"Indeed." Rharijem said, his voice somewhat neutral as he suppresses most of the emotions associated with said combat. "The Eldarith Ynneas turned on us and attacked the Anam with what seemed all they had. Many, far too many, Eldar died. Dozens of Guardians of Anamnialoc and presumably many Corsairs. I know of at least Aranethyr, our Warlock, a Comorrite on our side as well as one Guardian - who fought under my wings - and myself that escaped Ynnead with severe wounds. Most others probably did not make it through, I cannot tell. Alas it was a tragedy all over. Talented pilots and gentle souls have been taken and corrupted. On the other hand, the Striking Scorpion Exarch joined us." Rharijem sighed and looked down at his boots after telling his tale, emotional suppression worked well overall, but the currently strongest of all still leaked through: Melancholy. Not the melancholy that sends one toward sadness, but his date with destiny he had. The woman with many faces and names that died at his hands. And of course Trykasil, that appeared in the halls of Isha clad in Crimson Hunter armor. It felt like the guilt rested on his shoulders that it came as far as it did. In both cases.