Path of the Warrior by Gav Thorpe Page B

the ghost stone as a sculptor, now he controlled every muscle and fibre of his body. It was an instrument wholly subservient to his will and whim.
    The donning of his armour was not as straightforward as Korlandril had imagined it might be. Just as with the fighting poses, every stage of armouring was precise, each stance and movement strictly defined by Kenainath. With each stage came a mantra from the exarch, which resounded in Korlandril’s mind as the Striking Scorpions repeated the words.
    First he stripped naked, casting his robe aside as if throwing away a part of himself. He took his waystone on its silver chain and placed it carefully in a niche in the wall. He felt a quiver of fear at being separated from his spirit-saviour. It was perhaps his imagining, but Korlandril felt a moment of scrutiny, as if detecting eyes suddenly upon him, regarding him from a great distance. He dismissed his unease, knowing that nothing could befall him in the shrine.
    “The peace is broken, harmony falls to discord, only war remains.”
    Korlandril followed the lead of the others, taking the bodysuit that was folded on a small ledge behind the armour.
    “Now we clothe ourselves, with bloody Khaine’s own raiment, as a warrior.”
    Korlandril stepped into the legs of the bodysuit. It was large and sagged on his limbs and gathered in unsightly bulges between his legs and under his arms, its fingertips dangling uselessly.
    “In Khaine’s iron skin, we clad ourselves for battle, while fire burns within.”
    Korlandril’s heart quickened. In his gut, the serpent of his anger stretched slowly. He placed his palms together in front of his face, copying the movements of the other Aspect Warriors. In response, the body suit tightened. As the fabric of the suit shrank against his taut muscles, dormant pads began to thicken, forming rigid areas across his chest and stomach and along the bulge of his thighs, stiffening along his spine.
    “The spirit of Khaine, from which we draw our resolve, strengthens within us.”
    Korlandril kept his eye on Elissanadrin, following her motions. Reaching behind the armour, he undid the fastenings along its back, letting the lower portion of the torso fall free in his hands. Wrapping it about his stomach and lower back, his nimble fingers worked the fastenings back into place. Its stiff presence around his midsection was reassuring, supporting his back, squeezing against his sides in a firm embrace.
    “War comes upon us, we must bear its dark burden, upon our shoulders.”
    Following the lead of the others, Korlandril undid the clasps fixing the upper part of the armour to its stand. He lifted it above his head, solid but not heavy. With careful movements he lowered it onto his shoulders. The plates gripped the surface of the undersuit, extending down his upper arms; the rounded bulge of the power generator slipped easily across his shoulder blades. As before, he returned to a stance of repose and the suit shifted slightly with a life of its own, adjusting itself to his body. When it had stopped moving, he tightened the clasps, fixing the armour in place. He felt top-heavy and adjusted his back to stand straighter.
    A moment of fear made Korlandril tremble as the bodysuit extended up towards his face, enclosing his throat and neck, the touch of rippling ridges insistent but gentle. The moment passed as soon as it stopped just below his chin. He took a deep breath to steady himself.
    “We stand before Khaine, unyielding in our calling, free of doubt and fear.”
    The upper leg armour came next, fitting to Korlandril as snugly as the rest of the suit. He found that if he flexed in a certain way, the plates interlocked delicately, strengthening his stance, offsetting the imbalance of the powerpack. Korlandril’s pulse was almost feverish, burning along his arteries, hissing in his ears.
    “We do not flee death, we walk in the shade of Khaine, proud and unafraid.”
    The lower legs were each protected by a