OOC: I simply stay on halt until I get home or clarification comes in; since I took plenty of freedom over teh course of battles and stuff, I don't wanna suddenly start ruining things for the sake of all of us
<Kholivaz> "I was not aware my Craftworlder cousins were so given to looting", Kholivaz remarked with some petulance. The potential treasure trove of weaponry now gone.. He spied Astora and felt.. She looked amiss without Tyrelhien by her side. "My dear Exodite friend, what task has brought you back here?" The former Hellion walked with a swagger in his step as he approach the fiery haired woman. ((OoC: snuck in a work post, woo!))
"Very well, Farseer. I will do as you request. Where might I find this Artisan?" He asked, taking a knee in order to rest a moment. He wasn't tired or fatigued in any way, he simply liked to give his body rest during such free moments so he could fight for even longer when battle eventually came. Anatomically, it didn't particularly make sense, but Veillon had always found the idea comforting. "Will battle find us again soon? If so, I should administer the Rites of War as soon as I can."
<Astora of Arché> "Guard duty. Will be over at Sunset - in this system's cycles." The woman tilted her head sideways at an angle that gave away curiosity. Then with a sigh, she asked "what's that look in your eyes, cousin? Were you looking for loot?" Then a hint of reservation. "Or are you just lost as to the Healer. Let go, take my word for it - you'll only find your own doom should you go down that road."
<Farseer Aranethyr> "I believe that Zryas-Vehd, the droid Artisan you're looking for, is at the crystal bridge - where the Gate used to stand." The Seer pressed lightly with his thumb and index upon his eyelids. "As for war... Now that there's no Gate, we'll need to find a way to retrieve our warriors without the use of the Webway. They are... Out of reach, unless we're ready to alert the Imperium of our presence."
"Are there no Wraithgates available?" The Exarch asked, as he peered around to survey. "I understand the Farseer sometimes carry them; do you not have one? Still, I should get to work immediately. By your leave," he said, standing and bowing before turning and making to leave the room. If he wasn't interrupted or called back, he would immediately begin the trek back towards the Crystal Bridge. "Artisan Zryas-Vehd!" He called out, hoping at least one of those present near the bridge would answer him.
<Kholivaz> The Hellion chuckled as he took place next to the Exodite, taking place of where Tyrelhien might have once stood with a hint of.. Sadness? "Astora my dear, I do not doubt your wisdom concerning the Healer. But I have needs! Needs that can't be fulfilled with your fist in my jaw!" Kholivaz was quick with making it clear he wasn't looking for an Exodite's specialty at this moment. He experimentally placed a hand on her shoulder, "If you know where my kind's weapons are, I'll finish your shift with you in exchange for the information. How does that sound?"
<Astora of Arché> "No need, cousin..." The woman sighed. She seemed to be making an effort at alleviating, but it simply did not flow through her. "Meet me at the armoury at Sunset. I'll get you in. Make sure not to take too much. For the moment -" she drew two of Kholivaz's knives from the back of her waists. "I found these by the side of a headless Scourge. I didn't report them, so they were never retrieved... And I never handed them to you."
<Artisan> The old man sighed from being called, just having been about to get back to his assigned work. He rose and stepped down of the stage. "What is it?" He asked obviously annoyed, his thoughts have been interrupted - How else should he feel? <Crimson Hunter(?)> The man stepped into the Chambers of Isha, just seeing the Farseer and a resting, legless Crimson Hunter. "Where is the Comorrite?!" Trykasil yell-asked, obviously demanding to know, while swinging his Shuriken Pistol around, thinking he might be hiding. "Where is that brute so I can take him apart?! In the name of my sister he shall bleed dry!" He stood between the Farseer and Rharijem, obviously barely caring about them, but rather the lack of Comorrites to kill. <Aspect Warrior> The steps came closer, followed by yells of hatred. He recognized the voice, so he turned around to meet one of his fellow pilots - Although his words made barely sense. His eyes widened and then blinked multiple times when a Crimson Hunter was standing there instead of a Guardian. The colors in the shrine of the Cyan Wing. "By Iryllith and Isha, what do you think are you doing, Trykasil?!" Prior tears wiped off and his face serious, glaring blades into the gaze of the donned Guardian, Rharijem sat up the best way he could as Trykasil stormed forward to him.
