For shame, Farseer. You do nothing more than proclaim your hollowness before your flock. Is it fear for them losing their patience? Or is it fear that your own patience, your façade, will crumble right in front of them? * The chaos lord grins beneath his helm, his hellish visage clad in an unnatural and obscuring shadow * You are outnumbered and outgunned. The hope you preach of and cling to is fickle, Farseer. It will abandon you and your kind, leaving you at our mercy.
It looks like that even your "gods" didn't even care with you so you don't have to do nothing more than babble here all day, while even your skull so worthless to serve as a walking path to our light feet. I will not bear that you using a tone like this with such individuals whom saw your ancestors develop from mere cells to such things that you are... If the Seer's and the Warlock's temper won't run thin, then you will have to face my verdict, you scum of the cosmos, feed-bags of daemons! *She holds out her spear pointing the chaos scums*
*Steps out of the shaddows while priming his plasma rifle* Goody! Battle for the glory of the Prince! (I just read through the entire RP. Firstly welcome. Secondly english is my first language you are all doing great. And lastly this is brilliant!)
* a rare event unfolds in the form of Lord Decimus eliciting a ghastly chuckle * Such spirit...I will enjoy breaking you * The Chaos Lord motions for his allies to gather, taking a place beside him. * How is it that such proud and mighty beings amount to a band of filthy xenos running from their problems? You cling to the remnants of an empire, your gods, and your once astonishing power base. Why do you not fight your own battles? Why is it that only one of your gods truly looks out for you? A god being destroyed piece by fragile piece? I deliver to you, the truth. You are a dying race who's relevance, Who's Legacy, Will soon be forgotten.
*The tone of the Farseer's voice remains unchanging - the calm, serene tone he has at all times, save for when he addresses the servants of She Who Thirsts* You think that, after all these millenia, after seeing countless worlds die, civilisations fall and rise and the ever-increasing folly of your kind, that I am moved by personal insults? I would have imagined one such as you would have come up with something better. And mine is no "façade". It is a will tempered like the finest steel in the forge of time. And unlike yours, it has endured the whispers of slavemasters. When I have gazed upon the very fabric of Creation, what care I about the cackling of a broken man, drunk with his own illusion of power?
Oh yes, I believe you are. Can you feel it, farseer? Very soon, Our corrupting hands will find your throat. We will choke you with despair, smother your soul with darkness. Alas, The Warp is always shifting and it's Champions rise and fall. I think we can all sense that soon enough, This dogma will find itself settled. * The Lord simply stands there, his malign gaze finding itself upon all of them * Don't you agree?
Ah, Yes. I cannot forget the mighty greenskins. Do not worry, You will have your fill of violence. I assure it.
