[[OOC: Hello friends ]] <Idralas> The swooping hawk was perched toward the higher ground of the amphitheater, wingless, as there was no sky to soar across here in the dark stalker claimed by the Seer. Amber eyes watched him as he spoke and his heart beat faster already from his passion, it fueling his underlying rage toward the Devourer that stole so much from him and his kin. His fingers that rapped against his knee soon curled into a fist. His thoughts were already on the battle ahead and for a moment they pulled him away from amphitheater, into the sky filled with gargoyles and harpies... No, Khaine did not call here, not now. As the Seer's speech ended, he looked about the room to see if anyone would leave. Would the Anamnialoc be abandoned by the others like it was its own people? "Aye to that!" The Anamnialocii followed with, his voice carrying across the hall. "Till our last breath we follow you Arantheyr!"
<Randir> The impassioned plea of the Farseer did little to abate Randir's anger; it explained why he was here (to help Tharbathel and by extension the crew of this ship hunt the Devourer), but it didn't in his mind justify the extreme course of action of murdering their way free of a Craftworld. Flinching at the sound of crunching crystal, the Wanderer had heard enough, motioning to Tharbathel with one of the many hand signals they had between them from when speaking in a hostile environment could be lethal, beckoning for her to follow him off to the side away from the gathered crowd. Assuming she followed, he would speak quietly to her; "Why," he said somewhat darkly, but mostly just exasperated by now. "Why trick me into coming here," pressing on without particularly waiting for an answer, "Did you honestly think I would tell you no; and if you did, what possessed you to believe you could change my mind here any easier then you could have anywhere else?" Sighing the Ranger forced more of his anger fade, though he continued to press on without letting her reply, "I'll help. To be clear, I'm helping you, not a group of rebels. And I'm helping you against the Tyranids, not the rest of our Kin. If Anamnialoc catches the ship, I won't fight. If Craftworld Ulthwe calls me back I'll leave. Are we clear?"
<Tharbathel> The ranger followed Randir in the same violent, forced manner she would as if he was still gripping her by the wrist. He ensnared her... In other, less physical ways. Her eyes met his in search for her own words as if they would be drifting in the sea of his iris, her lips parted, then closed, then parted again, as the Ulthweeian kept presenting opportunities in which she could reply to his torrent of questions, only to take them away a heartbeat after. "I..." She was able to let out. He was helping her? After the foolish trick she'd performed? Had the years of wandering, the nights lain beneath the stars, brought about mutual... "I needed to be sure you would walk beside me, this my last," she said. Her voice dry, her eyes adrift. "I thought that seeing first-hand the fervour of my brothers, living our side of the story as one of us... We can't relent, Randir, we cannot." The woman's eyes tried to return to his, like children who had lost their way turning back to the council of their parents. "We have but a handful of combatants. We are desperate, Randir."
<Farseer Aranethyr> "Idralas, Anthiand, your passion is welcome but I do not ask for your final hours to be mine. I will not throw your lives away that freely- not after everything you've done in the name of my visions and not after all you've given away blindly, guided by hearts that cry for vengeance and retribution. This host will not be engaging on the tendrils of Devourer directly. What good is a single battleship and a handful of warriors against such a threat? We will instead make unwilling and unsuspecting allies, and they will fight in lieu of our Craftworld - bleed, in the name of the Eldar race... Whether they know it or not." The Seer's eyes darkened at the thought.
OOC:Sorry! "I...will follow. Your cause does not seem like mine, but here I am. Seek you out, for what? I do not know, but I am here. My sword, is yours. For now..." Fardir replied, looking around at the other for their decision. It felt good to feel the power, the cries, and the hope of others. Too long had Fardir traveled alone across the Webway. Maybe he just desperate to join a cause, or maybe he was true in finding his destiny. Maybe.
<Arleon Fueros> Now it seemed would be a good time to make his entrance. The knowledge that the shadows errs of the laughing god supported this endeavor, albeit secretly, should bolster their opinion of this mission, many seemed hesitant, unsure if this venture was worth it. And so he effortlessly climbed down from his perch to join the groups of warriors on the amphitheaters floor. "Farseer Aranethyr, the Shadowseers, in particular Shadowseer Liutasil, of the Masque of the Weeping Dawn, send their regards as well as the knowledge that they are in support of your quest. They regret that they cannot send a larger force, but we have been much reduced after our hunt of the Kraken as well." He bowed low in a theatrical matter.
<Idralas> Allies huh? He wondered what the good Seer had in mind. Were they going to hold another Craftworld at gunpoint? A past him would have shuddered at the thought but now... things were different and if anyone could pull it off it was him. Another spoke out and his predatory eyes flicked to meet the speaker, an Exodite far from home. "'For now' he says, but when does that end?" his mind musing as his brows furrowed. His stare ended however, when an unseen figure brought itself to the floor of the amphitheater. A Harlequin no less... one who brought good news to the hall as well, perhaps favor from the laughing god would convince some of the doubters that we were not so alone after all, his gaze swept the room to see how others would react to this, keeping himself silent again... for now.
<Architect> A slender unarmoured female approached the gathering from the back - she came from the bridge. "Farseer Aranethyr, we've got the Vent Iylaadr on the holocaster." "Display", replied the Seer. The figure that appeared now in the middle of the amphitheatre was that of a woman sitting unceremoniously on a throne-like command seat. Her hair fell raven and deadly straight over dark-jade eyes, her body seemed covered by a wytch suit - half in a revealing black skin-tight attire, half clad in silver spiky plates. A cammo cloak was lazily splayed over her shoulders. "Farseer Aranethyr, you've been a very naughty boy..." The golden eyes of the obvious Commorraghan lit up in joy, her smile curled up like that of a maddened lynx.
[OOC I am in the process of upgrading to a new computer, and it is going to take me longer than expected. Please forgive my absence in the meantime. I hope it will not be too long!]
<Arleon Fueros> In spite of the fearsome/sorrowful appearance of his mask, inwardly the Harlequin was smiling. A surprise appearance by the Vent Iladre? This is definitely a promising venture indeed. Their Dark Kin were well known for their tricky deals, and always made for a good antihero/climactic betrayal. However, their appearance did not bode well for his other mission, and the last thing he needed was some uppity Commorrite telling Craftworld Anamnialoc of his presence, and so he did his best to blend in with the crowd, deftly moving behind a larger Eldar.
