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Post by Warsmith Wolf on Dec 21, 2022 9:42:02 GMT -5
One foot, then another, the Warlock strode from the webway gate as confidently as he entered one of its many egresses - assured of the Pathfinder's assessment that their course risked neither breach nor misdirection. His helm's gaze swept the serene clearing almost lazily, knowing full well that danger did not exist here - not yet at least - passing over the distant sight of the Farseer and her Entourage, (If they could even be called such) before falling to rest on his Host's Guide. "Pathfinder." His address was curt, almost apathetic in its execution as he stepped down and away from that ancient gate, which still pulsed with life. There almost seemed to be an unspoken conversation between the two, with how the Warlock bore down his silent gaze upon her, before settling whatever matter it was with a slight incline of the head. Between Eldar, it could easily have been read as a dismissal, or a gesture of contempt, but there were key details missing even to onlookers who could understand. Something was off with their interactions, that was certain. One could be forgiven for assuming the Ranger to still be in psychotelemetric repose, if not for the slightest inclination of her hooded helm towards the battle-seer at the van of the formation. "Warlock." A response as curtly given as the words to which they reply. What other notions pass in silent parley remain veiled. Turning smoothly on her heels, the Ranger rises on the spot with a graceful swish of her camo cloak, turning to face the Farseer - whose words with the Harlequin regarding the utterly absurd notion of visiting the mon-keigh she has thus far missed. Perhaps for the better for her blood pressure. For the sanctity of the aeldari's presence here... less so. "A benison of the Greater Swordwind, lady seer. The Bahzhakhain will make good its strike when the time is right, and with surprise our keenest blade. We should be of a mind not to blunt it." One wonders who exactly that last statement targets...
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Post by theredauthar on Dec 25, 2022 2:44:35 GMT -5
The Druhkari would nod. Before she could say anything, however, Wyvara's voice called behind Maebh, "Are you playing nice, Malrata?" The amused and predatory air she had fell to something more serious, though still a little playful. "Oh, just having a chat about the art piece she's working on. A lot of potential it does," she said. "Art piece?" Wyvara asked quizzically. Regardless if this was Malatra's intended result, or if she just lucked out, Maebh eyes light up again. As if the pressing of a switch, just mentioning the piece seems to have dispelled the fear and awkwardness and her artistic passion once more took control. As before she tries to keep her emotions in check, hidden from her outward appearance….if one was an ork or mon'keigh. For the rest of aeldari, it's quite obvious. "Yes," Maebh says, holding the same piece up again, "It's only a demonstration, a concept you might say, of what I'd like the final piece to look like. It's to represent the inherit nature between Isha and Ynnead." She turns it slowly to show the Farseer. "The final version will likely be larger," she continues, "Though I'm unsure how much at this point."
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Post by LaxKnight on Jan 3, 2023 20:15:06 GMT -5
Before Wyvara could reply to Maebh she felt... something which directed her attention toward the Webway. A faint hiss was heard as someone stepped through. Which note was struck in the song of this world? Out stepped a Warlock in Biel-Tan livery. With her Witchsight she could see the bloodied hand of Khaine trying to strangle his soul. Great. More of them. And a Warlock of all things, a voice hissed in her mind as he made his disgust known again. This was indeed one of the notes Wyvara hoped wouldn't play for it brought much discord to the melody, but as the conductor she must press on regardless. She can not pick all players in this symphony after all. She made a gesture to Maebh to pause the current conversation as the Ranger got up and spoke. "A benison of the Greater Swordwind, lady seer. The Bahzhakhain will make good its strike when the time is right, and with surprise our keenest blade. We should be of a mind not to blunt it." Unseen behind her Ghosthelm Wyvara gave a small smirk. She couldn't help but be amused by the jabs, even if they were less than playful. Keenest blade. More like a mace. One likely too heavy for this Ranger to wield proficiently, the voice chastised again. The real question is can you, dear Farseer? another female voice asked, bemused. Wyvara remained composed. "Indeed, dear Ranger. That is why we must guide it so it doesn't strike something that may dull it," she said, "That is why we must sever the cancer that is the Ruinous Powers on this world trying to destroy it. The largest nodule it spreads from is what the mon'keigh call 'Progress'. Surprisingly apt, considering the role it has in this infection. It is one place we must purge if we hope to save this world. However, take care for this isn't the only sickness that infects this planet." Wyvara didn't care for the Biel-Tan's impossible goal of reclaiming the Maiden Worlds, especially in their broken state; but if they had any hope of doing so they must destroy Chaos before it's consumed. In this she'll gladly assist them in destroying the monsters. If the Warlock cared to look upon Wyvara with his Witchsight, he'd see the Farseer was accompanied by other Aeldari souls stemming from 3 Spiritstones on her person.
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Post by Warsmith Wolf on Jan 10, 2023 1:59:57 GMT -5
"Indeed, dear Ranger. That is why we must guide it so it doesn't strike something that may dull it," she said, "That is why we must sever the cancer that is the Ruinous Powers on this world trying to destroy it. The largest nodule it spreads from is what the mon'keigh call 'Progress'. Surprisingly apt, considering the role it has in this infection. It is one place we must purge if we hope to save this world. However, take care for this isn't the only sickness that infects this planet." Chaos. Hff. The stink of the Great Ruin pervades wherever Mankind makes footfall. Who are they to demand respect as a race, when they let every garden in their grasp run over with weeds? Inattentive and lax to the very last. "So their kind have befouled yet another Maiden World with the Primordial Taint." So common a musing that the hint of surprise no longer permeates it. "Can they be trusted with nothing? One could grant them a pebble, and return half a life later to find a rock envenomed with Chaos' touch." Perhaps the Warlock is more correct in his desires than first thought, she muses.
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Post by theredauthar on Jan 18, 2023 0:59:31 GMT -5
Before Wyvara could reply to Maebh she felt... something which directed her attention toward the Webway. A faint hiss was heard as someone stepped through. Which note was struck in the song of this world? Out stepped a Warlock in Biel-Tan livery. With her Witchsight she could see the bloodied hand of Khaine trying to strangle his soul. Great. More of them. And a Warlock of all things, a voice hissed in her mind as he made his disgust known again. This was indeed one of the notes Wyvara hoped wouldn't play for it brought much discord to the melody, but as the conductor she must press on regardless. She can not pick all players in this symphony after all. She made a gesture to Maebh to pause the current conversation as the Ranger got up and spoke. Maebh shuts her mouth immediately. At first she’s afraid she somehow offended the Farseer with her babbling about the art piece, but that thought is soon abandoned as she notices the Warlock. Feeling this conversation is a bit above her, she steps back politely to allow the Farseer and Warlock speak. She should walk away, give them privacy to discuss matters. And yet, she can’t. Like there’s something powerful about these two figures meeting. Some significance in this moment between the two. Almost subconsciously she slips the small sculpture back into her bag, pulling out an unsculpted piece instead. Pausing only to remove her gauntlets, she runs her bare fingers across the piece of wraithbone. As her fingers dance across the surface it slowly begins to shape into that of two figures… …a Warlock and a Farseer. Whatever words they are saying are lost on Maebh, her mind elsewhere, yet she somehow seems to recognize the mood of their words as she sculpts the scene before her.
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Post by LaxKnight on Mar 7, 2023 23:06:12 GMT -5
Chaos. Hff. The stink of the Great Ruin pervades wherever Mankind makes footfall. Who are they to demand respect as a race, when they let every garden in their grasp run over with weeds? Inattentive and lax to the very last. "So their kind have befouled yet another Maiden World with the Primordial Taint." So common a musing that the hint of surprise no longer permeates it. "Can they be trusted with nothing? One could grant them a pebble, and return half a life later to find a rock envenomed with Chaos' touch." Perhaps the Warlock is more correct in his desires than first thought, she muses. Wyvara now found herself in an unenviable position. She personally didn't care much for the mon'keigh. They are shortsighted and the claws of the Great Enemy always seem to grab them with easy. However, in the song of this world it can't be helped that they are the most prominent players, and therefore play the most notes. If she hoped to conduct the song toward a melody that might save this world from a premature end then they'll need to included. She doubted such words would do much to sway the bloody hatred of these Biel-Tan though. She can faintly hear laughing in her head. "The touch of the Great Enemy has be felt on many places since the Dathedian; even on our own Craftworlds. However, I am sympathetic to your woes," she sighed, "Beware that it is not just the taint of Ruin that touches this world. There in those in hiding coiled by the Great Devourer that could also be foes."
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Zink
New Member
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Post by Zink on May 4, 2023 20:36:55 GMT -5
"Animals. They are little more than Animals, Farseer."
Elthanil finally deigned to speak once more, having observed the conversation with all the rapt interest a statue might show towards passers-by; None.
"I see little reason to concern ourselves with the affairs of the Hybrid. They are lesser humans, as impossible the concept may be, when deprived of their Hivemind. The storm shall provide our shield against their focus, long enough for us to enact the cleansing." The Warlock paused, looking over to the Farseer. "Unless, of course, you intend to split the wheat from the chaff? the ranger speaks truthfully; No place the mon'keigh touch escapes the great enemy for long." Vitriol seeped through his words the longer he spoke, the short breaks in his speech seemingly allowing a measure of composure to be regained.
"Were it another world, another place, leaving these primitives to kill one another might have been a better course. But the great enemy cannot be allowed to defile that which our ancestors sowed for us millennia ago. No human life is worth tainting the harvest, not one."
Behind them, the Webway Gate thrummed to life once more - the Guardians of Biel-tan emerging from its elegant edifice with practiced swiftness. Furnished for the journey ahead of them, they bore all they could carry and more besides - draped in elegant cloaks, fitted with harnesses and other accouterments, and occasionally sharing the load of carrying larger containers. Ignoring the trio as they went about securing their provisions, only one Guardian dared approach them - a lone warrior, the white and green livery of the craftworld proudly displayed, with one additional marking - the rune of the Fire Dragon, emblazed across her breastplate. Giving the Farseer a respectful - if not reverent - nod, she turned her gaze to the Warlock, briefly affirming the status of the host, before swiftly marching off to return to their preparations.
This 'host' was only a single squad. Nine souls, and a weapons platform to sustain them. Barely a drop of water in the grand scheme of things, inferior means to solve an impossible task. Yet still, guided correctly, they may prove enough to lay the foundations for an even greater effort. Even if it meant their deaths.
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Post by LaxKnight on May 17, 2023 21:04:44 GMT -5
Wyvara listened to the Warlock's speech, unsurprised by what she was hearing. Yes, the Hybrids are unlikely to be a threat; and yes, the mon'keigh can hardly be trusted with anything. They aren't wrong, for it is humans that are most often turned into thralls of the Great Enemy, knowingly or not. And it is rare for there to be a Human life worth saving over an Aeldari's. With how discordant the song of this world is it was hard to see if this might be the case. She'll need to be vigilant, though she was planning to do that regardless.
The Farseer remained unmoving as the Guardian Squad arrived from the Webway; only doing so when one, presumably a leader, gave her a nod which she returned with equal poise. She waited for her to finish her talk with the Warlock before she spoke again.
"I merely mention the Hybrid so you're aware they are here, particularly in the mountains. I don't foresee that they will play a large part in this concert, but I'd be remiss if I didn't say anything about a rhythm that could cut yours off. The very worst players being the spots of void that drown out the song with silence," she said, "Alas, as you've said we can't let the Great Enemy defile this world any more than it already has. I wasn't so much suggesting to separate wheat from chaff as much as cut out a tumor to slow down the disease. The tumor of "Progress" is one of the largest vectors, aside from the storm, that the Great Enemy spreads it's cancer. If this world is to heal, it will need to be cleansed or removed. On which notes you wish to play, if any, in its incision is up to you. There's no shortage of targets on this world."
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