<Architect> "It was unanimous, the decision of the Council..." Began the voice within those iced eyes. "It was unanimous save for my vote." Farseer Aranethyr's voice seemed distant, though as the narration proceeded, it seemed to envelop the Chronicler, and slowly his voice and her mind became one and the same. "It was a beautiful day-cycle, designed by the best of our Sense-taliors, on a particularly inspired day." The warmth of a new day consumed the young Eldar, though she felt weak and tired, selfless but distressed. There was a constant cold edge inside of her, rushing through every corner of her very being... Like glass surfacing from her skin. The artificial Sun felt like a bliss in comparison to the constant intimate torment. Iyanisa could feel the weight of countless nights spent awake, casting runes in the solace of a cold stone room, and the dread of finding a terrible answer in each of her readings. She remembered standing in the middle of a Council Chamber she had never known, explaining her visions of bloodshed and horrors to unbelieving Eldar, Eldar that couldn't find the thread she had, no matter how hard she'd try to lead them past the miasma of the Warp's Shadow. She paced through a dome she had never seen, yet knew by heart. It was way past the last hours of the Cycle... This battle has to go on. Armoured, Iyanisa stepped at the Warhost's docks, the Anamnialocii Autarch of Hawk, Banshee and Avenger hovered before him, weapons drawn. "Step back, Crystal Seer!" Said her masked Banshee voice. "You've let me guide our forces for centuries - let-" "ENOUGH, ARANETHYR! YOUR FAILURE AT RYTHWEE IS TO BE THE LAST YOU'LL COST US!" A cold and bitter air blew in-between the two, the static of an Eldritch Storm forming around. A Hawk's wings shimmered and flashed closer at tremendous speed, Iyanisa's eyes were like lightning about to burst. The echo of pebbles falling to the floor awakened the Chronicler, who was once again back at the Anam as it traversed the Webway. She was surrounded by several small stone runes, falling one by one from a suspended animation. Normally these runes are utilized by Seers that wish to show a vision when reading the Threads Of Fate... But the vision hadn't answered the Chronicler's question - why had it stop?
<Idralas> He grinned beneath himself and offered a nod to the harlequin, glancing toward the entrance of the serpent just in time to see one of his brothers, Anthiand enter the vessel. "That we have, brother. I am Idralas if you have forgotten. I was just questioning Arleon here the very same thing." he glances back over to the one mentioned with a light smirk. "I can't wait to see you in battle, kin. I have yet to see Rillietann in action, don't disappoint me now."
<Arleon> He is in for a treat then. "Then I shall endeavor to not disappoint, although my solo performance is exceptional, it is nothing compared to the spectacle of seeing an entire masque in combat. Everyone enters at the right moment, ducking, and weaving in a perfect harmony. It is truly a sight to behold, and even better to be a part of it."
The Chronicler gasped, cool air giving her oxygen but doing nothing to ground her as the runes rained down. Iyanisa blinked, trying to sort through the maelstrom of impressions. So few of them were her own. There had been anger. Not from her - nor, precisely, from his, own, cold, crystallising flesh. But the act was begun in violence and sealed in blood, an unholy pact with Fate. Arathenyr had chosen to show her the beginning of the end of his days as a Craftworld Farseer. She had seen the Autarch who opposed him and the bloody summary of all that had led up to this. The turning point. It had not answered her question. But it had done what he had intended it to do - to convey the brutally raw emotion of the moment, the sense of drive, and the Farseer's utter conviction in his own scrying over those of his fellow Eldar. Iyanisa was a Chronicler, and she knew well that those telling their own tales gave away much that they did not put into words or gestures. Using her seated posture as a reason to gather her thoughts - and the truth was that she did not quite trust her body to move, just yet- she began to sift through the information Arathenyr had given her. Even then, he felt the Crystal Change come upon him, seeping through his veins. So time, so precious, was already short. Heightening his sense of urgency - that made sense, but she still did not have the reason why he would kill. His sense of being the only one to truly see was potent. But conviction did not mean correctness, only a solidity of self-belief. He had been charged with failure. He was near the end of his life. He needed to succeed with this last prophecy. Was it ego? She did not believe so. Was it the clouded wish of a dying man who wanted to be remembered as a hero? Iyanisa did not think that, either. She thought that she detected a core to the vision, a key. It was the thought of the Tyrannid menace, of lost and mourning Iyanden. It was that certainty, and the sheer frustration of not being able to prove what he knew to those who looked, like him, to guide his people. Iyanisa might not have the answer to her question, yet, but she was forming an impression of the man who led his crusade. Was that not the role of the Chronicler? To record what she saw, felt, heard, tasted? She looked up at the Farseer, and beyond him for a moment, at the star-dome, before she got to her feet at last. "Thank you for sharing the moment, ta-aesthir," she said, respectfully, careful not to show any judgement,. only to acknowledge that she had seen what he had showed her. Iyanisa prepared to step back and away from the Farseer, so as not to interfere with his communication to his troops, but she did not intend to miss a moment of this.
<Idralas> "Then let us hope more of your troupe arrives so I may see this spectacle. I suppose your solo performance will have to suffice in the meantime." He gave a nod of confirmation, most likely to himself. "You have given me some great expectations now, the hawks have a dance of their own in the open air above and I have yet to see someone match us in their grace on the battlefield." a pause. "I suppose you will have the advantage as their is no sky in a mon keigh's ship, hah."
<Arleon> "Sadly, my troupe has their own tasks to attend to, for now at least I will be the only player in the group." He gave a theatrical bow before continuing. "I have seen members of that noble Aspect in combat before, I look forward to battling the mon-keigh by your side."
<Architect> The Eldar finished mounting the Serpent, and it began hovering downwards and away from the crystal bridge. The Anam Alqaethir exited Warpspace. Through the holo-terminal in the middle of the transport's cabin, the Host could see a projection of the space outside. The Anam Alqaethir stood alone against an entire human fleet - where was the Vent Iylaadr? The Serpent began rushing against the Void Shield, aching to be free from the embrace of the Anam.
Iyanisa watched the viewing zone behind the Farseer, though she was never discourteous enough to ignore the venerable Eldar Seer. She could never tire of the transition into space, watching the change as it flickered through the veils of Reality. Perhaps, the more poetic part of her psyche whispered, one may never know whihc side is truly the dream. The Chronicler shook her head minutely, and glanced to Aranethyr. Surely the job of a Farseer was to determine exactly that. Hers, however, was to watch and report and know, to bring back impressions for the sake of history and posterity and simple Eldar curiosity. She would not miss a moment of this yet she was at one bittersweet remove from the frontline action. A relief from the viewpoint of both the Chronicler and her study; she was not as much a warrior as they, and had no right to make them protect a civilian in their ranks for the sake of a better look at the fight. But still, she would not get it all - the perspective, the adrenaline, the blood. So she must take in as much as she could. With a thought, the Eye of Cegorach opened beside her own, studying the star-strewn panorama.
<Anthiand> Anthiand smiles to himself. he nods to the Harlequin, "I am Anthiand, some call me The Jumper, I am one of the few Warp Spiders remaining with our Farseer" Anthiand looks back towards both of them, "And I cannot wait for both of your performances brothers, as you danc across the ground" he motions towards The Harlequinn, "you as you dance through the air," he nods toward the aspect warrior "Though i must say few warriors can hope to rival those who follow a spiders path, though it is rumored the followers of the laughing god count themselves among that number it will be good to see if these rumours are true" ((OOC, sorry for the disapearance guys been a long week))
<Arleon Fueros> He smiled, though the mask remained a steadfast face of solemnity. "We do not like to offer comparison when it comes to war. For us, war is just one more way to express ourselves, to show the enemy lessons from the past and demonstrate our consummate skill. But for you all it is your life, your sole dedication, although I must say that the Spiders have always fascinated me, toeing the line between life and death in order to strike from an unforseen locale. Brilliant, and beautiful to watch when done properly."
