<Kholivaz> For one of the first times in his life, Kholivaz found himself too beaten to laugh in the face of his dead opponent. That and his shattered, bleeding cheek would have made it an agonizing experience. There was a part of him that drank deep of his own burning pain, but that was nothing compared to finally seeing Nezorath dead at his fee- knees, he had sunk to his knees at this point - as good as his word. He pulled the knives from Nezorath's armpit and snuck them back into their hidden sheaths. "As.. As good as my.. w-word." No Commorrite has ever said that truthfully. The former Hellion, now Storm Guardian picked up Nezorath's power blade with shaking limbs and set to the task of continuing this new and unfamiliar tradition of sticking to his declarations. It was the grim task of taking Nezorath's surgically modified head, it wasn't exactly the place to clean the skull bu- Kholivaz collapsed to the floor, unconscious. In one hand was a blade taken by the victor, in the other the bloodied head of his nemesis, a model image of a Commorrite. A violent lifestyle killing your kin until it finally wore you down and left you to lay, beaten, bloodied, and exhausted in the blood shed by your own nature of sin.
Liriasol sipped his tea and relaxed - quite a lot, now he was aware of it. There was laughter from Visethianne, healthy-sounding this time to his ears. Kara'shanwe had stopped crying and was looking the better for it, tea in hand. And so the Ranger felt able to turn his attentions to the Corsair, and his questions. A very interesting subject. "it sounds as if you are seeking that group or person or tribe that you can feel a part of. Soul-companions, as the ancients used to say." He paused. "I've found camaraderie on the Ranger Path, closer friends than I ever thought possible. But what it often brings is transience, the easy-going nature of passing friendship when everyone knows that the association is a temporary one. It was fun. I became fascinated by it. I became very, very good at it. It seemed to be offering me the freedom I was seeking - few rules. We made our own codes, restraints chosen for ourselves, drawn from the practicality of surviving the Dark Prince," he made the sign of the Eye of Isha, "and the demands of our own internal morality. A paucity of rules, no doubt, according to various Seer Councils, but we found they worked well enough. A sort of ... informal brotherhood (* the Eldar word he uses has no gender) of the spaceways. Simple things, such as never stealing from another Ranger." Liriasol sat back. taking a deep draught of the cool night air. "The thing about Rangers, that some forget, is that we all have a loyalty beyond ourselves. Some call us Outcasts, for certain, but we all remain in touch, however tenuously, with our Craftworlds. We are not Pirates, and we haven't left the Path, not really." He leaned forward and turned the cooking meat. "If we had then we wouldn't relay the information we do back home." "Certainly some of us are more connected than others. Some are wild adventurers, others are hopeful scouts, others just have a bad case of wanderlust. I would include myself in that last one. I want to see the galaxy, I want to experience marvels. Wherever I go, there is always a new horizon. Something beckons me - I need to see more. I get the urge to move on. And sometimes, that spirit brings with it a new group of fellow-travellers. Then, well, I spoke of being very good at transient gladness and friendships that last a season." "I am. It's shallow. I'm not proud of that side of it, though I wouldn't say I am ashamed, either. I don't discard people and move on like a heartless fiend. I flatter myself that I'm not a heartbreaker. I make my friends sincerely but when the time comes to move on, I move on. I don't know what this means." "Am I superficial, or is it just that I can leave where I am so easily because I know, deep in my unassialable heart, that if I meet my friends again it will be as if I never left? It has been so, on several occasions. I am able to give freely of myself because I know the ephemeral nature of happiness in this universe, and I know enough to seize it when the chance comes." "I wonder, though, if it is also because one day I know I will meet these people again." It was possibly the longest speech of the laconic Wanderer's life. "That's my perspective on the Path, the life we lead, the chances given to we Children of the Gods. We are sent so much sadness and pain. My philosophy is: take the chances life gives you, give to your fellow Eldar, honour yourself always. One has to be true to oneself." "And in my case, I knew I couldn't stay on the Craftworlds as I am now - that would gnaw at me and make me a shallow, restless, unhappy, petty sort of person. I'd chafe until my psyche was raw and then I'd probably end up taking the first ship out with the wrong sort of crowd. So I acted with self-determination. Agency is better than reaction. I need to travel. When I have learned whatever it is I need to learn from this Path - and it is a Path, and the Path was developed to allow us to grow, not confine and prune us into a certain shape, a sort of bonsai of the psyche - then I will return to my Craftworld and be able to enjoy its fruits." "Just, you know ... not yet." He set down his empty tea-cup-leaf. "As for romantic attractions, my friend, I find one just has to be oneself. Though if that Self is a tongue-tied and blushing ingenue then some kind of icebreaker is probably in order." "That's why Fire Dragons are such a hit at parties."
<Visethianne the Poet> Seth laughed again, his voice once more that deeper-than-night covetous melody. "I thought you a man of fewer words, wanderer. I truly did." There was something is the Avenger's eyes that showed how much he had valued the previous speech, though, like a nourishment. (OOC: That was awesome, Jori.)
[OOC: *bows* thank you! I'd got a good dose of "is my long speech any good or just a lot of words?" so your words are a true balm to me ]
"Thank you, Sir Poet," Liriasol said, smiling, "and as for words, well, I find that quantity has a quality all its own." Beyond the lightness of his speech, it was apparent that the Ranger appreciated that his opening up had been well recieved.
<Desek> Life signs were indeed faint but there none the less, the Warlock's armor was battered and stained crimson from blood of friend and foe alike. What skin was visible through tattered and torn robes bore the hue of one who had just been bathed in steam; the Haemoculi's strikes reflected upon his skin as they had assaulted his psychic manifestation. Perhaps most telling of all though was his expression and posture, his body stiff and limbs unbending whilst jaw was clenched and eyes screwed shut. It was an unfortunate effect of conjuring up the Executioner: dredging through memories thought healed as if picking at a particularly large scab within his own mind. Desek had drifted from a waking nightmare of bloodshed and warfare, to a terrible world locked away within his own mind.
OOC: Holy shit that was amazing, Amriel's response will take a little bit, I'm in class right now, but damn, that was fantastic Jori!
<Amriel> The Corsair sat stunned for a minute, the Ranger's speech having answered his question in such a way as to give him even more questions to answer; but these were not questions that anyone else could answer, he would have to find the answers himself by seeking them out within himself. "Thank you Liriasol, I hadn't thought of it that way before. I have more questions than ever, but I think only time will answer them. Though you did answer one question, which is what I shall do when this is all over, or at least what I would like to do. If they will have me I shall stay with this group, even in this short time I have met more people worth knowing, and certainly more that are worth dying for, then I have in the rest of my life." OOC: How would one go about starting up the Path again? Is it dependent on the Path chosen?
OOC: I think this is the only RP where all Participants simply love everyone's else posts, lol! <Aspect Warrior> Rharijem was still in a dream-trance like state when the ships docked in the secondary hangars - having no enemies to fight anymore. Perhaps the enemy was scared to fight any longer the ones who were so underpowered and yet destroyed the majority of them. Perhaps they simply had no ships to dispatch anymore. Perhaps they started to make their retreat. Many possibilities... Mereen, Ohreej and Trykasil climbed out of their crafts, leaving Rharijem and Leyna in the Nightshade as the trio left theirs. The four crafts were landed safely and the Guardian-Pilots grabbed the Shuriken Pistols of their respected crafts. "So... What do we do?" Trykasil asked in a scared voice. "Our brothers are still fighting, let's head where the fighting is the strongest..." Ohreej simply said, sighing soft - Feeling death embracing them and just wanting to face it already. "Crimson Lead will be safe here, let us go." Mereen said with determination and the three nodded to each other. "We can make a difference like he did, so do not give up just yet." Mereen added and then started to run off toward the Guardians stand near the bridge after their HUDs connected with the Anam Alqethir. <Artisan> "ARANETYHR! DON'T YOU DIE! DON'T YOU EMBRACE YNNEAD, I FORBADE YOU!" He yelled at the unconcious man, holding him tight on his body. Crying, he looked up at the Guardians. "Help your brothers and sisters! Don't let Warlock Desek and the others fall! GO ALREADY!" Zryas-Vehd yelled at the Gardener-Guardian and those around him.
"The fighting is fierce below us," one of the Scorpions said, as he looked down at the fighting, standing over the edge like a predator sizing up his prey. "Indeed," Exarch Veillon replied, flicking blood from his Biting Blade and stepping over the downed Wych. The three Scorpions fell in behind him, following him without a single question as their leader led them towards the Grav Lift. "Our brothers are beset by our cousins, it seems," Veillon explained, as the three stepped upon the Grav Lift and examined the thorn-like ships sticking into the hangar, releasing more Dark Eldar. The Eldar defenders were hard pushed, but holding. The Exarch would not let them stand alone. "We are only four," Veillon told them, as the lift began to move down. "But together we are the greatest Scorpions of Kaelor; testament to the fact we survived where all our brothers fell behind the Webway Gate. The Dark Eldar will not expect us to make such an attack against their rear - we will disorientate them, keep them busy. By our lives we will slay them as they leave their ships and give our brothers the chance to strike back at the enemy! I expect ten to fall before you; do not let me down, Scorpions. For Kaelor!" They raised their weapons; "For Kaelor!" They replied, their enthusiasm morale raising. The grav lift came to a halt, and the Exarch raised his Scorpion Claw against those Dark Eldar fighting across the hangar. He opened fire, spinning discs slaying multiple as he continued to move forward. As yet more rushed to intercept him, the Scorpions protecting his flanks began to cut them down, waiting for the order to begin the charge. "Attack!" The Exarch finally cried, his Shuriken Catapult momentarily spent as he lunged into the back of a Dark Eldar squad, his blade dancing gloriously through flesh. The other Scorpions followed him, spreading out to deal as much damage to as many enemies as possible. They were now isolated - the rear of the already present Dark Eldar on one side, and approaching reinforcements on the other. Still, if death was to come, it would be glorious.
