Superior Chief Seluban took a moment to look into the small mirror as he ran a line of yellow paint slowly across his left cheek. With practised movements he then repeated the gesture with white paint across his right cheek. The ritual had its roots in violence yet provided a sense of serenity as the cool paint moved across his warm green skin. After all, it also had roots in ancient history, and in victory. Whilst not especially vain, Seluban took a moment to consider the chipped incisor once more, and noted with pride how the yellow paint emphasised the glorious scar that ran from just under his eye to the edge of his cheek. Whilst in the past he had questioned the pomp and ceremony of heavy golden armour, he now clad himself in it with an almost ethereal sense of joy. The breastplate was cumbersome and he knew before long he would be overheating, but as he took it upon himself to complete and respect the time-honoured practices the Makers had so generously bestowed upon his people, Seluban savoured his rank - and the chance for fresh glory that lay ahead.