<Cair> "I'm sure they can, nonetheless, I have not been on this planet before, and I would like to see the sights it has to offer at night." His tone conveys excitement and curiosity, and does not betray even a hint of tiredness on the Reaper's part. <Amriel> The Corsair, glad to have something to do, immediately springs up and begins to gather the bedding. It may not be as glorious as charging a Rogue Trader capital ship on a jetbike, but at least I can make this the best damn bedding ever!
<Aspect Warrior> The void was at peace, save for the Anam fight off the Comorrghan frigates, but their part was done... Rharijem closed his eyes and leaned back, trying to rest and relax some, giving his body a chance to recover from the inflicted pain. His weak body was set under a lot of G-Force during the deployment and it harmed him in multiple ways. The downside was that his adrenaline lowered as well, making the pain feel stronger. A pain so strong, not even Khaine could block completely out. Though a voice interrupted Ishas Shield. "Hey Jamie." A female voice rung and Rharijems eyes shot wide, his heart skipping a beat. Only one forsaken Eldar would use that Mon'keigh name upon him! "I KILLED YOU ON BETALIS III YOU CURSED WRETCH!" He replied roaring. "Now now, that is not how you greet a lover, is it? Especially if she is flying your beloved own craft. Though I renamed it 'Heart Impaler', and look I even left your paint on it!" Her voice was warm, rather erotic for those that were not bound by Khaine, the message itself was broadcast toward all of Ishas shield. The female laughed as Rharijem growled, powering his craft up again - This was personal. "How did you survive the crash?! I saw you detonating right into the Imperial Forces!" The Aspect demanded to know, having been certain about the events roughly one hundred years ago, especially since it was him who took her engines out for her betrayal. "Well, someone picked me up after I ran off and concealed myself. Though since the Sky Raiders were crap after the campaign, I simply decided to visit Mymeara, just to learn that my beloved Jamie has volunteered to some weird force under some Anamnialocian idiot or something like that." He clenched his fists upon that human name, it was not even anywhere close to his name ending 'jem'! "Then let us settle the score for good, Venus, or under which ever name you serve those raiding bastards this time!" The voice was poisonous and the desire for the death of that individual could easily be noticed. Rharijem checked his radar and saw her drawing heart-shaped maneuvers, just out of the angle of the Anams batteries as if teasing him - And it worked. "Ishas Shield, remain in position, let nobody get through. I must finish this for good - On my own." His craft dashed forwards as he finished his sentence, closing in upon the female pilot - the Pulse Laser unleashing even while way out of range. "Oh Jamie! Why all that hatred? You seemed not to care about your name when we moaned each others name in delight, that one night before the Betalis III campaign." Venus giggled, obviously loving to tease the former lover of hers and now rival in this battle. The Cyan-Wing painted Nightshade of hers peaked out of the Comorrite-Corsair fleet like an Astartes would stick out among an Imperial Regiment or like Aranethyr would stick out of all Anamnialocians on board the craft he defended. Despite the main reason appearing to settle their past score, it was far more... That Eldar was a hazard, being at least as talented as himself she could turn the entire battle around, especially in the current condition the Anamnialocian forces were. Although the stakes were high and the fight would be extremely even, this time he had the true edge. Where she just had the lust to tease, inflict pain and mock - He felt now the emotion of duty, responsibility and the desire to live on, at least until he would look into Minnas fact, for the life debt that still was to be returned... And... More...
<Watchers of the Anam> A maimed but still-functional group of Guardian's - Desek's own retinue - reassembled beneath his leadership once more. "The sword-wind is yours, commander," said the one operator of the weapons platform that remained alive - an Eldar scatter laser. "Unleash the wrath of Isha, Anamnialoci!" The squad opened fire against the harpies as they in turn shot at the Warlock with eerie accuracy and wrath.
<Minnaloushe the Intemperate> "Alright, brother..." Minna sighed. "Call me up when you grow tired - I know I am no Aspect, but I'm used to waiting." An image of herself with the boots atop her console, listening to music as the Aspects performed their duty, came to her mind's eye. "Aye then... Good night-cycle." The girl laid herself on a fraction of the seats that wasn't occupied, refusing to gear in the Guardian suit and bracing up for Isha's breath all night.
<Nezorath the Scourge> The man let go of his blaster and summoned a single powerblade from its sheath, cutting downwards to parry his brother's blade - such blade was parried, and when Kholivaz attacked with his hidden weapons he was thrown to the ground by an invisible force. Nezorath's image shimmered as if he was in the bottom of a pond... A shadow field. The Scourge laughed maniacly as he again raised his rifle and fired at will.
<Architect> The flesh crafters kept parrying the Exodites' blades until one touch rendered Astora undone - the blow of a gauntleted fist issued by the haemonculus male. The female picked the helpless Exodite and put a dagger to her throat. "Well done Exodite," she said. "Now drop your weapon." On the stairs to the bridge, Farseer Aranethyr commanded the last Guardian gunline. The old figure hovered above all others, Warp energy emanating from his helmet's lenses as he blew wave after wave of enemies with an invisible wall of power.
<Architect> Down on the planet, the warriors deployed gathered by the fire, their eyes reflecting the small dancing flame like would the seas a sun. Upon their faces the struggle of war-eternal and Self was evident. "While Liriasol returns... I do believe we had a story due, Liss Kara. Might distract my otherwise troubled mind."
<Architect> The Eldar and humans at the Chambers of Isha turned at the sound of the door finally giving in - a squad of Wracks charged right in. Both Guardians took on firing positions, and Evelyn took cover behind a grav-bed she overturned. The three in unison opened fire before the Wracks could shatter the healing pods.
The very monstrosity of the abomination was sickening.There was no symethry or beauty of clear and sharp angles.They were just piled up meat and bone. "Take the wounded and go!"screamed Zeth at the firing trio behind his back.Evelyn took cover behind a grav-bed."I will be right behind you."yelled Zeth as Wracks charged with their bestial fangs and surgical tools toward the venerable Errant. A small device started ticking in Zeths hand as green liquid within the container started shifting violently under the weight of chemical reactions done upon it. Various shapes and angles,calculations and blast radius field drew out in a hastily made simulation via his cybernetical sight.For a moment he saw the world in black and white colors as various lines made their way like serpents across the air and floor of the dome-shaped chamber.When he was satisfied with the result he threw the plasma-grenade he held in his arm. He threw it at specific angle and with enough force to gain the desired result.He threw himself to the ground as the plasma-grenade bounced of the floor twice and made its way toward the arch at the entrance of the med-bay.The explosion was blinding and the advancing Wracks disappeared in moments...only their shadows remaining at the places were they stood.A rumble could be heard as Zeth raised his head from the floor and saw that arch collapsed on itself. "Praise the Machine God...we are safe for now."said Zeth as he rose from the ground."Lets move away from this position before the Dark Eldar find their way around the breach."said Zeth as he turned his head toward one of the pods that were damaged by the explosion.With a hissing sound gases escaped throught the broken glass-like material at the front side of the pod.As the gases escaped,the view from the glass panel was starting to get clearer. Zeth turned his head and strained his normal eye so he could see if its inhabitant looked alive.As the mist within it cleared he saw a beautiful face of an red-headed Eldar.Zeth lost his breath...
<Desek> All this Desek watched with no small amount of chagrin and perhaps guilt. "Focus fire on that Scourge flock, herd them into the weapon platforms field of fire. Do not fail me brothers and sisters. " Another mental order dispersed amongst them, rare was the moment he used his voice during actual combat lest the foe catch some hint of what they were saying. Shard Carbines continued to loose their deadly payloads his way but the Warlock did not yield to them any easier than his ward was. It was an interesting difference between the two divergent fragments of their race. Those of the Craftworld had learned to develop their minds, turning to the craft of Seer's to maintain their survival while the Fallen sought out the works of Flesh, turning to their Haemoculi and the other myriad augmentations of the body to continue on. It would be time to put that question to the test. Mind or Matter, Warlock or Haemoculi. It would be a difficult transition for him into the next set of abilities but he could do it, just needed a steady hand and a focused mind. Death grip maintained on his Witch Blade the Warlock fed power into it's coil causing the weapon's own bloodied sheen to deteriorate at a rapid pace until it was almost entirely black. From there that same shadow began to spread over himself and out to the other guardians supporting him. From there it burst out into a thick miasma that neither tech nor eyes used to such darkness could permeate. Lighter points of grey shadows danced in the ink, giving the impression that Desek and the Guardians were constantly dancing about within. Concealment summoned he let the ward drop, easier to maintain the shadowed fog rather than an active barrier against constant weapons fire that required it be reinforced with every impact. For a moment nothing further came of the Warlock, submitted to the darkness of his own eyelids as the world outside his Concealment artifice was to he and the Guardian Squad. A new shadow had joined the various half real illusions within the fog, something far larger than any of them had the right to be. From within a figure clad in black robes with a vest of darkened armor adorned with Runes of Destruction, Death and Reaping emerged, it's arms trailing behind it with purpose: The Executioner had arrived. Easily the same size of a grotesque and just as disturbing in appearance for reasons same and different. Something was inherently wrong with the up-sized effigy of the Warlock, cracks in his own psyche and past experiences had molded it in a number of ways with perhaps the most notable being the right limb which ended in a scythe as if it were a Haemoculi's own grafted on creation. Something about the weapon was inherently wrong at a glance but closer inspection revealed exactly why; the limb was thicker than it should of been in comparison to the rest of the Eldar effigy and the it's joints too sharply angled but most damning was the line of carapace running along the back of the blade itself. A final detail stood for those with truly dedicated eye sight, the names of the Haemoculi were carved into the blade of the Scything Talon itself. Staring through his chosen avatar's eyes Desek paid little heed to anything else, knowing that others would see the threat in their midst and attack as well regardless of whether he tried to slay them or not, all that mattered were those Flesh Crafter's, one final press of his minds capabilities to bring it forward with grim determination. He knew this was his final act in this fight, a single deed that would hopefully prove pivotal enough to turn things in their favor. The question wasn't whether or not he would fall, he must certainly would either succumbing to exhaustion and unconsciousness after the Executioner dispersed or simply slain by an outside force or even the feedback of his own effigy being destroyed, but whether he would fall with the blood of the Haemoculi pooling on the floor. With an unnatural groan howling from it's closed maw the manifestation of death stepped into it's charge at the Flesh Crafter's, Tyranid talon held high for all to see, despair was it's herald and death would be it's gift. OOC: Apologize if this is a bit too wordy, spent the past...two or three hours working on it, been a while since I did a post this large that I had actual fun with for the entirety of it.
