Zeth heard a sharp female voice as one of the Guardians ran toward the pod.It seems the red-haired one died...her last breath...there was something special to it...yet nothing tangible and thus not of any intrest to the Errant. "Last stand?Look Eldar...i risked my life multiple ocassions for this gathering of your kin and those of the...darker past.I have not used my almost last thrice-blessed by Archmagos-Veneratus plasma grenade so you could all valiantly die."snapped Zeth at the male Guardian that was still taking his fortified position behind a cover near the triangle shaped,Zeth discovered,exit. "Miss Harbringer...you take the Eldar that are able to walk and i shall detach these...healing containers to the best of my ability."They will have their roles to play...as it was ordained... "Miss Harbringer lead the Eldar behind that passage...it leads to the interior of the ship.I cannot say what lurks beyond...but a strong psyhic pressence can be detected from here.Oh and....keep the laspistol"spoke he with a rather soft tune in his voice...as if he was giving one of his most precious things.He turned to the nearest functional pod and its inhabitant gazing upon the complex Wraithbone machinery and few power-lines,esteticly hidden as Eldar always do.... "What is your name Guardian?"said Zeth pointing his index finger to the male Guardian... OOC: Deran...i must give kudos for that post!Giving kudos where kudos is due!
OOC: Bah all y'all making me blush over here, thank you, thank you kindly but I ain't the only one putting out quality here, think that everyone is aye yup.
Kara'shanwe looked around the small encampment and realised that she was scanning for targets. She shook her head, a minute gesture, as if in doing so she might regain some clarity of focus. There was a need for vigilance, yes, but they had alert senses. Any of the Humans who happened upon them would make more noise than a herd of grox; and for the wild predators, if there were such close by, they had fire. Her eyes were drawn to the tiny blaze as Visethianne nurtured it. Steel-grey eyes intent on the flames, feeding it as gently as a newborn. For a moment, cave walls rose around them instead of jungle trees, and the orange glow of the firelight played on faces decorated with woad and antimony. On the scattered canvas where leaves stood in for stone, dancing figures played or stalked or chased down prey. A hand stirred the hearth. Voices rose and fell, the chatter carrying with it the scent of woodsmoke and honeyed mead. Someone laughed, and drew back her hair. "Liss Kara'shanwe, I believe we were promised a story?" Visethianne's voice, deep and mellifluous and stil carrying that unusual note, something in the timbre that she couldn't quite place. She shook herself more thoroughly this time, still feeling the lingering ghost of a touch on her cheek. "Well, the tale I told ... that was all there was of it. And I did not bring my noteorb with me ... I would need to extemporise." Kara looked around. Amriel was busy with the bedding, testing the piles of greenery for softness and comfort wth the seriousness of one who is new to such a task. As she would be herself. Vethellien was passing Visethianne more fuel, stacking up a goodly pile of fallen wood to one side. And the Ranger was off hunting, a task he'd taken to with the air of one pleased to be finally in his own element. But a night like this, a small group of Eldar, eating (with luck) around a fire ... it was a night for stories. Kara'shanwe looked back at Visethianne. "Perhaps you might tell me a tale of your own, or recite some of your work? I am sure it would be a pleasure to hear."
<Farseer Aranethyr> At the call of Kholivaz's voice, the Seer turned his thunderous gaze to the well-equipped Scourge. A vision of the rune of Commorragh and the rune of the Farseer entwining came to his memory - it was time. Farseer Aranethyr took a deep breath and extended a hand towards the incoming Scourge, his fingers closing around the punic figure like Khaine's bloody hand around the Anaris - through his personal perspective. "You..." He muttered, the hand opened once again - violent lightning cracked around the fist like a blooming flower of tempest. "Begone!" An Eldritch Storm raged throughout the air, engulfing Nezorath for the longest of seconds - shimmers and gaseous shadows replaced the image of the Scourge, before the all-too familiar sound of a splinter being fired silenced the storm. Farseer Aranethyr fell from the skies, a single needle sticking out of the middle of his abdomen. A voice pierced through the Anamnialocii's clouded senses. "The Farseer has fallen!"
<Architect> Nezorath stopped shimmering, the shadow field overheated and gone as he reloaded - savouring each chuckle of his maniacal laughter.
<Visethianne the Poet> Laying back with a grunt possibly caused by a wound he got on the last skirmish, the Avenger was suddenly on his back, knees slightly raised and hands cupping his head like an improvised pillow of wraithbone. Silence - a second, two, then he spoke, letting out a sigh that dragged on to the very first of his words. "Sleepless," "In the dark side of my passions Waiting for the dawn to break my bleak horizon Staring into a black sky Of dreams that perish in my hands I wither in this endless winter’s might" A hand extended to grasp the stars and the longing was readable in the way the poet moved each muscle of his hand... Like caressing the unrequited. "But... She’s far in a bed of roses I am so cold outside I’m tired, hearing voices Sleep through this starless night" The hand turned into a fist, and the mellow turned to fire - a blazing defiance. "Alas I still know, when the Moon hears my roars The same white light stains her skies And lights her way through the path But there is no daylight to show As I wait in the cold Yet I know, in the end, we’ll elope At last I lay so tired Remembering the battles I have fought Tonight I will sleep troubled Knowing tomorrow has much worse in stock" Again the desperation, the sorrow of a myriad night sleeping alone tainted his voice - waiting, waiting for his muse to come and save him from the fires that burned beneath his skin, threatening to light the bed on fire as he spent endless hours trying in vane to sleep. "And she’s far in a bed of roses! I am so cold outside! I’m tired, hearing voices… Sleep through this starless night I want to hear your voice! Whispering “hold on” I want to see the Sun! Sleep hoping to wake up" The words died to the forest's air, and it felt like he too had died within them. Died with everything he had to give, all the love, all the caring and the details... All that "ever after" the mortals promise to each other, all the unknown worlds hidden in his eyes...
OOC: Most certainly shouldn't be with all those awesome walls of space combat/space opera you've consistently put out, hell I've been jealous of those myself xD
