Discussion in 'Role Playing' started by Banshee, Jun 16, 2014.
The shaper spoke bluntly. "You must tell me more about your mission first."
Edit: OOC: Hit submit too soon, my bad, don't respond yet!
The Corsair nods knowingly, correctly guessing who the Hunter was glancing at.
"Do not worry Brother, every Eldar on this planet and back on the ship would support you in this. If you do not mind me asking, what was your 'change of pace' so to speak?"
The Corsair's mind went over the past couple days on this planet. The loss of his arm in particular had forced him to reevaluate how he went about things, he couldn't keep being so reckless, and he knew now that perhaps the life of a Corsair was no longer for him. He had found people worth dying for and dying next to on that ship, and he did not want to leave them for a Craftworld he had never truly felt he belonged at. He had already decided to stay with the group, but in what capacity? He had no idea how to begin treading the Path again, or even what Path to tread. He enjoyed (and was rather good at) leading soldiers into battle but how does one walk the Path to Command? How do you even know if you're on the right path? It was a lot to figure out, but it would all be worth it if he could better serve his new home that way.
"Well I've only recently picked up the details myself but we appear to be on the hunt for several items from the Imperial encampments. " Desek shrugged as he went over the command nodes details again checking out their shopping list of contraband.
OOC: You're good now!
"Just as you deployed, Aranethyr performed some sort of ritual on me which sent me in quite a deep trance... And near death." Rharijem started, sighing as he crossed his arms. Obviously still quite irritated or perhaps unsure of how to take the whole experience.
"There I was confronted with what my War-Self seemed to have hid away from me quite a while ago. With that mystery revealed it was like Khaines grip on my soul was loosened and gave me the opportunity to rediscover myself." Feeling uncomfortable to go into the detail this soon after the experience and not quite sure yet what exactly happened to his soul and mind. And either forgetting or not desiring to think about them, he neither mentioned the fight of the Anam Alqethir. It was not the right time nor place.
"Strange, I have heard of nothing like that before, but clearly it is effective."
The Corsair did not press the Hunter for details, he could tell he did not wish to speak more about the subject. He gestures towards where the Serpent is wrecked underneath the Great Knarloc.
"Heh, Minna took a page out of your book Brother."
The man looked toward the gesture and blinked before he recognized the wreck of the Wave Serpent, the Star Cannon and some left overs of the runes and colors obviously indicating it belonged to Minnaloushe. "I see." Rharijem started, quite impressed that the female learned from him just as much as he tried to learn from her.
"Impressive for a first try, even more impressive that the creature survived that blow." The Crimson Hunter gestured toward a trunk on the ground before sitting down himself. "Do you mind if I ask you something about your past as Corsair?"
"That beast was tough to be certain, but in the end it fell just like the first to my Laser Lance, though at least I did not end up losing an arm again."
The Corsair sat down as well, watching the Kroot as they feasted themselves on the fallen warriors. It was a disgusting spectacle to be certain, but he had seen the Dark Eldar in the Vent do much worse after a victory.
"Sure thing, what would you like to know?"
Liriasol did as he was asked and kept a bead on the Shaper until the Warlock signalled that he was willing to talk and some kind of peace was made. The Ranger emerged, covered in dust and mud and Kroot-hound slobber; it was disgusting, but it was better than it could have been. And there was blood. Not so much of it his own, and that was mostly from scrapes and shallow cuts, but there were many. He ached. There would be bruises already - he always had bruised like a peach - but as Kaeshira said, an aching body is a living one.
He walked over to the group, picking his way across the debris of battle. The Kroot ate their dead all around him. Liriasol knew this; he had travelled for some time, and he understood what the custom meant. If one was willing to take a step back, and see the culture within its own lens, the act was one with many meanings. The fierce devouring of a worthy opponent. The consuming of a being whose essence one wished to absorb. The tender eating of the corpse of a loved one, or an honoured fellow warrior. The Wanderer couldn't quite forget enough of himself to see the act as the Kroot did, but he had the empathy needed to know why they did what they did. It helped that he'd taken a healthy shot of adrenaline right to his system. The after-effects would come crashing down soon.
Looking over at the small knot of Eldar, it was apparent that the Exarch would be attending to the needs of the warriors, as any good priest does for his congregation. Which was good, for those on the War Path. Some looked tired, others more soul-weary and it was these that alarmed him more. As a Ranger, Liriasol didn't have the skills of the venerated Warlord but he knew about morale.
Finding the nearest watercourse wasn't hard; like most sentients the Kroot tended to build next to water. He quickly washed himself off and cleaned the worst of the dirt away from those wounds that would need more tnding. He gathered up wood for a fire, and trudged back to the camp to light it. The familarity of the simple tasks grounded him, conforting after the life and death struggle. The collapsible water-container was put to good use again boiling water.
There were things he could do, and things he couldn't do. One of the Guardians had been lost, and Visethianne had his spirit-stone. Liriasol's jaw tightened while he heard the chatter about a 'test' around him. He forced himself to concentrate, keeping rage at bay. Emotions weren't the enemy on the Path of the Outcast. Loss of control was. He took some antiseptic powder from a pouch at the bottom of his pack and stirred it into the hot water. He was low on bandages and cleaning cloths, but there should be enough to at least make a start. Liriasol made a mental note to resupply once they returned to Arathenyr.
He made a quick judgement call: the wounded Guardians first - the Aspects wouldn't allow him to work on their injuries until the civilians had been treated - to clean and stabilise what he could. Then the Warp Spider. She was favouring her right thigh and the red of her armour could not disguise the trickle of blood that still flowed there. Then the giant Reaper, because the big man wouldn't let anyone go after him; and lastly, Liriasol himself.
And after that, Khaine willing, finally some hot tea.
[OOC Exarchs are also priests of Khaine, I'm thinking. That's what Liriasol means, anyhow. If I missed some of the wounded, please consider them included! I think I got them all.]
Kara'shanwe watched, the Spider in abeyance for now. She hurt. It wasn't in her nature to complain, and she knew that she could have been dealt a mortal strike. But the wound in the back of her leg worried her. She tried twisting to see it better, but found that though she could do it - as nimble and agile as Eldar are at the peak of battle-fitness - doing so re-opened the cut.
It was important not to worry the others. Visethianne might have handed the command node to Desek, but the Dire Avenger is a Path with a definite character. Nonetheless, she could feel a growing alarm inside, and what worried her more was that she was struggling to shut it down.
"Liss Kara'shanwe," a low voice broke into her somewhat febrile concentration. There was no sense in knitting the wound through willpower unless it was clean. But how to -
"I don't wish you to take this the wrong way, m'lady," the Ranger deadpanned, his topaz eyes catching and holding hers, "but I want to have a closer look at your legs." She blinked. "Well, just the right, actually."
"What do you want me to do?" Hot water, the scent of something clean after the mess of the battlefield. She'd seen him work first aid before.
"Just stand still for a moment, that will do to begin with," he said, smiling, referencing her Aspect's apparent inability to stay in one place.
"The suit is torn, I must do so for now."
"You are torn. The suit isn't bleeding." He squatted down and examined the wound with gentle fingers, pressing a warm cloth lightly against it. Relief began to flood into her. Kara'shanwe clenched her jaw. Not too much, not to fast. Everything in its due time, everything in moderation. Adrenaline exhausts the body. She felt light-headed. The Ranger set down the bowl and guided her to the ground.
"That's it - on your side now - can you lie on your front? It won't take long. Now relax your leg muscles -" more work with the cloth, "- now tense, not too much ..." She felt the Ranger press and hold a dressing in place for a short while before pulling the fabric of her ythrain-suit together over it.
"You can work on closing it now," he said, sitting back on his heels.
"Thank you." She moved cautiously, testing, but the wound had stopped bleeding so freely. "I will do so."
The Ranger acknowledged the formal gesture of the Aspect's thanks and rose, moving on to his next patient.