Chatla-Raktoa rose from their spawning pool in High Azyr, already marked for greatness; in fact, each saurus of their spawning bore red marks upon their crest, a spawning of the Old Ones’ heroes. Their heroism was desperately needed, for they emerged in the final centuries of the Age of Chaos. The Starmaster of the Claws of Huanchi, Lord Huatlakoa, had seen a hint of destiny in the scattered tribes of the Songsand Desert, and his forces became their protectors.
Chatla-Raktoa was not an Oldblood yet, not even a Scar-Veteran the first time they were sent into Aqshy. They fell from the heavens to intercept a Khornate warband, the Brazen Reavers, who had made their way toward the desert, oblivious to its protectors. The fighting, as ever against the forces of the Blood God, was brutal and taxing upon the forces of the Seraphon. Nonetheless, Chatla-Raktoa survived.
This would not be their final encounter with the Brazen Reavers; they had intercepted a mere offshoot of the true warband, a tide of blood and destruction that in totality far exceeded anything the Claws of Huanchi could muster. Yet, the vision of the Slann must be carried out, and there was but one option: the Seraphon would fight against incursions by the Reavers, each time beating them back at steep cost. Each battle, Chatla-Raktoa fought furiously, simply to survive. For nearly a century, at the cost of more of their spawn-mates and a great collection of wounds and scars, Chatla-Raktoa claimed victories over champions of the Blood God, learning subtlety and misdirection from their revered elders.
As the decades passed, the native peoples of the desert gave a name to their reptilian guardians: The Blazing Starfall. Effigies of reptilian beasts and totems of the heroes of their saviors began to spread through the Songsand, many of them marked with the red of Chatla-Raktoa’s spawning.
By the time the Age of Chaos began to wane, the tattered and beaten Brazen Reavers had moved on from the Sandsong Desert, guided by visions to join Khorgos Khul’s Goretide. So too were the Claws of Huanchi, its warriors dwindling to the scant thousands. As the Bloodbound roamed away, the decision was made by Lord Huatlakoa: The Claws of Huanchi would land in the Sandsong’s center. Realmshaper engines were dropped from the temple-ship’s holds, and the ship’s slow descent from High Azyr had begun.
When the temple-ship touched down into the Realm of Fire, there was but one saurus bearing the red of Chatla-Raktoa’s spawning. There were none older than them, now; they had become the honored elder, the Oldblood who would command Huatlakoa’s armies. The realmshaper engines thrummed with awesome power as they stepped from the ship’s great causeways for the first time, into the steaming jungle the engines had reclaimed from barren desert. Tropical creatures sang in the sweltering heat and humidity of this new forest, and streams that had once been unthinkable ran through the fertile soil.
The oasis the Seraphon had spawned was a boon for the peoples of the desert, tacitly welcomed by their reptilian protectors. They allowed their wards into their jungles, to drink from the streams and to hunt the abundant wildlife. Skink emissaries spoke with their leaders, granting them gifts and warning them away from the deep jungle.
Over dozens of mortal lifetimes, Chatla-Raktoa watched as the temple-city grew, as their constellation recovered to its former glory. The jungle had nearly subsumed the entire desert, and with this growth and change had come the attention of warbands of chaos and mortal treasure hunters. The Oldblood had led the fight against each of these incursions from the front, atop their mighty carnosaur Blooded Snout or from foot when prudence was necessary. With each battle, more of the original Starborne fell, until the only Seraphon of the Claws of Huanchi who had descended from High Azyr with their ship were Lord Huatlakoa and Chatla-Raktoa.
Through these many years, the magic of the Realm of Fire coalesced within Chatla-Raktoa. While their siblings, the Seraphon who had climbed from the pools in Aqshy itself had subsumed its power, it was different for the Oldblood. They felt the touch of Azyr draining from them, replaced with the blazing passion of Aqshy. The coldness of High Azyr no longer inhabits Chatla-Raktoa, melted into true emotion. They feel mighty fury on the battlefield, but also a deep bond with their mount, and even commitment to their warriors and the native peoples of the Sandsong.
