<Antihand> Anthiand tries to hide his disgust poorly, as Aarenethyr mentions the plan to deal with the mon'keigh. But anthiand knew whether or not he agreed with the Farseer's plan this was neither the time nor the place to voice his displeasure at it again. As the Vent Iladre appears on the monitor Anthiand smiles slightly, their dark kin may not be his first choice but an eldar is still better thena mon'keigh
<Idralas> The Druchii..? Druchii were never a good sign. Just what did they want with them? They couldn't mean to help their cause, worse yet that they would accept the help from the Dark Kin at all, such deals usually came at a terrible price. The image of the Vent Iladre made him growl under his breath, his fist clenching once more at the sight of the corrupted one. Whatever they wanted, he would not question the seers plan, but druchii... he would never share the sky with their ilk. They made a mockery of his shrine as they tend to do to everything else the Eldar have ever accomplished. His hatred almost caused him to speak out of turn but... he didn't even know what they wanted. His gaze fell on the seer, just what was going on here?
<Architect> The Farseer did not respond to the woman, did not even look at the hologram. "Have you brought what I asked of you?" He instead asked. "A fully-armed fleet able to decimate a heavily-guarded Imperial convo?" The woman replied. "Why yes - yes I have." Shimmering into view around the Anam Alqatheir, an entire fleet of corsair vessels lowered their stealth fields. Their colours were mostly black though accentuated by a bloody red, and their designs were both Commorrite and otherwise. "Excellent" the Farseer sentenced, then turned to the gathered Host. "Eldar, it is time to ride."
<Architect> A sad-blue Wave Serpent climbed from the hangars below to the side of the amphitheatre, piloted by an Anamnialocii Guardian. "I... Have to go," said Tharbathel to her fellow Ranger, her body language showing great regreat as she turned away and moved to the transport's cabin. "Anamnialoc is in need and I as her Wanderer have answered". The Guardian inside dismounted and let Tharbathel take command. "Wanderers," came her voice through the comms system of the Serpent. "Get your gear and embark." "This way to the Shrine, Aspects - Warlock, you too should come" said the androgynous Avenger, making his way across the crystal bridge that connected the amphitheatre with the levels below. Whoever followed made their way across the Anamnialocii cruiser, past the recreational gardens and dinner halls until they reached the ship's Aspect Shrine... Where the ominous figure of an Exarch awaited, surrounded by the ceremonial Aspect suits that the Anamnialocii had stolen.
<Arleon Fueros> A battle! Not against those I am sworn to slay, but if this aids in their demise then I shall join the Warriors. How long has it been since I participated in this ceremony? Another life that was, when I was young and foolhardy, before Liutasil found me... Arleon shook his head, choosing not to dwell on memories at a time like this. He nodded respectfully to the Exarch and waited respectfully in the back for the Aspects to finish donning their War Masks. His mask was always donned, a different mask perhaps then those they were donning, but it worked just the same.
< Exarch Amonthras> when the warriors began pouring into the war shrine they notice the grim figure fill their vision in the dark room. he turns toward the approaching warriors as they began to fill the empty spaces, even their diminished numbers seeming great in here. with a simple and strained movement he turns toward the assembled throng. The sound in the room disappears as a respectful silence descends upon the crowd. Even with his limp Amonthras seems almost a beacon of confidence to the gathered warriors, as he begins to speak his eyes move across the room making eye contact with each warrior in turn, and even his eyes seem to represent complete strength and force of will even as the gathered warriors can see a gathering storm in that gaze. "Welcome warriors, you who have heard the call of Khaine. In normal times you would congregate around each shrine dedicated to your Exarchs but these are not normal times. But still the call of War drums in our chests. And still the War Masks must be donned. And while many of us wish to ride at Khaine's side not all of us are able to be called." Amonthras begins sweeiping back and forth infront fo the armors. "Even still we must ride to war. We must sweep those before us with Khaines fury and his might, and because of that we must call upon you to don this armour, the that which is the protecting shield of given to you both by your brothers and sisters on the battlefields, and by the will of Khaine himself!" As the wariors begin closing in and begin slipping on their aspect suits. lithely fully and organized slipping on the bone plates of themselves and those around them. Amonthras steps forward again. "now we must call upon you to bear Khaine's might and fury. come forward and take these weapons, crafted by your Brothers and sisters and marked by Khaine's own hand" Amonthras raises his hands, his Exarch armor, filled with the soulstones of past wearers, gets outlined by the lights of the shrine behind him. "Now we must call upon you to don your war-masks, to don them from those who came before you. Don them for your brothers and sisters. Don them for those among us who cannot. and you will be as swift and silent as a wind across the battlefield, you will be as cunning as the hunters of Kurnous, and be as deadly as an avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine! Let nothing stand in your way and know who you are. That you are Eldar, and none can stop you" after everybody has their war-masks on Amonthras steps back and the room brightens up. "Now go forth and follow Arenethyr into Victory!" [[OOC: Im sorry I had to make a grim dark joke somewhere in here and this probably won't be the last time]]
<Idralas> He couldn't help but feel bitter about this whole arrangement. They didn't need the druchii, that much was certain in his head. He would have spoken but... Khaine called and he was not one to ignore his summons. He followed his fellow warriors into the shrine, letting the anger stir inside him a moment longer before taking his place closer to his set of armor, which was coated in the mournful blue of their home with a large ruby colored soulstone just above the breastplate, with a pale, crested helm. The wings bore colors of blue gold and grey, creating a beautiful blur of colors when activated. He turned to listen to the Exarch's words. He was going to show those corrupted fallen ones what it truly meant to soar on wings of Khaine's fury. His helmet was the last piece to fit into place and as he secured it he could feel the war drum of his heart starting to stir. He could already feel the orchestra of shuriken fire and the whipping of blades in the air as they cut through their targets, making him tighten his grip on his lasblaster. "Lets show these druchii what /real/ eldar can do!" he couldn't help but blurt out in his excitement.
The appearance of a Commorrite stirred a susurrus of excitement and anger around the chamber. Iyanisa watched, taking a small step back to blend into the rear of the conclave. She studied the woman as she spoke, and the Farseer's utter indifference to her jibe, which was only to be expected - after all, the exalted Seer was lost to all save the demands of the Witch Path and fate. The camera-eye might be taking all this in, but Iyanisa was already busy with her sketching tablet, drawing the Ynneas Eladrith Captain with deft, slender fingers, her aura marked by the colours that the young Chronicler best felt reflected the scene. No time for anything other than impressions. Capturing the essence was what mattered here. No sooner was the decision made than the Aspects were called away. This presented the Chronicler with a problem. She did not think it right to attend the rites of Khaine as a mere observer. It would not be seemly to intrude upon the matters of War in this fashion. She had not taken a War Path herself. So she decided not to follow. This left her at something of a loose end, but only for a moment. Iyanisa was not an Eldar to miss an opportunity. Perhaps this would be her only chance to introduce herself to the Farseer. Gathering her courage, and veiling the Eye of Cegorach in its housing until she should feel it acceptable to allow it to record any more, she approached Arathenyr and bowed in respect. "Crystal Father, if we have a moment before the mission begins, may we speak?" [OOC It's fine, the odd grimdark joke is to be expected I enjoyed the Exarch's ceremony. Didn't seem right to send my girl in there to record everything, though, so she missed it ]
<Farseer Aranethyr> The Seer, still staring at the stars through the crystalline material that separates the amphitheater from the void, replies, "we may, child of tales". A slow nod, a pensive expression. "You are the one to tell the tale of our endeavours, correct? It is through your eyes that the world will judge us, condone us, or... Forsake us." The Seer shook his head with the slow pacing expected of someone his age. A sigh. "It is a beautiful crusade, yours of ink - not of blood." The Seer turned, staring into Iyanisa's eyes deeply. His eyes have paled beyond what's normal - was he seeing through his senses at all? "You won't get your answers from my words - the world will not believe them after our hands have been bloodied so." "...I knew all of the Eldar we slew, quite personally." Behind the Seer, through the Voidshield, Iyanisa could see the Anam Alqaethyr had entered the Webway.
<Architect> The Aspects, donned of their war-masks, stood as silent statues to times of war to come. Their helmets kept by their side, the runes made of blood painted on their foreheads. Directives flashed before their mind's eye, they knew they were to board the mon-keigh's flagship... There was something in their bridge, something the warriors were to retrieve - or die trying. Walking elegantly more that actually marching across the crystal bridge to the amphitheater, the warriors could see the back of the Wave Serpent Tharbathel was driving. A rune above its open ramp read "load". Were they going to fly across space through a massive battle in a Serpent?
