<Kholivaz> The Storm Guardian took the knives from his Exodite friend's hands, the wickedly curved twin daggers disappearing almost instantly around the multiple compartments lining his suit. Kholivaz gave an awkward, almost innocent smile as he felt the weapons find their ways home once again. That smile then reached Astora as he made another request, "One day I'll spread tales of the generosity of Exodites, my kin. But I do have one last request." The Commorrite leaned into the woman; a far too intimate gesture for a public place, as his gloved hands came up to her face and quickly tugged at her cheeks. "Smile." The chances of her striking him were skyrocketing with every moment, but Kholivaz somehow felt.. Almost responsible for her! It was an unfamiliar, near nauseating concept. But as the only individual he could come close to trusting currently aboard and in the realm of the living, he felt protective of the Exodite who certainly didn't need protecting. A memory of the past returned, of Skyboards screaming through the Middle Darkness. Of cruel laughter and of wings ripped from the backs of his most hated foes. There was no kinship between anarchists who exemplified the very system they sought to rail against. Simply a shared hatred. The Dark City was a far simpler place.
<Architect> Daeva Arimane dully noted the new wounded that was brought to her and gave him a place in the datapad that hovered by her side. Serha, the Anamnialocii Healer, approached to help Rharijem up a grav-chair, same that he could drive around the Anam while his legs were ready. Upon the hangar, Astora took a step back as Kholivaz came uncomfortably close to her - drowned was her impulse of swatting his hand off her and... Did her senses deceive her? Astora smiled to the Commorrite's efforts. That awkward smile blooming in his features like a painting out of place, badly aligned and illuminated. "Kholivaz..." The Exodite cleared her throat and pushed the man violently, but with a broad and somewhat playful smile. "Get your paws where I can see them."
<Kholivaz> Kholivaz regained his balance a few feet from the woman, as light on his feet as a Wych on blood-stained sands. That grin had grown in confidence from the moment Astora shoved him to the moment he stood before her, hands raised and palms out in a deferential gesture. "Paws? Really? I understand some aboard may see me as an animal, but your words cut deeper than any knife I possess, Astora."
<Aspect Warrior> "Gratitude." The Eldar merely said once brought upon the Grav-Chair. He never had to use one before, but at least it worked with the mind like weapons, therefor not too complicated to maneuver. Being now somewhat mobile he flew toward Aranethyr, just giving him a nod before gliding out. Rharijem needed time for himself, not to ponder about how to become a better hunter... But how to become a better Eldar. He understood now that diving into a single emotion is what caused the Fall of the Eldar in the first place. Being a good Eldar meant to beware all emotions, the entire spectrum, without exclusion.
<Architect> The jungle played by before the Host's eyes as the Wave Serpent advanced to the side of the river. Its liquid was a strange tone of burnt silver, but still scans indicated it was brimming with life. Finally, the river gave birth to a lake, which was too broad to circle. "Well that's the end of the land, Aspects..." Sighed Minna. "We can spend a third of the cycle going around or we can skim through. Your call."
<Aspect Warrior> Rharijem spent his solitude time in the Secondary Hangar where his own craft was still located, the prior lover removed, her soulstone along with the corpse. His hand touched gentle over the craft. "Oh Wind Wing... You always kept me save in the womb of your Cockpit." tracing with the index finger along the cursing eye, the symbol of Mymeara. "But I am no longer who I was once. The Rharijem of Betalis III is gone, and so, your pilot died." He kept re-tracing the eye over and over as he smiled soft. "Though a new one was born... And I hope you do not mind to carry him, do you?" Of course it did not answer - It never did. The craft was just a sound board. His friend among all the strangers which he called brothers and sisters. Wind Wing never would judge him, it would always be just there, listening. Like the father, mother and best friend he never had. His gaze wandered from the vessel to the void, watching the debris of the Dark Eldar ships float in space. Unlike other times he did not feel satisfied or proud, but rather... Sorry. He was sorry for them, due to whatever reason they attacked the Anam. And he was sorry for those that died. He was sorry for individuals like Trykasil who were too strongly affected and were at the border of their sanity. War. It was no delight, like his former self would have thought or seen. War. It is a tragedy to everyone that is hit by it. Then it struck him like a lightning bolt, the realization of his behavior change. He had to make a statement to himself and those around him. And with such thoughts, Rharijems floating chair took him to to the Halls of Servants.
