, Nathrahk, trying to socialize and joke with the others that joined them for this exercise.

"Silence your mouth before I silence it for you, Woade," Skrob sneered, looking to the rest of them. Everyone was there and no worse for wear. "I have no intentions of staying out here longer than necessary and I won't call Wrill's wastes my final resting place, especially not on the behalf of you idiots. I came here to train to be part of the Empire's great army, not babysit a bunch of hatchlings that have been watching too much children's programming on the Extranet."

Establishing dominance was a key to success. It would earn him respect through strength. Commanding them would work...at least he thought so in his mind, it was the krogan way after all.

"What I want to know is why the hell did we all get maps...I'd assume an exercise like this would force us all to share the same one...this unity and sharing crap is making me sick to my stomachs. We're warriors, not women." The Drau continued, pulling the folded up piece of paper from his equipment bag, looking it over.

Based on how he studied it like a complex problem and turned it over, upside down, and all manner of directions, navigation wasn't his strong suit. He wasn't going to admit that out loud though.

Rath slowly began to walk around, letting the few howling pains rapidly grow to small whispers. He scanned the area, waiting to hear each of them call back. The Void, aye? It sounded like it. But he had spent an entire day out here before he was taken into the training academy, it was a pain, no doubt about that, but it was doable.

Rath listened, and his face curled, rather amused by the Drau's disposition, more than frustrated. He rolled his neck, feeling his vertebrate snap into place, as he pulled the kit around to pull out his own 'map.' He looked at it and blinked, just the geological locations were placed on it. There was no signs or demarcations for public areas, and to top that it wasn't a whole map, by any means.

He glanced over towards the Drau whom was currently treating it like a steering wheel, spinning it to see if it worked? Rath couldn't help himself as he approached.

"You probably broke it in the fall." He chuckled lightly as he glanced at the piece of map. It was smaller than his, about half the size. Rath blinked, and thought why they'd give different sizes of map.

"Everyone, get your maps out and come here."

He lied down his piece of map, which was a rectangle, where the Drau's had been square. The unity and sharing comment from the Drau had given him the hunch, and now seeing the different shape he was holding almost cemented it.

They were going to have to piece the maps together. What a joyous day for power games. He sighed shaking his head. He knew this was as good as it was going to get for the next however long they were stranded out here.

Might as well enjoy this puzzle while he let those who wanted to play Alpha male deal with it themselves. He was going to make sure everyone came back alive. Whoever would participate in that fight could do so...AFTER they gave him their pieces.

He looked up to the Drau, and snatched the map out of his confused hands. He sat it down on the ground, and waited for the rest of them to bring up their own pieces, lying them side by side so he could get a look at it. It was hard to piece together pure wasteland.

At least the sun gave them a general direction of which way was east, as the sun had just risen an hour or so before, but in the same help it gave it also promised a full day of temperatures that would scorch any other species save for their own, but that didn't mean it was comfortable.

“Silence your mouth before I silence if for you, Woade,” Skrob spat, casting a heated glare first at Nathrahk and then at the rest of the party. “I have no intentions of staying out here longer than necessary and I won't call Wrill's wastes my final resting place, especially not on the behalf of you idiots. I came here to train to be part of the Empire's great army, not babysit a bunch of hatchlings that have been watching too much children's programming on the Extranet.”

Bristling, Rutvor folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. “I’d watch your tongue, Drau, if I were you,” he said softly. “You’re a long way from the training facility, and we’re the only things around for miles. If you want to start a fight, I’d suggest you do it somewhere where you won’t have the living crap beaten out of you.”

If it came to butting crests, Rutvor certainly wasn’t one to back down. Part of his training seemed to resolve around fighting the natural krogan impulse to seek dominance over others, that much was true. But it didn’t stop him from being able to kick in rebellious idiots who forgot their place. They had a mission here, and they didn’t have time to waste over petty squabbling. Besides, if Rutvor was to become chieftain in the Empire, this was exactly the sort of thing he’d have to deal with. Let him learn now, where mistakes had less impact.

With his attention drawn to his map by Rath, Rutvor unslung his pack and set it on the ground, rummaging around for the fold-up map he’d hidden away in one of the side compartments. It was waterproofed, although why that was necessary in this arid place was beyond his knowing, and sure enough only seemed to show part of the landscape. It was rectangular in shape, although wide rather than tall. After a brief inspection he could make out that the map showed a series of valleys next to a large, relatively flat plain covered largely by sand and dotted with small bodies of water. Here and there, large rocky outcroppings were shown, small brown islands in a sea of rust.

Rutvor glanced at the horizon towards the shimmering on the horizon, wondering whether the lake he could see was one of the ones shown on the map. Only one way to find out.

“If you don’t want to help us find our way, then feel free to sit here in the dirt for the rest of your career,” Rutvor said in reply to Skrob’s further grumblings, his tone as dry as the sand beneath his feet, “I’m sure you’ll have a great future teaching the Imperial Troopers of tomorrow by the sight of your bleached bones.”

Pushing his piece of the map towards the others that Rath were assembling, Rutvor pointed towards his piece.

“There look to be lakes or something here,” he said, before pointing off in the direction of the silvery glitter in the distance. “I’m pretty certain I saw water on the horizon that way. Perhaps it’d be worth our time walking in that direction and using the lake to work out where we are?”

The sneering tone that Drau Skrob used got Krax's blood boiling. They had up to a week in a wasteland ahead of them and this meathead wanted to pick a fight? Earning dominance was one thing, but calling another warrior "hatchling" was probably the worst way to make him dip his crest to you. He let the others answer the challenge, however, showing his annoyance only by exhaling sharply through his nostrils. Krax was younger and at a slight size disadvantage, and the only thing a fight would do at this point was waste his strength. Maybe make his sprained wrist worse.

"You probably broke it in the fall," Rath snarked. Krax grinned at that, but kept himself from chuckling aloud. When Rath called for everyone's maps, he pulled out his own piece (with his uninjured hand) and squatted in the sandy dust to study what had been assembled thus far. Where did his go? Did this set of valleys line up with the ones on Rutvor's piece...?

"Well, this is where we're going, I guess," the Jorgal observed, setting his section down where he guessed it belonged. He jabbed his finger at a small triangular symbol that had been drawn neatly on his piece and circled. Depending on the map scale, it didn't appear to be very close to any of the indicated lakes. That was going to be annoying.

The vengeance of hell itself boiled with Nathrakh's hearts. Not only was that insult made to strike against the Krogan so brutally, but it was also a statement that could possibly be deemed offensive to other, thinly 'plated' individuals. To even refer to another as a 'hatchling' was enough to warrant a confrontation. However, Nathrakh attempted to come himself. If they could not cooperate and work together accordingly, they might as well give up now and forget about the master plan for the Empire. Inner conflict would only deconstruct the pillars that were so carefully being set up now.

"Calling a Woade, let alone a fellow Krogan, something like 'hatchling' definitely sounds like words not spoken carefully. I respect your clan and I am willing to fight by your side for the sake of the Empire, however I would be more than thrilled to see you bring such words to a friendly battle after the appropriate wars are fought first." The Krogan firmly stated, he would not be mocked or allow any other of his battle 'brothers' be as well. There were more important matters at hand, the current one would be the establishing of the leader of this pack and what roles the others shall fill. Organization was apparently rare to his people, but without it an Empire would not strive.

That did not stop Nathrakh for possibly proposing a duel for another time. When the Empire has risen and the Krogans are strong, a 'friendly' bout to further cleanse the species could be respected. Not like he offered the encounter to take place now or before the Empire's plan, he was a Krogan who put his own ambitions under that of the Supreme Overlord Blite. Even then, his ambitions themselves were the nationalism that would help the Empire strive. While it can be seen as something admirable or inspirational, it made Nathrakh a hypocrite to a degree not to mention prejudiced toward 'heretics' who did not share the same values. For now, everyone in his squad was equal. Nathrakh compiled his bit of the map into the other's, it seemed to make the complete picture they all needed.

A long path ahead of them, it seemed. From what Nathrakh could comprehend, the scale of the map hinted that the surroundings were rather huge. It also seemed to have their current position marked in an isolated area from the lakes. A worthy challenge was proposed, Nathrakh found such exciting and would be proud to follow behind his comrades into whatever they may walk into. This was an ultimate test of communication, coordination and covering the fellow ally in conflict. It will be this that will make the Empire's army, an organized fleet of superior Krogans who had one thing in common. Loyalty to the Supreme Overlord's idea and the willingness to advance the progress of the Empire into something similar to immortality. What a beautiful thought, to have this new Krogan Empire outlast any other government by the time everyone else has did out in their own civil conflicts through out the galaxy.

It was abundantly clear that Skrob's so-called compatriots weren't well-receiving of his thoughts he shared upon his outlook of the current situation. He cared very little for their opinions, but what he did care about was his own position upon the pecking order amongst them. The innate need to dominate and control was strong within his veins. In his mind, Skrob was the strongest, most experienced warrior present. Given his age, save for his pathetic Woade Battle Brother, he was the eldest as well. Command should have been given his by default.

Such a train of thought only bolstered his stubborn standing upon his words.

Skrob was in no shortage of aggression as he assumed a rather typical stance krogan did so as a powerful, stable showing of dominance, as if demanding him to succumb.

"I'd like to see you try, Kolvant." He snarled, "Your presence here is amongst the greatest insult next to the Jorgal. Both of you are only here as bootlicks for your respective clans, for political motives. At least Woade and Drau are present at honorable command, not ulterior reasons to further destroy tradition and culture for the sake of this reunion of strength."

Skrob wanted to have no part of their little cartography exercise, continuing with his scathing rebuttal to those addressed.

"A whelp like you will be torn limb from limb by Wrent, Kolvant...it is no secret as to why you're even here, even that blowhard Ravanor Battlemaster Xarak isn't fond of your presence. If any semblance of retribution is to come of this training, it will be knowing that Wrent will wear your freshly-skinned hide when the time comes. I suggest waiting for a glorious death in battle rather than throwing your life away against the likes of me."

His tone assured the Kolvant's death, it wasn't a matter of possibility, it was a declaration that if he wished to come at him, he'd make the end result permanent.

Skrob couldn't resist no longer as he scoffed loudly.

"Are you blind, Kolvant? It is a mirage. I'm surprised someone of your intelligence and fortitude has survived this long if you can't tell the difference between a mirage and a body of water. Maybe Wrill's baked the last of your intelligence away."

The Drau warrior moved close enough to peer over the squatted humps of those surrounding the map on the ground, watching as Rath determined which sides of the map lined up with what. It was difficult enough not knowing where they were in relation to their final destination, but also an analog paper map partitioned with very few markings or terrain upon it to use as guidelines. Then again, Xarak never claimed this was going to be easy. He took note to the final destination marked on the map with a triangle within a circle, but no other determining factors accompanied it.

He wasn't a navigator or familiar with analog maps, but even he knew the basics. Amongst those basics was arithmetic and calculation. It was time to prove to them why he deserved to be in charge and was going to take it by force if necessary.

"Before one of you can claim genius intellect and mental superiority, whatever the scale is on that map, we cannot be more than 200 miles out from that point at the very most. Realistically, we're expected to return within 7 days from now. At a steady pace, we can cover up to 30 miles a day, maybe more or less, depending on the terrain and pace. Start 200 miles out from the destination, make a circle around at that radius, and start looking for any terrain that looks familiar to where we currently are. You can thank me later after you're done bumbling about."

Skrob turned to lock eyes with his so-called Battle Brother, glaring harshly at the slight smaller krogan as if daring him to make true upon his veiled threats.

"You're a wordy little bastard...keep your verbose, cowardice-laced comments to yourself before I choke the life from you and turn your flesh into rations for the rest of this little exercise. Maybe I'll be given a more competent "Battle Brother" for culling you and doing our entire race a good deed, how does that sound?" The Drau emphasized, uncaring of what they others had to say or think about the matter.

Skrob was confident, but not stupid. Throwing his life away for the sake of these idiots in the middle of nowhere over petting squabbling wasn't worth the time or effort. It would only result in him being overwhelmed and left for the scavengers to pick at...if they didn't harvest his flesh for their own use. The krogan looked skyward, shielding his eyes as he studied the morning sun and rising temperatures as daybreak continued.

"Figure out where we are on that map so we can get moving. We're wasting daylight and it's only going to get hotter. I know enough about Wrill that we don't want to be traveling at night with all manner of hostiles that roam this world."

Each time Skrob opened his mouth, Rutvor found it harder and harder to keep his attention focused on the map, trying to align the contour lines of his map with those of the others’. In particular, the comment regarding his fight with Wrent made him stiffen, his fists clenching and unclenching slowly as his eyes slowly become unfocused. That hit a lot closer to home than even Skrob may have realised.

The moron wouldn’t let up either. Before the day was out, the loud-mouthed bastard needed to be taught a very valuable lesson in keeping his mouths shut.

For someone who looked down so on the Jorgal, Rutvor found they were similar in one respect at least. They both seemed to enjoy talking. However, at least Krax had the ever so useful insight of knowing when to shut up. Skrob, on the other hand, didn’t. It was a shame, really; once or twice what Skrob had to say was actually rather useful, such as him pointing out the scales of the map and the distances the krogan could be expected to travel over the course of a week. The comment about the mirages was also a good point to make, although Rutvor was quite capable of being able to tell an actual body of water from an optical illusion.

Had it not been preceded by a string of insults, complaining and unimpressive swaggering and then delivered in a highly condescending tone, the advice may well have earned Skrob a good deal of respect in Rutvor’s eyes at least.

Instead, Skrob decided to act the confrontational idiot, obviously aiming to make himself a mini-overlord in the party. In the process, ignoring completely that within the Imperial legions all krogan were equal unless designated to be otherwise by a superior. Which Skrob almost certainly was not. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Time for a lesson.

Rising slowly, letting himself stand at his full height, the Kolvant approached the Drau until they were barely an inch and a half away from each other. Arms folded across his chest and his eyes narrowed almost into slits, Rutvor glowered at Skrob.

“Drau, this is not acceptable behaviour.”

And with that he emphasised his point in the manner that all krogan knew best.

CRACK.

The sound echoed briefly off the landscape around them as the Kolvant’s crest collided against that of Skrob’s. About as much force as the turncoat dared had been pushed behind it to ensure that even the Drau would be able to understand the point that Rutvor was trying to make. There was a brief, dull pain behind Rutvor’s eyes before he straightened, still in the position he had been previously with his eyes fixed on Skrob. Calmly, he waited until any protests that Skrob might have wanted to make had subsided. Unless that should take the form of a fist sent in the direction of his face or something else along those lines, which would have been happily returned, Rutvor would snort dismissively.

“Now, are you going to shut up, get in line and actually say something useful? Or would you like a second helping? I’ve been called generous in my time, I’m quite happy to dish out more if you’re that desperate.”

He gave a quick nod of his head backwards towards the other three.

“Perhaps one of the others might want to express their disappointment in you too?”

Krax remained in his squatting position, but shifted to face Rutvor as he drove his crest into Skrob's. The personal insult itched under his skin, but he only tightened his fingers against his knee. It had become habit not to immediately fly off the handle. Instead, he settled for listening to Rutvor speak the words he wished he had the size to back up.

“Perhaps one of the others might want to express their disappointment in you too?” Rutvor finished, turning to the rest of the squad.

Krax hesitated only briefly. "And when we all agree to kiss your crest and kneel down to you as a god, Drau, then would you be content to walk with us to the stupid camp?" With this deadpan vote of disapproval, the younger krogan avoided looking weak in silence, but wasn't being unnecessarily inflammatory. Probably.

Rath had been searching the maps, trying to stay out of the ego fight, but then he heard the clash of crests. He shook his head and stood up. His eyes were honed in, the razor sharp focus that each of them had acquired through their training shown in the slits. Krax spoke, and Rath could only see this escalating unless something was done.

"ENOUGH!"

The voice could of belonged to the Emperor himself. His eyes were focused on the pair whom were escalating the general unfriendly feeling that this was provoking.

With that the blue ripple swarmed his body, and collected into his hand as he hurled forward. The ripple of air would hold enough power to send everyone in a small radius rolling in the dirt. It was centered on Kolvant and Drau, and was a small expenditure.

"We have a task to do, We will do it.

He spoke, before shaking his head, moving back to the map pieces, sliding them around. The Drau hadn't been off basis when he spoke about how to more easily allocate him, but what he didn't seem to be adding together was the map was in pieces, and they had to figure out how it went together before they could take the radius or anything.

He squatted, his back turned on the two he had flung with the biotics, but a sliver of his huge range of vision kept them in his sight, watching for close or fast motion.

Nathrakh liked this one already, he kept a level head and seemed to be pretty straight forward in his methods. His approach to the Drau was more than interesting, it was a response that only a true Krogan could give when anger became apparent in one's mind. It was hard to hold in something so satisfying, causing the pain of another who you felt was either wrong or deserving of physical attack. Retribution was a system of justice that could be applied at any moment and for any given time. Surely for now, since Rutvor had done the necessary action, a little insult to injury would further hammer the point in.

The Woade would hold his tongue for now, this seemed like it will only go further into more of an actual conflict than anything. Skrob seemed vicious enough, further contributing to his shit list was not too wise. It was rather concerning, Nathrakh regretted even speaking as of now. Once again, he let his words make himself appear foolish in front of the others. This was not his original intention, but his mouth would be best shut than anything else. Better to look like a child, than speak and prove the first impression which was already hard to erase. He did enjoy the meeting of the crests however, it was an enjoyable sight that further fueled his ambitions. It would be best not to invoke such bouts of comments aimed toward fellow teammates. To advocate conflict among allies seemed treacherous, or at least that is what Nathrakh observed.

But of course, there would be another time to finally act on them. For now, they had to orchestrate their plan and piece the map together accordingly, this was a cooperative mission. Nathrakh would not be surprised if an act of friendly fire would become present among them. It was a funny term actually, much like civil war. But the way of the Krogan was war, even if it was among themselves. No longer would they be a people divided, the success of the Empire was dependent on the will power of thousands. For now, it would strive within these battle brothers, despite the differences among them.

The biotic's voice knocked Nathrakh back before the push did. He was definitely in the line of its fire, while it was mostly aimed at the Kolvant and Drau. It knocked him back hard enough to cause him to tumble for a moment before he slammed his hands onto the ground to try and focus the momentum elsewhere. His knees firmly planted into the dirt and much of the dust now in his mouth, Nathrakh's already sore lungs had a distinctive scratching feeling as of now. He looked up at the Krogan who had knocked him and the others back, not in anger but in shock rather.

It appeared he was the last one anyone wanted to mess with.

Skrob watched with mild interest as Rutvor stood to his feet to face him. His body langauge, tone of voice, everything so subtle about him spoke volumes. It amused the Drau warrior at how easy it was to provoke this idiots into challenging him in any form. It would give him a legitimate reason to assume control of this little outing through a showing of strength and dominance.

However, the Kolvant clan member didn't outright come at him, he simply folded his arms and bore down upon him, as if scolding a child. Skrob's blood boiled in rage at such a showing of disrespect. If anyone was a child present, it was Rutvor being a century younger than him. His teeth grit and ground against top and bottom rows, fists clenched tightly as he was about to lash out.

The uttered words from the Kolvant's mouth were calm and concise, quickly followed by a solid butting of crests, his against Skrob's. A not-so-subtle message to shut his mouth and fall in line, but also meant in krogan culture that Rutvor was assuming dominance over him. The thought only only seemed to stoke the angry fires roiling within Skrob as he was about to unleash the very Void upon this whelp.

"Actions speak louder than words, I won't take such disrespect from the likes of you! I'll cut your tongue from your very mouth that is the source of your spewing nonsense, you will learn your place!"

As Skrob spoke, he drew his utility knife and seemed quite prepared to make true on his threats as he rushed towards Rutvor, only to be blown completely off his feet by a biotic blast from the seemingly forgotten Rath whom was busy with the map. It wasn't just him though, it was everyone else within the party. It appeared the young krogan whom bore a shocking resemblance to Blite and was clearly a member of Woade clan was making use of his advantage over the rest of them.

The short trip through the air before sliding to a stop upon the ground wasn't all that painful, more of a reality check to keep their tempers in check.

Just like Xarak had went on and on about, all this "we" garbage. Allies made armies weak over time through reliance upon what they provided for one another. The Citadel races were a prime example of that. The Hierarchy's fleet was formidable, as was the Alliance's, but in terms of an actual army, their training regimes complimented the shortcomings of the other rather than finding a way to be strong on their own. What was economical and sensible at the time was leading to damnation in the long run, to be entrapped slaves to their "friends". The krogan suffered such an injustice once before and were struck down with the Genophage as a result. As long as Skrob drew breath, he would see to it that such a thing didn't happen again.

However, being non-biotic and Rath had shown considerable skills in the training prior to leading up to this point, the Drau was at a serious disadvantage. Assaulting him would be foolish and near suicidal without the protection of armor, shields, and resistance to biotic attacks. For now, it was wise to suffice, but not succumb. For a surprisingly aggressive individual, Skrob was not void of intelligence, he merely lacked common sense from time-to-time to overstep boundaries. A common ailment amongst krogan in perpetuating stereotypes.

He moodily picked himself up off the ground, glaring hard at Rutvor as he sheathed his blade once again before reluctantly joining the group once again around the map, making sure he was fully aware this was not over and there would come a time the whelp would pay for his disrespect.

"Yes...we do, so stop playing with the map as if it were a puzzle and figure out where the hell we are so we can move. The sooner you do, the sooner we can be rid of this little exercise and be back at the training grounds."

Skrob watched for a moment as Rath turned his attention back to the pieces of map and the arrangement as such. It seemed that he had two of the five total matching to make up a portion of it, but it still didn't provide any indication as to where they were or where the destination was in relation. He studied the crisscrossing grid of latitude and longitude lines, all the way down to the minutes. That alone proved that they were within the hundreds of miles in scale on the map.

It seemed to click as he studied the numbers near the grid lines, pushing his way bast Nathrahk to kneel down opposite of Rath without a word and went about arranging the pieces, even snatching one from the Woade biotic's hand. Skrob wasn't a navigator, but he still knew how to match a progression of numbers up and ensure that all the grid lines were uniform.

It took very little time at all, but the end result was a square map laying on the ground before them. The destination was near the top of the map, following generally accepted navigational orientation on such maps, the top would be North. All that was left was to establish their sense of direction and surrounding features to have a good idea as to where to start moving to.

"You're welcome," Skrob snorted, looking to the sun again as it continued to rise in the early morning. "What direction does the sun rise from on this planet, Nathrahk? You live here, you should know, is it from the east and sets to the west or what?"

The moment Rutvor saw Skrob’s hand dart for his utility knife he immediately did the same, gripping its handle, tugging it free of its sheath and shifting into a defensive stance in one smooth movement.

Much as he did with everyone, Rutvor had taken time to examine closely the way Skrob fought and it was rather traditional all said. The Drau preferred to charge in almost immediately and overpower his opposition with crippling displays of power. His opponent either had to weather the assault, easier said than done, or else move to a new position and allow Skrob to control his positioning. He wasn’t dumb either, despite all evidence to the contrary. Skrob used what Xarak taught him and he was careful to cover his weaknesses.

Rutvor prepared to shift to one side, letting the krogan’s momentum carry him forward enough to perhaps make him unbalanced, maybe getting in a slice as well if the Kolvant to find a gap in his defences. That was when he suddenly heard a roar of anger from the others and saw a flare of blue fire.

Shortly after the Kolvant felt himself get knocked off his feet by something that felt like a wall, and it was only when he glimpsed Skrob flying in the opposite direction that he realised that it wasn’t because he’d miscalculated his step. With barely enough time to cry out, Rutvor collided with the sand again, and this time he couldn’t find a way to control his movement. He rolled backwards once and then twice, his knife slipping from his grasp from the force of his landing. Sand flew up into his snout, into his mouth and into his eyes; so that when he came to a stop he had to cough violently to clear his airways.

Painful it wasn’t in the slightest, but the shock and the sand was enough to get him gasping. Angrily, Rutvor glanced up to shout his objections to the Woade.

How dare he? How dare he show him up like that?!

The shout died in his throat when he saw the expression on Rath’s face and heard the tone of his voice.

“We have a task to do. We will do it.”

For a moment Rutvor was no longer on Wrill, but instead found himself back on Virmire, in the Emperor’s throne room, on his knees and awaiting the verdict on his clan’s future. The air was so tense it could have been cut with a knife, and Rutvor was conscious of the hammering of his twin hearts. All it would have taken was one word, and Kolvant would no longer exist. He fixed his eyes on Blite, who stood with a nation behind him, and waited.

As quickly as it came the sensation passed, and Rutvor was once again in the dust of Wrill, looking not at Krogan Blite but Woade Rath. Snorting the sand from his nostrils, pushing himself to his feet, Rutvor scowled at Skrob as he picked his utility knife off the floor and sheathed it again.

There was no denying the hostility between the two, but it seemed for now it was a score that would not be settled there and then. Rutvor imagined he’d have to be cautious when he bedded down for the night, in case he found Skrob’s blade in his ribcage when he awoke.

At least the Drau knew when to drop a conflict, and if he could do that then Rutvor certainly could. Grunting assent to a ceasefire, Rutvor stormed back to the gather and knelt by his battle brother, silently fuming. There was a silver lining to this though; he’d had a taste of biotics and what it can do if he’s not careful. Doubtlessly he’d have a lot to learn from Rath that could help him in the future against Wrent.

I certainly don’t want to be caught out like that when I challenge him, he thought wryly.

Skrob rearranged the maps until they formed a large square, matching the gridlines and minutes up until they were finally presented with a bird’s eye view of the area. It was a pretty big area too. Seven days of straight up walking tended to have that look to it. The marker indicating the group’s destination was up towards the north end of the maps, however that didn’t necessarily mean that the group had to be towards the south end of them.

Rutvor wouldn’t put it past the battlemasters for an instant to hand them a few dud maps to keep them on their toes.

“I’m still convinced that we’re a half a day’s walk away from some lakes,” Rutvor said, before adding grudgingly, “Although if they do turn out to be mirages, then that would be time wasted on our part. I guess it depends on whether we want to sit around here waiting for another landmark to show up, or actually making something resembling progress.”

Rutvor stood up briefly, scanning the horizon and trying to pick out anything else that may help them triangulate where they were, such as rises or dips in the landscape. As he did so, he waited for anyone else to offer a suggestion. The Kolvant never did enjoy map and compass, which was perhaps ironic for someone who so enjoyed strategic thinking, so the more help he received the better.

Rath shook his head at the question. He pulled out the compass, and considered the sun’s location compared to the time of day. He then dropped the compass back into the bag. He would let Nathrakh answer the question, however.

His eyes shot over to Krax, giving his head a gentle shake.

“Get out that breathing mask, let Skrob use it first, it is about time to take fifteen minute shifts using it.”

He stated, wanting to dissolve the aggression, and if blood rage set in anytime soon, things would get bloody, and there was nothing that he could do about it. This was a preemptive strike against such a happening.

Rath moved to stand, as he let his eyes take in the surroundings, it was day light, not much besides the hills could be seen. He was making sure to breath through his nose, to preserve moisture.

He took afew steps ahead, waiting on the breathing mask to be taken out and to be used.

“We need to head out, they’re right, we’re not going to magically manifest a landmark…”

His hand came up to his face, tapping against his jaw, as his fingers idly removed a molting scale, he seemed to constantly be molting, but not as bad when he first hit the growth spurt that was brought on by maturity. Still, his crest was forming, and it caused his skin to stretch and molt more and more often. It was odd to think he was centuries younger than those whom stood around him….so, he didn’t. Allowing himself a moment of peace, if only the moment.

The Woade was surprised that suddenly Skrob seem to speak with him in such a manner. Surely the example that was made of them all had a slight difference on the group after all, that was expected of course. Never before had Nathrakh experienced such a push that sent him to a tumble, it was an embarrassing incident if anything. Seeing how there was one among them who had zero tolerance for harassment or disputes among the squadron would make sure they participated as one without griping. "Yes, East to West." Nathrakh confirmed for him.

Skrob seemed like someone who was brutal as a necessity. Everyone had defense mechanisms, he used his strongest offense to his best of efforts. It would work especially well, while it provoked some less than inspiring responses, such an attitude was admirable for a Krogan. Nathrakh would not openly admit, but Skrob was probably one of the few who were better off out of the group. Few would actually try to test his abilities, the way he intimidated and willingly struck back as enough to make him an honourable enemy. Nathrakh wished to fight him, not for the sake of fulfilling a grudge, but rather a friendly gesture of seeing who was superior. Death would be inevitable, but it would be soon that the Empire will be strong. Population would be a problem on a very low priority list, Nathrakh believed.

Rutvor seemed to have the right idea, sitting around bickering among each other would unlikely get them anywhere. It was not like their progress so far has been admirable, in fact they have been stalled for a decent amount of time. The sooner they organized and headed out the better, who would lead was what remained the main question. "We have wasted enough time, indeed." Woade Nathrakh agreed with Rutvor's statements. When it came to loyalty, it was hard to chose which one would be best acknowledged as a leader. "It would be best to follow on one lead than nothing at all." He concluded.

Certainly this logic was sound, the longer they stayed stationary the more time was consumed. A landmark had to be near, nothing too far of a walk. If anything, there was a small place that would best allow for the squad to pinpoint their exact location. With some decent effort, a journey to such a place was a likely predicament that should be pursued. Even then, the consistency of the map could be questioned very easily as it seemed a tad bit straight forward. "Let us hope that the map is here to assist, rather than confuse."

"ENOUGH!"

Krax snorted in suprise as he was bowled onto his back. Righting himself quickly, he noticed that Rutvor and Skrob were still scrabbling in the dirt, having received the worst of it. He stifled a smirk when he saw the Drau drop his swagger after that. Krax respected strength and dominance as much as any krogan, but the sort that shouted about their dominance instead of letting their actions do the talking? Any softcrest could do that.

The rage in his blood was starting to cool off now, allowing for better use of his brain. He responded to Rath's request wordlessly, shrugging off his pack and pulling the breathing apparatus out. He handed it to Skrob, making full eye contact as he did so. By this time, many in the squad were now tossing around the idea of moving on, anywhere, to try and get their bearings.

"Only way to find out is to get going, I agree." Krax was getting quite bored of sitting around in the drop zone. The sun was getting noticeably hotter already, and thinking could be done on foot too. Well, at least for most of them.

""Let us hope that the map is here to assist, rather than confuse." Nathrakh mused aloud.

"We'll find out soon enough," Krax said in a low voice, only half intending to be heard. He started shifting his feet impatiently, inching slowly in the direction of the (possible) lake Rutvor had spotted in the distance.

With his plans of disembowelment being delivered upon Rutvor for his insulting actions to "quiet" him, disciplining him for his outburst. It wasn't his fault that everyone else in their squad lacked the quad of a true krogan and were willing to cut them off in favor of Xarak's crap. Sure, the hand-to-hand and melee training was a bit of an eye opener to the point that what the Battlemaster droned on about made sense, but to force them to submit and be equal to those that were far below them in strength, stature, and name was a step too far.

If not for Rath's disruption of events, he would have skinned the Kolvant's hide from his very flesh and made use of his corpse for rations and any other potential tools if need be. There was plenty of muscle and guts to make use, not to mention bones. Docked points for returning with one less or not, it would have ensured their survival in Wrill's wastes.

Rath, the Woade biotic, the whelp...his attitude...his words...infuriated the Drau warrior. He was but a few decades old, everyone else eclipsed him by centuries. Yet, he spoke so surely and thought highly of himself. His arrogance knew no bounds as he spoke to Skrob. Someone needed to teach him a lesson in humility since Xarak's training didn't seem to be breaking him of it.

Even after the biotic push and the breaking up of a would-be altercation, the Rage flowed through Skrob's veins as his hearts pounded. He was like a livewire, ready to arc and catch those in the radius of its wake. The rigorous training day in and day out only intensified the feeling tenfold. It didn't rush through him, but slowly built up with each beat of his centuries old hearts.

The breathing mask thrust into his hand by Krax was all but unnoticed by Skrob in his current state of mind. He unconsciously curled his digits around the device more or less to not drop it, but his mind had yet registered what precisely it was. The subtle "assistance" that Rath ordered of Krax, and even Krax's seemingly generous action was insulting.

All of them were, Rath in his false sense of superiority, Rutvor in his disrespect, Krax with his inability to shut his mouth, and Nathrahk's cowardice...if this were the Void itself to be surrounded by these idiots in the wastes and have to rely upon them, it was too much to handle.

The reptilian pupils of Skrob's eyes snapped to barely visible slivers as the Blood Rage flowed through him. Growling lowly as he was about to give in and set his sights on the first one of them closest to take out his aggression, he squeezed his fists tightly, temporarily forgetting the breathing mask being in his right hand.

The sound of crushing plastic and crumpling metal alloys was enough of an odd sound in their nature surroundings more than likely captured more than his own attention as he was brought back from the brink and looked to his hand as he slowly opened it. Broken fragments of the mask fluttered out of his hand onto Wrill's sandy soil until the major remaining pieces fell.

The Drau warrior looked up to his fellow squad members for a moment to gauge their reactions of his unintentional action in a fit of rage. He had robbed them of their single piece of equipment that would sustain them from Wrill's toxic atmosphere. Without any indication of where they were on the map and far enough out to require a full week to get to their destination, it was a worst-case scenario.

He may have just sealed all their fates and becoming bleached bones to bask in the baking sun of Wrill in due time. There would be no Imperial glory for them...all because of Drau Skrob. Words escaped him to answer for his actions, but he took a single step back defensively in the event he was going to be the target of aggression. He finally found his voice as he let his hand rest upon the pommel of his utility blade.

"Come whatever may...that was not intentional, but I will not apologize to the likes of you four for being the source of the anger that caused me to do that. If you're going to do something, do it, if not, let us proceed and not act as if we are already dead."

Hollow words upon them or not, it was his attempt to remain proud while convincing them to not rip him limb-from-limb for a single lapse in judgement.

A gust of wind nearly blew the pieces of map away, Rutvor preventing this with one hand while setting down small stones to keep them in place. While he laid the rocks upon each corner, he kept his eyes fixed on the map, trying to mentally project the contours to get some idea of the landscape. Currently the group was sitting on a rise, overlooking a relatively flat plain, possibly what used to be an old seabed before most of the water dried up epochs ago. That roughly corresponded with what he saw on the map.

Rutvor glanced around briefly, eyes narrowing.

It looked like they were sitting on a spur; one of several. If they could just work out which one, they may be able to work out where to head and…

There was an audible groan of metal, followed by the crunch of Plexiglas. Despite the howl of the wind, the noise cut through it like a heated knife into ruthrak blubber, echoing ever so slightly off the rocks.

There was a moment's silence where, for a moment, the entire universe held its breath in horrified anticipation. Every set of eyes fixed themselves towards the source of the noise; Drau Skrob and the fragmented remains of the breathing mask. The group’s breathing mask. Their only breathing mask.

Suddenly the burning in Rutvor’s lungs seemed especially biting.

For that infinitely stretched second, there probably wasn’t a single word that could be said. This was the moment where words failed. The moment where civility was about as much use to the assembled krogan as an anvil to a drowning sailor. There were no words. Only rage.

Skrob blinked, looked down at his hands and suddenly seemed to realise what he’d done. His eyes widened in disbelief, before he glanced up anxiously and backed away. That was smart of him. He also put his hand on the pommel of his utility knife.

That was doubly smart of him.

Then Skrob spoke. That was dumb.

“Come whatever may...that was not intentional, but I will not apologize to the likes of you four for being the source of the anger that caused me to do that. If you're going to do something, do it, if not, let us proceed and not act as if we are already dead.”

Not quite content with digging himself a grave, it seemed, the Drau seemed very much fixed on carving himself a headstone and building himself a casket too. There was just very little he could have done or said to make the situation worse for himself. It’d be funny if it weren’t so stupid. Rutvor could only gawp in wonder at the awesome display of utter inanity standing there before him, even now defying its responsibility for the sad pile of debris already being buried in orangey-brown dust.

Rutvor ground his teeth, reaching for his utility blade as well. There was nothing else he could think of. Even Xarak, with all his talk of unity, equality and doing a fair share would have approved of this. Actually no, he would have done it himself had he been there.

“Rath,” he said slowly, surprising himself by how flat his voice sounded. “I hope you won’t intervene as my battle brother and I flay this worthless bucket of volus puss? If I’m going to die on this ancestor-forsaken planet, I want to do so with no regrets.”

Rath had gathered up his own pack, as they had all decided to walk towards what was supposed to be a lake in the distance. His feet moving across the barren wastes, the soft crunch under his feet. Things were going to wrong, and these krogan seemed to not be able to deal with each other's personalities. It was a fiasco, through and through. Rath was unfamiliar with most Krogan culture, unfortunately, or he could have expected such things, but currently, they seemed as if they were bullys in a school yard.

He walked along, before the crunch came into his ears. He turned to see what produced the noise, and his eyes formed into the small slits, that would be provoked by the blood rage, more often than not. Rath just began to stomp his foot, trying to divert attention from it. It was their source of oxygen, their life source, but they could live for a couple more days without the device, just in a discombobulated state. It sent his mind into racing motion. They couldn't be in Woade Territory.

"Do what you will to him, just make sure he can walk when you're finished...That goes for both of you. The less we come back with, the worse we look. I will not have my name disgraced because you decided to kill yourselves. Make sure they don't kill themselves, I'll be right back.

With that Rath turned, shaking his head. He took a deep breath of oxygen into his four lungs, as he cast a glance around. His body glowed blue for a moment, it would channel the biotics around him, as he reduced his own mass, and he struck out in a sprint across the wasteland, able to move this quickly with less bodily effort would help him preserve the precious oxygen. Food could be found more easily.

He sprinted, his eyes twisting, and hunting for that body of water, or anything on the horizon that could be of use to them. Skrob had just drastically reduced their time frame. Rath was stealing this moment by himself, as much as he was using it for the 'battle brothers' good, because fury was seething in his blood, and he had always been taught it was better to be in control than out of it.

Krax turned around in sync with Rath, having been right at his hip when it looked like they were finally going to get walking.

His jaw fell open when he saw the pieces of the breather fall to the dust. He was quickly conscious of his gaping mouth and closed it again, but continued staring in utter disbelief. Just what did that prove?!

The rage that suddenly flooded his system was dammed somewhat when the Drau had the decency to look surprised, even ashamed at what he'd done.

And then he opened his mouth and dared to blame it on the group... because they were annoying, or something? Unthinkable. Ridiculous! Krax's lungs swelled with the horrid Wrill air, desperate to deliver a few razor-edged words at the idiot krogan who had likely doomed them all. But none came. He released the breath with a furious snort.

Krax became aware of Rutvor at his side, when he caught the motion of a blade being drawn in the corner of his eye. "Rath. I hope you won’t intervene as my battle brother and I flay this worthless bucket of volus puss? If I’m going to die on this ancestor-forsaken planet, I want to do so with no regrets.”

Battle brother. That meant him. Krax briefly glanced back at Rath, hand going to the grip of his own blade. Even a slash would probably make him feel better. "Yes, if this idiot is dead set on being completely useless..."

"Do what you will to him, just make sure he can walk when you're finished...That goes for both of you. The less we come back with, the worse we look. I will not have my name disgraced because you decided to kill yourselves. Make sure they don't kill themselves, I'll be right back."

Wait, let him live? Krax turned to Rath in indignation, in time to watch the biotic's accelerated departure across the Wrillian landscape. Shaking off the weirdness of that, his attention returned to Skrob. He truly didn't expect the Drau to allow any fight to stay nonlethal, since he seemed so wrapped up in his own pride. But to leave him unpunished wouldn't teach him any lessons. He drew his blade and turned the flat forward, blood humming in his veins, waiting on Rutvor's lead. It was excruciatingly difficult not to charge in straight out, but he couldn't afford to get stupid here.

Of all the things that could happen, there were some incidents that were not only surprising but also entirely rage inducing. Blood for the blood rage worthy, enough to produce anger and resent to the point it could stomp a Hanar's pacifism. Those tentacle based things always seemed strong with their beliefs and overall peaceful, but the Drau could anger even the most religious of such a species along with whatever entities they praised. Nathrakh had the sudden urge to smash in the Krogan's face and distort any recognizable facial features.

Instead, he wished to see if someone else would do that. Someone stronger and more willing to speak aloud, a Krogan who had the quads to openly kill one of the fools who slowed down their ranks. That should be an honourary class within the Empire, someone to slaughter those who show their weakness in battle. If an individual so wished to turn in retreat, therefor turning their back on Blite, a stronger Krogan should take his place by first killing the heretic. It was an idea that got Nathrakh's mind going, it was something to think about for awhile whenever he had the rare extra time of doing nothing.

Nathrakh let out a smile as wide as his scar crack past his mouth, there were his more faithful battle brothers that proved to never drop below his expectations. They seemed like some of the most honourable Krogan he could serve by, then again that may just be his temporary opinion. Actions among a squad can easily seem presentable and reasonable at first, but in battle opinions can change in an instant. It is like a switch, it can determine trust or even friendly fire. Nathrakh hoped to soon see whether or not he was a reliable asset as his teammates would be. If one were to fail, then the gears stop turning. Slowly they would grind to a haul, only to eventually rust and become permanently useless. Failure in this training would definitely be a good reason to take one's own life.

Yes, it would be this Rath to see as a leader above all. Nathrakh would be sure to follow whatever command this one gave, surely he had the same level of strategy as he did authority. Certainly a figure that could represent the Krogan race in its strongest. With these examples and encouraging individuals around him, it would be hard to let his dedication to the situation at hand drop even with the air of Wrill spiking his lungs like little spears. "May I join in? This seems like an opportune moment to relieve stress and even give a fellow Krogan a couple of battle scars he can boast about."