OOC: It does make sense to me! No need to edit, we'll just remember that you burst in when the Avenger is done replying to Amriel!
[I think he burst in just as he'd finished speaking. So that would be after Amriel was done, and before Visethianne got a chance to sit up and go "I'm not dead" ]
[OOC I am off to Dark Heresy tonight, so I won't be able to post for a few hours. Be good while I'm gone! Also ... NOOoooo... don't kill the Farseer ... he's the only one who knows what his plan is! And who else will Caedessin call a very naughty boy?? ]
<Watchers of the Anam> Aranethyr's retinue of Guardians came through the sealed doorway to the bridge, carrying the man as he breathed easily, trying to save up his energy. Zryas-Vehd was a well-known and respected name across the Anam, and it was a badly kept secret that the friendship between the Seer and the Artisan spanned millennia. The holo-map indicated that the Chambers of Isha had fallen, so it only made sense that the Farseer was brought before the Yme-locian. "Kais Vehd!" Called out a female Guardian with a familiar voice. Her helmet was missing, showing a pale blonde hair bloodied and sweated through. The Farseer had left a trail of droplets as he was carried through the bridge, bleeding at a fast and steady tempo.
<Nezorath the Scourge> Nezorath's wings batted away Kholivaz's knives, protecting the harpy - however they hadn't been spared contact with the substances they were imbued with. The Scourge leg go of his blaster, turning to embrace Kholivaz as he flew his way. The pair fell to the ground, rolling with the momentum. Nezorath ended up beneath the Hellion. "Déjá vu," he let out smirking. A surge of electricity shook Kholivaz, just as it had last time.
A cry of agony emitted from the Hellion's fanged mouth even as a closed fist came down across Nezorath's face, he had landed ready to maul the Scourge. No Hellion was so good that they hadn't been taken off their Skyboard more than once, often having to fight off their assailant be it Wych, Kabalite, or random street dregs. The shock had been an unpleasant factor that he had hoped to avoid by slamming a knife through his opponent's skull. Well. That wouldn't happen. The shock passing through his body threw Kholivaz off of the Scourge and off to the side, fighting his jarred senses and scrambled mind, face down in the bloodied floor. To be fair, it certainly didn't change his already drenched attire or face as it shakily rose from the floor, groggy and teeth clenched beneath his fangs, multiple threats escaping from his lips. "R-rip.. the wings fr-from your back, Nezorath!" Spittle hit the floor as his body finally stopped twitching, the current was finally grounded.
<Desek> The Haemoculi squared off against the effigy of Destruction and Terror most pure. Flesh Crafter sought to douse him with ever more of the acidic life fluids and succeeded as the Executioner bore the assault against it's runic armor as it had before. Slowly the Rune of Suffering was boiling away, Desek feeling the pain of such an assault ripple over his skin as it fed off from his conjured abomination. Yet the creature would not flinch or give way, it's eyeless face giving away no pain, contempt or even desire. Lifting it's hand whilst the Scything Talon lashed out, a faint inky blue rose up from it's palm. Darting aside the intended killing blow the Haemoculi must of felt some relief at fairing better than his female counter-part, perhaps a bit of bravado returning thinking he could handle himself and win. Death Blossomed in response as the hand cast forward and unleashed a myriad storm of doom bolts upon him, each one a tiny sliver of power that resembled so many tiny black suns prepared to seed destruction. They erupted all about and upon the warped Eldar, each burst of power pulping flesh and bone as the detonations expanded in a fashion reminiscent of Reaper Launcher's cluster bombs. From their the Executioner glided over the fallen harvest, talon dragging behind on the floor and parting the body from groin to scalp without a thought before it rose up into it's hungering crouch awaiting the next target. With the man so focused upon controlling his effigy he had not been made aware of the Farseer's wounding till now, even then only by his presence missing from the final line of defense. With grim purpose did the Executioner bring itself to his previous position, floating up within the shadow of his lingering power for all to see. A final act was all that it could offer now, an entity of dreadful power standing amidst the line of Guardian's whilst Desek drew forth what remained of his will power. Rune of Suffering flaring a bright angry red the warp entities toothless void of a maw opened up once more and projected a final call to all those who would listen on every corner of the ship. For those touched by the thirst, for the lust of suffering and destruction a torrent of screams assailed their minds. Their own, that of others, those slain, those victorious and those whom simply shouldn't even be. A final attempt at shattering whatever spirit the Fallen clutched to, to tear away what remained of their determination. For those whom were spared the creature's bloody harvest they heard the drums of war, the songs of their ancestors and the howling of the wind as it turned to the rising of blades and the Sword Wind was urged into action to end this all. For those looked upon as alien, the humans, they heard nothing their souls to alien for one they saw as alien for Desek to single out and put any touch upon. Just as they, Desek himself heard nothing, only the hollow winds of darkness as he submitted himself to unconsciousness and the comfort of closed lids. As shadowed sleep embraced him, so did his fathered concealing fog blow away with the winds of the warp, and the Executioner faded with them. OOC: Annnnnnnnnnnnnnd done. Sorry it took so long to write, I was waiting for a response to my previous post a bit worried I might have taken it a bit too far and figured some rebuking was coming. Once again if I've done such just give me a smack across the face. If not, enjoy the read and I do hope it was a worthy finisher.
<Visethianne the Poet> A low pitch laughter that increased in volume and a little bit in pitch received the worried ranger. The sound in the end was at best androgynous, and at worse melodic and feminine. "I am fine, Liriasol! Stand down," he... Or she? Plead. The Avenger shifted his or her weight downwards to again sit down, cross-legged. A couple of auburn leaves and a single branch polluted their wavy raven hair as they set their eyes upon Liriasol's catch, then the corsair's tea. He took the makeshift cup with care, nodding to his brother's sentiment. He felt like speaking of the ones he'd left behind at Anamnialoc, the ones his experiences had been shared and that his self-inflicted exile took from him - most likely permanently. However, Visethianne wasn't one to speak of his troubles if not in verse - and how would he synthetize all that he felt for his friends and family in just a handful of verses? To do so he would need a entire library of poem stones, words beyond his lexicon... A lifetime. And Visethianne had not a lifetime to tell stories anymore - there was a craftworld to redeem in the pages of history, and his was to be the bloody pen to right the wrongs.
