Dawn broke. It wasn't much of a dawn, grey, damp, squalid. Cold, but just warm enough that Varal was even robbed of the thrill of the cold biting his skin. Everything was desaturated, boring.
He looked over the expanse of dust surrounding the Ravager as it sped towards sensation. There was something to be savoured: the wind through his dark hair - he hadn't put his helmet on yet. He concentrate on what else he could feel... the damp air caressing his skin; the rough, scarred armour plate he grasped through his gauntlets; the slight rocking of the skimmer as it was buffeted by gusts of wind; the sound of the others of his Kabal checking their weapons and armour, testing edges against flesh.
And then there was the adrenaline singing through his veins, the faint tinge of apprehension before his first raid. He was more concerned with failure than not returning - he had little to fear from these mon-kei savages.
Speaking of those barbaric cattle, Varal caught their stench on the air just as the lead Ravager sent up a screeching howl - they had a garrison. Varal grinned savagely. There would be enough pain and dismay and death and joy to sate She Who Thirsts for that little bit longer. The Thirst siezed him, firing him, thrilling through his entire being, wiping all apprehension away while veritably tripling the amount of adrenaline in his system.
He chose now to check his weapons, his splinter rifle, his knife. His glorious, bright, wicked knife. Already blooded in the torture pits of Commorragh, it was about to drink of a foe again, far from the safe depravity of the hedonistic capital. He caught the sweet not-scent of soul, of life, of the essence necessary for existence.
Distracted, Varal slipped, and the razor edge slipped between segments on his gauntlet. He sighed in bliss at the new sensation, watching the bright blood well up and drip to the deck. He brought the finger to his nose, inhaled deeply. The scent of blood, even his own, sent new waves of desire rushing through him. He licked his finger, savouring the taste as the blood rolled sweetly round his mouth, eyes drooping in euphoria.
His eyes flicked up as he heard the first sharp crack of a lasrifle, then he gasped with pleasure as he heard the first scream.
He left his helmet behind as he leapt from the side of the Ravager. He very much wanted to feel warm blood on his face.