Grath is within his own little space within his mind right now. Not responding as he blankly stares at the exit to the Serpent. Breathing steady and deep...
OOC: Was rather referring regards timing ; you may assume though that my warrior-self was done 1 sec before I started mah engines! ^^ A salvo of missiles were fired upon the Nightwing and the Crimson Hunter smirked as it was accompanied by Las Cannons. A quick zig-zag maneuever saved his craft from the Las Cannons, the missile tight behind him, starting to catch up. And catch up they shall! The Nightwing was heading straight for the hangars, just before it would clash against the Shields it went 90 degress 'up', the missiles too slow to keep up with such advanced crafts like the Nightwing and crushed them into their own ship. Two of the five of the Squadron crashed into their own ship, fools who risked too much. The Nightshade did not just keep going 'up', along the capital ship, but turned around and shot with the Lances upon those who were stupid enough to follow the Hunter. They ought he was their prey? Pah! They knew nothing, for a Crimson Hunter was ALWAYS the hunter, no matter what especially in comparison to puny Mon'keigh! The Mymearan made the daring move and killed two of the squadron with the lances, the third managed to evade, perhaps even their leader? Nonetheless, he was a match for the fierce Rharijem Keredayl and so he shall be treated! He flew past the Fury Interceptor and headed away from the capital ship as his systems confirmed the shields were weak enough. "Deploy Now in their starboard hangar." The voice of the Hunter was straight and direct, not filled with anger or stress whatsoever. Though his survival was on the very brink ... And that it was it excited him, even beyond his war-mask, though luckily it was strongly suppressed or else he would die for becoming cocky or blind from his emotions. But that is what the War-Mask was for. The Mymearan Pilot led the Interceptor away so the Wave Serpent could head into the Hangar, making a sharp starboard turn in attempt to get behind the Fury, but it already counter-maneuevered and evaded to get into his firing angle, instead the Fury managed to fire a single missile which was not aimed for devastation but one of his lancers.... And it worked out. The right Bright Lance was completely obliterated, taking a chunk of the wing among. The Crimson Hunter smirked. It would be one of those duels which were worth flying, which were worth dieing, which were worth hunting for. .... Even worth enough to discard the teachings of Iryllith and become a true Crimson Hunter.
The world condensed during this time. As the stars and space were alight with death an fire. Burning ever brighter as forces clashed on both sides. But to one lone Avenger, it was not there. He was taught to see all, know all, and sense all he could. Though it was his own personal ritual to retire into his own mind and find a certain piece of himself... ...one which he always loved, a deep, strong love. An emotion which he held deeply under control. And would share with no other. It was his own. It gave him a strength unbeknowest to those whom have never found that part of themselves. Which, considering much of the very unintelligent species out there-fewer still ever did find such shards within their very essence or being... And then it ended abruptly. Like the world was awash with light, colors and sounds anew. Like being born once again. He could feel the presence of the ship, the souls within it, his comrades-everything. Colors were brighter, the very air that his lungs took in felt sweet and succulent to him. As if you had just reached the surface and took that breath of air which saved your very life. But it did not stop with the first breath. It continued. Nearly permeated his very being. Though like many things, it was wrestled back into control. Wrapped in an iron cage made of willpower and time honored practice. Even with that fact, the emotions lingered below. The world returned to its same hue and variation. He felt whole-And soon he could sate the growing need to burn out the very existence of these lesser beings brought before him... So he sat. Whilst his brother-Hunter was fighting valiantly outside in the deep darkness of space. Unable to take in the ballet of carnage outside. A dance with death as it were. One which the Hunter reveled in. Grath knew not of his kindreds exploits, and probably never truly would know exactly of them. Because to truly know, was to experience first hand. But he would have found a graceful, and dangerous beauty to the carnage. He little indulged in these feelings, though they were ones which he did have from time to time upon seeing many other of his Aspect brethren in combat. And this is one of those times he would have indulged... Soon... Grath said to himself within the confines of his mind. Watching the Serpents infantry hatch. Breathing in and out deeply, again and again.
<Visethianne> The Avenger waited for any voluntaries, but he knew few would even consider violating such sacred ritual by performing it outside their shrines, without an exarch... Taking in a deep breath, he began."Brothers... Sister... Please remove your helmets."The Serpent shook, perhaps brushed by fire or partaking in a specially wild manoeuvre. Once the warriors had complied, the Avenger dipped a finger in the blood."This is the donning ritual of my shrine - the Cutting Leaves. I hope you join me in the momentum." Outside, the Serpent entered a narrow passage formed by flanking enemy cruisers. "Now we're protected by Khaine's own iron flesh, but still our Fates are to be forged." Smoke and fire exploded all around as graceful Eldar fighters danced amidst projectiles - the Serpent danced alone. Visethianne began painting the bloody runes upon each warrior's forehead. “Our peace is compromised, harmony is gone, and we are sworn to protect the balance.” A formation of three Lightning Strike enemy fighters lined up behind the Serpent, their targeting arrays locking in. Farseer Aranethyr, through the distance and across the carnage, studied this thread in the scheme with an almost worried expression. "On the Serpent! Rharijem!" “War calls, once again - and we shall be the ones to answer. The fate of our siblings lays upon our shoulders, even though they're tired and beat.” The pilot of the Serpent was nudged by the psychic call of the Farseer, and turned to notice the formation already perfectly aligned behind her."I've got fighters on my tail," her voice said as calmly as she could, activating a beacon to draw any allied fighters to her aid. The enemy fighters opened fire.... "And as the caring shield, and as the thirsting blade, we shall prowl amidst our kin!As we fall from Isha's tree like Cutting Leaves upon our enemies!” Enhanced by the warlock encased in her hold, the pilot was able to dodge all incoming fire, taking the Serpent to the edge of its limits and beyond... She fired back but lacked the armament to inflict real damage. She wouldn't be able to dodge another barrage like that. "Look nevermore through these vane and selfish senses, but let this feeling seize you. Embrace Khaine's bloody gift, become one with the whole!" The Avenger put on his helmet, and Visethianne died within himself, becoming a killer - the one to commit a myriad atrocities if that meant to save a single Eldar. The rest of the Aspects put on their helmets as well, each with their shrine's version of the same ritual playing in their heads. "My siblings of blood and fire, be strong!" The enemy fighters then fired another barrage, the pilot screamed in defiance with the Aspects inside...The following moments became a blur.
Grath took off his helmet at the behest of his kindreds words. Having returned to paying to the goings on before him. Listening quietly to the ritual as the battle raged on outside. Barely getting his helmet on as the world became a blur to those inside.
Liriasol focussed on his inner strength as the ritual played out around him, but the call of Khaine was strong. He could taste blood and ashes in the air, see the smoke and flame in his mind's eye as the Avatar walked. Back on Alaitoc, he had witnessed the awakening and the spectre of violence, barely contained, rising within the artists, the diplomats, the systems technicians ... even the most peaceful, those who cared for the children, were not immune to the siren-song of the Bloody-Handed God. And he was not. Within him, it found a dark resonance, quickening his blood with the desire to kill. The Ranger tempered his battle-lust with the cool precision of the sniper's mask. Everything was a calculation; height, wind speed, trajectory of ammunition, movement of the target. His breathing was slow, rhythmic. War calls, Anger rises, Blood runs, Death walks! Two perfect oval holes, half a span apart, their edges blackended by heat. A spray of blood against white snow. A sudden blur, snow cool against his thighs as he leaped down. Sight. Shoot. Kill. Move. Sight - Liriasol opened his eyes. He was ready.
Rharijem had never left the Wave Serpent of his system, in fact the moment the Lightning Strikers attempted to take out the very craft under his protection they had doomed themselves. With the vigorous leader of the Squadron still alive from before and right behind him, he made for the Lightning Strike Squadron, the Pulse Laser coming to life. And since it had not the strength but the range and speed to make serious damage, he aimed for their cockpits and weapon systems. One Lightning Striker was destroyed as the Pulse Laser shot into the cockpit, one of the salvos hitting the pilot into the head and making him maneuver into the flagship the Wave Serpent was heading for. The Explosion was bright and glorious, but the fight was not over. The Pulse Laser silenced as the Nightshade Interceptor flew through the midst of the Lightning Strike Squadron, right through the position the now destroyed craft had before. Excitement, Adrenaline, Thirst of Blood built up together, like a flood clashing against the effects of the War-Mask, desiring to be poured into the mind of the Crimson Hunter and overcome him, control him, let his emotions run free and show him how great it truly was to serve Khaela Mensha Khaine. Yet the War-Mask of the Aspect Shrine performed it's service to perfection, just like everything of the Eldar was... Perfect. Their people, their vessels, their weapons, their minds, their emotions. There was no flaw in any Eldar, they were the top of the food chain, they were the peak of evolution, they were the gods among humans. Nothing could stop them, nothing could halt them, nothing could exterminate them. And Rharijem was one of these marvelous creatures which called themselves Eldar. Mon'keigh which attempted to stop him had a false chance of victory in the Crimson Hunter view, the only chance they had were their superiority in numbers, just like the Orks. Without their numbers they were nothing. The Fury Interceptor reminded the Mymearan of his immediate danger as he evaded, two more Missiles launched after him. A dangerous move from the Nightshade was performed as he flew next to a Lightning Strike vessel, then making a sharp turn before the missiles would fly into him, one crushing into the ally - the machine spirit tricked to take an enemy out who was truly an ally. The second missile flew into the void as it lost it's target, eventually exploding into debris that was formed by the destroyed fighters and bombers of the Imperial forces. The Nightshade crushed into the last Ligthning Striker, the entire right wing coming off as the Imperial Pilot was too slow and crushed with the cockpit and main systems right into it. Like a sword the wing sliced the cockpit open, yet the impact was far too strong for the masterly crafted Eldar vessel and the wing was no more, losing control - especially at this speed, the Nightshade Interceptor made for the enemy hangar - The Last Fury still behind him, unleashing it's weapons upon the left wing, leaving basically only engine and cockpit of the ship over. Rharijems Nightshade - Or what was left of it - flew past the Wave Serpent and crushed into the hangar, right into a Servitor that was about to finalize his ritual to one of the few remaining ships that were still to start. The Cockpit moved on and eventually crushed into the inner hull of the ship, causing him to halt abruptly. Restraining devices kept him safe from shaking too much on the impact, though the cockpit completely turned off as the ship has died. Concussion overcame the Eldar, the speed of such vessel which halted so quick was too much even for them to handle, one of the many dangers that came with speed.... The breaking process. The Crimson Hunter simply sat there, breathing in and out... Trained in the process of how to deal with such impacts he followed them with expertise, inspecting his body for other injuries or possible traumas. At least he seemed fine, save for the horrible pain in his head. The Fury Interceptor just landed on the hangar, near the Crimson Hunters vessel... The Human was determined to bring this hunt to an end.
Kara took off her helmet and looked into the honey-amber eyes of the tall male Aspect. Visethianne's face was pale and serious, intent on the ritual before them. A last moment of contact with another Eldar before they all became Children of Khaine. She bowed her head, allowing him to paint the War-rune upon her forehead, the gentleness of that touch the antithesis of the killing blows soon to be struck. Then she lifted her helm once more and fitted it to her armour. The War-Self strode to the fore, almost arrogant in its assurance. There was death to bring this day, the debts of the Usurper Race had become due. Kara'shanwe, Daughter of Spiders, of the Shrine of the Spider Ascendant had come to strike and leap and kill, the very strands of the Warp her web. She would serve Khaine as his handmaiden and do his bloody Will.
<Architect> As the enemy hangar defenders closed in on the fallen Hunter, the Wave Serpent of the host swooped in at neck-breaking speed - utilizing its vectored retro-thrusters to halt mid-air. "ENGAGE!" Yelled the Serpent's pilot, opening the posterior ramp and the side hatches of the transport as she unleashed scatter laser fire upon the still-functioning human vehicle that had landed next to her brother. "Exterminate them!" Roared Visethianne, jumping out of the Serpent to fire at a human female clad in ceramite - an Adeptas Sororitas - that neared the crimson angel of the host to end him. The shots ripped most of her face off, splattering the floor with hideous gore.
<Architect> The hangar was a mess, a place where the dead ships dwelled. Beneath it's high ceilings of Gothic architecture, the crashed Nightshade and the human crafts that had been ruined by the impact laid defeated - providing cover for the ones that would write destiny with the blood in their veins and the sweat upon their foreheads. There was an adorned flight of stairs that lead to an elevated position with plenty of short walls for the incoming Celestian Squad to duck behind. The Sororitas opened fire upon the descending warriors.
