Lorhvu of the Scarabs

Lorhvu relished the day he became a commando. He and his hunting party were all sitting around a fire, eating veerlak meat and drinking blorp and bragging about the trobe they had just brought down when a senior Martian commando came walking up to them with about twenty followers. He didn't waste time introducing himself, nor did he have to. Lorhvu and the other hunters recognized him by appearance and reputation alone. It was Zilmar Sharp-Eye, rumored to be the greatest archer in all of the Redlands. Lorhvu and his crew stood up with weapons in hand as Zilmar entered their midst. 

"You lot follow me now," the senior commando growled. 

"Go play with veerlak dung," Lorhvu shot back. 

Two of Lorhvu's hunting partners, Scuzz and Blorgrig, both erupted into deep, hearty laughs. Scuzz was a breaker who moved much faster than expected of a Martian his size, and Blorgrig was even bigger than him. While not particularly beefy himself, Lorhvu knew how to handle himself and could kill a veerlak on his own if the situation called for it. At any rate, all three of them were bigger than Zilmar. All three of them wanted to be the one to kill him. 

 Zilmar didn't give them the chance. He lifted his sling bow and fired in one smooth motion. Blorgrig dropped to a knee with an arrow in his leg. Scuzz and Lorhvu raced for Zilmar while their other allies, bruised, battered, and fatigued after barely winning their earlier battle with the wild trobe, engaged Zilmar's followers. Some hunters just ran for their lives. Most of those who did stand their ground were easily overwhelmed and slaughtered. One second they'd all been enjoying the spoils of victory, the next, meeting their bloody ends at the hands of hungry, opportunistic Martians. Martians like themselves. 

It was their own fault for resting in the Redlands in the middle of the day, having a feast out in the open without so much as one Martian on lookout. Lorhvu knew they were being punished for their hubris, and he ultimately didn't care. He knew what he deserved and cursed any being that felt otherwise. 

If only I were a fieldmaster, the lowly Martian warrior realized as Zilmar parried an overhand strike from Scuzz and knocked him to the ground. I wouldn't need to look over my shoulder after a hunt. 

Fieldmaster or not, he would rather die before being made to follow another Martian. Lorhvu swung his war mace and obliterated Zilmar Sharp-Eye's sling bow, shattering the bones in his foe's hand and launching him several meters away in the process. The archer's faithful followers closed in before Lorhvu could finish him off and fired a deadly volley of arrows. Lorhvu stared death in the face. Scuzz tackled him down out of the way at the last second. 

They crashed to the ground like a sack of bricks as an angrier-than-usual Blorgrig thundered past them with his shield raised, and spear gripped tight. Fueled by adrenaline and rage, their towering ally bowled through the sorry perimeter of junior archers as if they weren't even there. Lorhvu and Scuzz quickly scrambled to their feet and sprinted after him to quickly execute the dazed minions before it was too late.

Lorhvu had crushed the skulls of around five or six archers when he looked over and saw Blorgrig falling straight back with an arrow planted deep in his chest. Scuzz roared and leaped at Zilmar only to be intercepted by another pair of crazed, loyal underlings. As the three of them locked blades, one of just two surviving trobe hunters hurled a spear and impaled an opposing Martian who was about to lop the distracted Lorhvu's head off. The would-be killer fell to his knees and collapsed backward, legs twitching, javelin protruding from his neck. 

"Yahh!" Lorhvu roared as he dashed forth to put an end to this mayhem once and for all. 

He grabbed the last of Zilmar's followers by the throat and threw him to the ground to be skewered by the hunters. Meanwhile, Scuzz lodged a razor disc between the eyes of one opponent, ducked low to dodge the sling bow flying at the side of his head, then carved a wide blue smile in the other opponent's throat with the second razor disc. 

Lorhvu and Scuzz looked back at Blorgrig down on the ground, then over at the wounded, exhausted, unarmed, and for the first time in a long time, terrified senior commando. The fabled 'Hellbird of the Redlands'. Zilmar Sharp-Eye. 

Zilmar turned and ran. He didn't get far. There was a faint whistle as Scuzz's razor disc sliced through the air and sank into Zilmar's calf. Already in pursuit, Lorhvu twirled his war mace around to gain momentum, spun, and swung as hard as he could with the weapon in both hands. His mace sunk into Zilmar's skull upon impact with a sound like rotten fruit being crushed.

Lorhvu killed a commando that day, and in claiming his armor, became one himself. But not without the help of his hunting party. For they too had changed, became so much more than what they were. Not just a group of hunters, but his clan. His brothers. They were the Martians who stood by him when he fought for his freedom, and he never lost sight of that.