Praefectus Suit

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Praefectus Suit


Praefectus Suit




Hunter / Titan / Warlock

Defense rating:






Praefectus Suit is a Legendary armor suit available to all three classes.

Praefectus Mask / Helm / Cover[edit]

"The past is the past; we cannot return to it. All we can do now is fight for the future our people deserve, through blade and blood."
Valus Cau'tor


Cau'tor smiled as his daughter walked ahead, dragging her hand across the soft filaments of the valac blooms. Bioluminescent pollen swirled in her wake, barely visible in the glow of sundown. Cau'tor closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, reveling in the heady scent that marked the beginning of the wet season.

"Why did you bring me here?" his daughter asked. Even as she spoke, Cau'tor pictured her from memory: a small child frolicking in brightly colored robes. He opened his eyes and saw a full-grown warrior in a towering battlesuit.

He gestured towards the plated broadsword stowed on her hip. "The scribes said you fought ferociously in sparring this morning."

"My blade is insatiable," she replied, brandishing the weapon and playfully pointing it at her father. Her smile diminished slightly. "You could have seen it yourself."

Cau'tor did his best to hide a wince. "I will soon enough, Ta'nam."

Ta'nam sheathed the blade. Dried grass and petals crunched under Cau'tor's sabatons as he met his daughter and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"So what's this about—a reminder of home on the eve of battle?" Ta'nam asked.

Her father scoffed. "Do you really need reminding?"

Ta'nam grimaced. "I miss it every day."

"We all do," her father said with a heavy sigh. "No, I wanted you to have one last chance to see it with your own eyes."

Ta'nam turned, her brow furrowed. "Last chance?"

"Enough," Cau'tor called out. A low rumble resonated through their bones and the world shifted. Distant mountains undulated and stretched towards the sky; flowers burst into clouds of wriggling bubbles. The world blurred as light and matter drained like viscous fluid towards a growing rift in the sky—a shadow that grew until it consumed them.

They woke aboard the Barbatos Rex, still streaming through the stars. Their hands were clasped around the handle of a rusted antique blade. A Psion stood nearby as the last spectral tendrils of psionic energy connecting the three of them dissipated.

Cau'tor nodded at the Psion. "Leave us."

"I don't understand," Ta'nam said as soon as they were alone.

Cau'tor held the blade up. "Four generations ago, this weapon earned our family's place in the empire. Its history makes it a strong locus for the mind-walk." He studied the knife carefully, testing its weight distribution. "But history is a luxury of the victor."

Cau'tor took the weapon in both hands and broke it in half, grinding the brittle material in his gauntlets.

Ta'nam recoiled slightly. "Father…"

"The world this came from is gone," Cau'tor continued. "Home is no longer behind us. It is ahead in the distance, past a towering mountain, and over a great sea."

Ta'nam nodded. "We are Cabal. We eat the mountains, and drink the seas."

Cau'tor leaned forward. "But you cannot do this if your hunger is sated by indulgent reverie. So we will never walk these thoughts again."

Ta'nam stiffened. "I understand."

"Sol is a graveyard for our people. But those warriors never watched our cities burn in soulfire. The memory of home should not be a comfort, my child, but the wound that drives your blood frenzy."

Ta'nam nodded, but the knot in her gut forced her to speak. "Do you fear them, Father? The Sol warriors?"

Cau'tor smiled proudly, and took his daughter's hand. "I do not, my child. Because I fight with Ta'nam, and her blade is insatiable."

Praefectus Grips / Gauntlets / Gloves[edit]

"You want a ship? Surely your friends in the fleet would be happy to retrieve another lost Legionary. That is, unless, you'd rather not be found…"
The Spider



Warriors of the empire: the Imperial Crown calls to you.

Ghaul failed us, and the Red Legion paid the price in blood. You have been scattered and abandoned, hunted by our enemies as you yearn for home… but Torobatl is no longer ours.

The combined fleet of the empire has entered Sol space. Come back to us, our comrades and kin. Rejoin our ranks, and help me mend this fractured empire. Through honor and strength, we will write the next chapter in our empire's storied history, and—


The Centurion flipped a switch and silenced the comm device. She peeked out of the cavern's makeshift scrap-metal door and saw asteroids drifting over the Shore like sleeping goliaths in a lavender sea.

Screeb chitters echoed through the air, grabbing the Centurion's attention. She snapped the door shut and readied her Slug Rifle, listening as the sound swelled. When silence finally returned, she crumpled against the wall and wearily dropped her weapon. The gun had been issued in her family's name and bathed in her brother's blood. Now it was a fading memento, lying in the dust beside a vigil of empty helmets.

The message played over again in her mind and she snarled. A crown. A gauntlet. A chalice. Nothing more than metal tortured with heat and molded into something else. Into someone else's vision. What had the empire molded her into? The low moan of some ancient cable resonated through her pressure suit, now comically oversized for her atrophied muscles.

She swung her gauntlet and crushed the comm device for good measure. Thresher engines roared in the distance, the sound of countless Legionaries answering the call. She hunkered down and fell into a deep slumber.

Praefectus Cuirass / Plate / Robes[edit]

"Many victories seem out of reach. But you march onward, step by step, wound after wound, until they are in your grasp."
— Empress Caiatl


"Hail, warrior of the empire," Empress Caiatl said as she approached the bedside of a wounded Red Legion Centurion. The soldier had been gazing solemnly out a porthole when the sound of her voice startled him. He turned suddenly, then winced in pain. Caiatl saw darkened synthetic fabric enveloping his torso and the entirety of his right arm, which itself looked frail and withered. She knew immediately that this Cabal would see no more battles.

"My empress!" the warrior responded, clasping a fist to his chest with his unwrapped arm. Caiatl saluted in return.

The empress glanced at a monitor displaying the patient's data. "Val'ast, born of Val'tui." She looked out the porthole; the brilliance of Sol beamed back at her. "The empire has returned for you, Red Legionary, yet your heart seems heavy. Why do you languish?"

Val'ast looked away. "I am sorry, Empress."

"Do not be sorry, my brother," Caiatl said.

Val'ast sighed. "For years, every day has been about survival. Just trying to stay in the fight. But now…" He trailed off and grasped the sheets of his bed, a cheap fabric but still softer than anything he'd felt in years.

"When you war for so long, peace can become its own struggle," Caiatl said.

Val'ast let the fabric fall from his hand. "I thought I was Acrius reborn, claiming another sun for our kind." He gazed out the porthole. "But I failed."

Caiatl smiled. "I've always loved that tale." She pulled a stool over and sat. "Did you know that there used to be more to it?"

Val'ast shook his head.

"It's an older version, not as popular in modern times, but I was lucky enough to learn it as a child," the empress continued. "Before Acrius, three warriors sought to climb a great mountain and grasp the sun, but a terrible beast stood in their way.

"The first tried to outwit the beast and sneak through the shadows, but the beast smelled him still and ate the warrior in a single bite.

"The second tried to escape the beast, crafting a device to harness the wind and soar upward. But the fickle wind changed its mind and tossed her into the beast's maw.

"The third warrior challenged the beast head on, Severus in hand. She also fell to the beast's gnashing teeth, but not before her blade tasted blood."

Val'ast frowned. "They all failed?"

Caiatl considered the question. "The first two, certainly. They thought battle could be avoided. But the third warrior died with pride and honor."

Val'ast pondered for a moment. "Even in defeat, she left her mark on her foe."

Caiatl nodded. "And the next time one of her kin faced it, the beast would be one blow closer to death."

"Did more come?" Val'ast questioned.

"Of course!" Caiatl exclaimed. "They were Cabal, and the sun was theirs to claim. Over and over, their mightiest fell. But each time, another wound was struck, until the day came when a warrior landed the final blow. That warrior was Acrius."

Val'ast frowned. "Ever since I was a child, I saw Acrius as a hero…"

"He may have been," Caiatl replied as she clasped Val'ast's hand in hers. "But so was the warrior who struck first."

Val'ast's eyed glistened as he held her grip firmly. "Thank you, Empress."

Caiatl shook her head. "My brother, it is the empire who thanks you."

Praefectus Strides / Greaves / Boots[edit]

"Ghaul commanded you to die for his vanity. I ask only that you fight at my side for the empire. The choice is yours."
— Empress Caiatl


(A burst of electricity shatters a tree, showering Nessus's vermillion fauna across the battlefield.)

Vatoc the Psion had been a coward before, and not even just once. As he braced behind a Vex tower and clutched his empty rifle, he recalled his legacy of hasty retreats.

He had run from Wire Rifle enfilades and soulfire barrages on the detritus flotillas of the Reef.

He had fled the relentless advance of the chronomatons, nearly boiling in his suit amidst mercurial deserts.

Most of all, he had run from the Light-infested husks, the undying Guardians of Sol. Time and again, he saved his own neck, only for the Legion to find a new assignment and cast him back into the fray; they knew he was weak, but with Legionaries falling in droves, there was no other choice.

(A roar sweeps through the canyon as a smoking Thresher tumbles end over end into oblivion.)

Vatoc bore no guilt over his survival; to a Psion, survival was all you had. There was no honor to be gained, no advancement within ranks, no wealth to be accumulated. All the Legion left you with was your life, and Vatoc was going to make sure it lasted as long as possible.

But that was before Ghaul had been melted down to atoms and scattered across the stars. Before the failed gambit with the Warlock's time device. Before the Almighty, gleaming triumph of the Legion, was tossed like a pebble and swatted aside by an indifferent god.

Now came Empress Caiatl, and with her, the promise of something Vatoc never imagined he would have: freedom. The full might of the empire had arrived in a cavalcade of frigates and carriers, filling the space between worlds with destructive power. For the first time in his life, Vatoc's choice was not merely just to survive, but a choice of what to live for.

(A Colossus barks a rallying cry; a cacophony of Slug Rifles echoes in response.)

The battle swelled around him and his compatriots fell. He could see the route to safety. Dark crevasses tucked between tepui where he could run and hide. Where he knew he could survive.

(Vatoc reloads his rifle and sings an oath to his empress.)

He had been a coward before, but no longer.

Praefectus Cloak / Mark / Bond[edit]

"Feast, my comrades. Torobatl may be lost, but its spirit lives on in our traditions."
— Empress Caiatl


// Cryptarchy Analysis Log R11320 — Stolen Cabal Data //

// Author — Master Rahool //


What follows is a translation of a Cabal data file that was acquired as part of Operation Haystack, as ordered by Commander Zavala. This log focuses on a single file we were able to decrypt; for the full report on the contents of that data breach and further decryption attempts, please see log R11312.

Ostensibly, this file is a recipe for a dish to be served at some sort of official gathering in Caiatl's honor. The ingredients mentioned here have been seen in a variety of ancient Cabal texts, and analysis of the empire's economic history implies that they are considered cheap and undesirable. I believe this recipe is both old and born of the lower class, a case of poor laborers devising ingenious (yet challenging) ways to take unsold goods and turn them into something comforting and delicious.

That Caiatl chose this as a main dish for an official gathering speaks to the optics she wants to present; she may be trying to differentiate herself from the opulence of the Calus era and the utilitarianism of Ghaul's rule by relating to the common folk of the empire.

Note that decryption was only mostly successful, and some data degradation occurred. Cryptarch's comments are in-line for ease of understanding. Some translations remain ambiguous, but I've provided my best hypotheses.



— [CBX PARSER ERROR] until the solvent mixture has blended together.

— Pulverize atlotl tendons until just pliable and surfaces begin to crack, then dredge in solvent mixture and let soak for [36–84 hours; the cycle referenced here is unknown, estimates are conservative guess].

— To make the [black cube], crush citrus mixture, then drain through a sieve. Discard juice, retaining pulp and bitter pith. Compress solids in [kitchen vice? unsure of translation] on maximum heat until block is [CBX PARSER ERROR] to touch and charred. Place in sunlit area to cure.

— Once tendons are soft and stretchy, remove from solvent and rinse in ocean water. Slice into ribbons and set aside.

— Take loin of Atlotl and hook to [rotating device] then slap against stone surface until fragrant.

— Cut loin into tetrahedrons, making sure to slice across all grains, and set aside.

— In a large cauldron, add water, shau'rac oil, and appropriate root mixture (based on season and year). Bring to boil, then add loin and tendons. Cook until [CBX PARSER ERROR] no longer float and fluid has an ochre sheen across the surface.

— [CBX PARSER ERROR] more hours, thickening until broth [CBX PARSER ERROR] off the back of a ladle.

— Serve with thick slices of the [black cube].

// FILE END //

List of appearances[edit]