Vengeance Resplendant.

"I shall, my lord." X'leith stated as he turned to walk away.

Finding the chatter of the other party members a pain to listen to, X'leith passed them by and headed for the vessel.

As he was leaving he noticed his now, ever present shadow, Myr, right behind him. His nonsense was annoying but he may be useful later on so X'leith decided to let him live. The Incubus turn to face him after one of his inquiries. "Do not think me dull, boy. My mind is as sharp as the edge of my klaive. I know what you are up to. I do not need a coward following me around. In a fight, my blade is as likely to cleave you in half as any attacker." X'leith turned away from him and continued his path to the vessel.

"Oh, posh, you Incubi hire yourselves out as bodyguards - do you call every Archon who hires you a coward because they desire your blades at their side?" Myr smiled as he trailed along in the Incubi's wake, since, despite his posturing, Xe'lith was heading the direction Myr had hoped for. "Is it cowardly to understand that you are a better fighter than I am and seek to bask in the benefits of that? I suppose I could prance around and claim I was an unstoppable warrior, but that would be a lie, better I think, by far, to be honest with myself and others to show that you can trust me, is it not? I think you would find me a most excellent ally, but if you truly wish to make our association antagonistic then that is, assuredly, your own decision. Just warn me if you do, I am a coward, you know, and would like the time to run away properly."

Myr laughed, still trailing after the Incubi.

X'leith was getting less amused with every step. The stab at his honor was went an inch to deep. "Listen, you little fly." The Incubi boomed as he turned around. "Do not think to compare yourself to any archon. They need guards for far larger reasons than yourself. Cowards do not belong on this quest. You insult the Dracon by being one." X'leith readied his massive klaive and began his assault.

“Indeed” The Dracon’s voice carried easily through the chamber, like the whispers of death itself, “you may take whatever you wish.” From a pouch at his waist he produced a long, fine talon carved from amber and jade. The surface was carved with the words ‘through the blood of the slaves the masters shall arise’, a sentiment that could only be made by someone such as the tubeborn Dracon. “This is my authority. With it you may claim whatever you must in this realm. In the main city it shall not serve you, however.” He threw it into the air to try and make the Wych stretch and possibly stumble. No such luck was achieved.

It would have been most amusing.

The corsair shared her knowledge of the Sheed but missed out anything about their appearance… maybe this was tactical or maybe it was just a lapse in thought. She smiled (whether through genuine approval or because of shock was unbeknownst to the Wych) and took the Wych’s arm. Shopping seemed like a grand idea, especially before stepping aboard a ship of ‘cattle’ origin, as the Dark Kin would say. Could one really trust the facilities their subordinates would provide?

The Scourge clawed with lithe hands at the corpse of the hierarch to take everything he could find upon the body. Shopping for supplies was in the back of his mind for the moment. How could one care for menial items when such pretty trinkets existed? The excitement at his plunder caused him to squawk for a short moment before regaining his composition. Maeve’s comment had served to make Sarele feel stupid… but there might always be a chance for payback in the future.

The Psyker took long and certain strides out of the Dracon’s chamber and back into the blistering heat, something much more preferable to her Cratworldly tastes. A couple of the Incubi had followed shortly behind her, more to ensure that the threat of a potentially wild warp-touched Kin did not try to end the Dracon’s life. The paranoia within this city was delectably reassuring. To know that one could be so feared for their very nature… it was wonderful.

It came to her surprise, however, when the Incubi drew their Klaives simultaneously and with grave menace. Zaonath drew her Witchblade, ready and keen to shed blood (no matter the odds stacked against her) but soon realised that the Incubi had no ill intentions for her. The monolithic blade-clad warriors turned on their toes and ran back into the Archon’s chamber. Not wanting to miss out on any of the action she turned her head back with a raised eyebrow denoting intrigue… a fight it seemed. Maybe the Incubus wasn’t normal as she’d hoped.

In the chamber light had poured in from the incendiary air from outside of the vault. Inside, however, the cool air remained damp. It would be likely that it would soon be filled with blood. The tightening grasp of X’leith upon his Klaive had alerted the Dracon’s bodyguards and two of the closest monastic warriors to pounce. Myr had been able to reel back away from X’leith’s first assault, the great hooked end of the blade managing to slice a single blond hair that swished almost in slow motion in front of the ganger’s vision. Unluckily for Myr he had not been given the adequate time to run away…

He had, however, been able to draw his Splinter Pistols. It was unfortunate to have to display such violence in front of one’s employment without their prior wishes for a performance of blood, but what else could he do? The blade came down in a fierce onslaught. The Incubus’s footwork was flawless. If X’leith knew of the Incubi approaching behind him he did not show it.

One of the Incubi jumped in front of X’leith to separate the combat. This, however, was an exceedingly unfortunate position to be in. As he looked to the ganger the Incubus’s neck was violated by a stream of venomous needles which caused him to stagger back… into an arcing sweep of X’leith’s Klaive.

Blood spurt high as the Incubus rolled apart in two cleanly cut sections. A single diagonal wound from collar bone to hip had put the bodyguard down and angered his brethren greatly.

The innocent onlookers (who just wanted to go shopping!) we presented with Klaives near their throats and lingering above their bodies to keep them from moving while two more jumped into the combat. The first floored Myr with a kick to the chest that almost broke his ribs. He was wounded to say the least, and slightly disgruntled as the Incubus stood above him, foot pressing upon the floored ganger’s hand to force him to release the remaining pistol. The other had slid from his grasp with the force of the attack.

The other Incubus stood engaged X’leith. This Incubus was different to the others. His pectoral plates were white as bone and his hands were much quicker with his blade. The Klaives sliced and sparked from one another, but it soon became apparent that X’leith was now fighting purely to keep himself in tact.

The new Incubus’s feet sprang him quickly in circles around his foe. His fighting style changed from moment to moment, making it difficult for X’leith to keep track. The fight was impressive but caused a feeling of dread within the onlookers. A dozen strikes were made within seconds, each one knocking X’leith off guard a little bit more until the new attacker’s Klaive was raised in the air for a final killing blow.

“Cease this anarchy!” The Dracon demanded, visibly bursting with rage. “You have come into my court, taken work from me and then threw all respect in my face by trying to settle petty squabbles with over elaborate knife-fights! You will all succeed if you stay alive. Your foolishness has cost me a lot here. If there were other types of scum willing to undertake this task I would have you all tortured beyond death for this! You find yourself in a very lucky situation…”

He Dracon nodded and the Incubi stepped away from those in their ‘custody’. “You shall have a new addition to your party to watch over you temporarily and to ensure that your idiocies do not get you killed. Welcome Incubus-Thera, Klaivex Tarrar to your squad.”

The Klaivex raised a fist in a salute, not caring for what the others thought of him. He had his orders. Make sure they stayed alive for as long as he was alive.

The Shopping Party.

The trio stood at the end of a long street filled with people of all races, vines and head-sized flowers. As they moved up the street they passed many vendors of all varieties. Smugglers of drugs, dealers of arms and backstreet pain-merchants. In an alleyway a group of four Dark Kin beat a Kroot merchant mercilessly. There are small stores of all kinds on each side of a central road. These include: food stores, drug stores, pleasure houses, taverns, tailors and drug-dens. It looks like a rough area… even for this part of the Commorragh.

Docking Claw Teyvarecht
The Docking claw juts at a steep gradient from the side of the central spire of the realm. Grand ships of many designs and Kabals are docked here; most of them liberated by pirates. Many alien vessels are also present. From bulky former-Imperial freighters to sharp and lithe Ynneas Eldarith ships the Claw seemed to possess a specimen of every ship that could be imagined.
All around slaves scuttle with eyes averted to perform the wills of their masters. There are gangs of many species sat segregated from one another. You can see the Sheed ship the moment you arrive. The size of the vessel puts many of the others to shame. An old decrepit man that stinks of cheap drugs and has murder-lust in his eyes approaches you. “Where is it you wish to find?”

There is a lot to explore. There are areas that have become temporary combat arenas where crews from rival ships make bets on bare knuckle brawls. There’s gambling and pleasure of all kinds to experience.

Such was the way of the world, have a bone-headed Incubi attack him and then have the bodyguards decide he needed boots put to him as much as the other guy. More so even. Myr coughed up a bit of blood into a handkerchief as he quietly plotted to kill them all.

That said, at least he'd learned a bit more about X'elith and how...brittle he was.

Surely that was worth a few cracked ribs? He coughed up some more blood and frowned, not sure if he liked that equation. Still, at least with the other Incubi in tow X'elith would be more apt to curtail some of his rank stodginess, and who knows, maybe he'd be lucky and the two would get themselves killed. One lacked common decorum, and the other was tasked as a bodyguard to the same, a deliciously deadly combination. Maybe all it needed was a push...

He smiled pleasantly at the thought as he trailed along to the docks. The approach of the local was unpleasant, to be sure, though unlikely a dangerous measure considering that there were two Incubi in the party. He smiled to the new arrival, but held his tongue, let one of the others be foolish enough to take up the role of 'leader'. Leaders tended to usually be first in line to get knives in the back, poison in their food, or splinter rounds in their face.

Myr knew, he'd done them all...on occasion.

"... a rather tedious shopping trip with the 'girls' ..."

Keshariel wasn't deaf, or as foolish as he was occasionally underestimated (though perhaps not as smart as he himself would suggest). It was all he could do not to smirk at that little sour-edged bit of conversation. He'd never quite seen the problem with options that left him spending his time with attractive women ... but then, he supposed, that was his upbringing. He was used to it in the Wych Cults. Some other men, he guessed, just couldn't cope with the challenge. Or, he allowed, just didn't enjoy such company. Each to their own, in that case. Though the strapping Incubus might be a little out of Myr's league.

That didn't do much to restrain his desire to check the ground Myr had passed over for an actual slime trail, the unctuous little weasel. Did he really believe anyone would fall for that humble servant act? No true Commorrite would conduct themselves with such a lack of pride. The tall Wych found himself trusting the ganger even less.

However, after the regrettable (but not forgettable, oh no) little incident with the Incubi and the hair-trigger impulse (again, who did not know about this in the Dark City?), he had things to do, supplies to collect. The nearest place for such things looked remarkably insalubrious, but Keshariel moved with the confidence born of his Arena training, Sarele was (most likely) still one of the untouchable Scourge elite, and he'd seen the ready sword-arm of his Craftworlder companion already. A suitably lethal combination that ought to warn off all but the most persistent scum.

It was tempting - because really, wasn't it always? They had time to kill, a source of payment for anything they fancied, and one appetite tended to lead to another - to take some time relaxing in one of the pleasure houses, but frankly they didn't look up to standard. No-one wants a souvenir choice of a vulgar disease or an equally vulgar stabbing. Keshariel passed them by in favour of making some suitably expensive purchases in the field of provisions, using the signet to make sure that they were not too badly ripped off and that they should be understood not to be given the house red. After this, a short trip to collect some recreational intoxicants, such as were available, it was time to look for something more suitable for cold weather.

Here Keshariel was given pause. It was relatively simple to find some nice fur-lined high boots; this being close to a port spur, there was always the demand for such things from the rather more piratical side of Dark Eldar life. It was the coat that was giving him problems. Swirling in front of a full-length mirror with a flourish, Keshariel surveyed the result of the third fitting critically.

A Wych dresses to tease. Merely being naked is inartistic and leaves nothing to the imagination, the most powerful erotic stimulant of all. The ankle-length coat, however, was so all-embracing as to be way beyond avante garde, but Keshariel supposed that it was still obvious from his poise and grace that he was a Wych. There would always be the puzzle of what he was wearing besides the coat. That, he supposed with a slight sigh, would have to do. After all, the best Lhamaeans can make being fully dressed positively indecent. He turned to the other two - well, principally Maeve; after all hadn't it been her suggestion to get him into something more weatherproof? It was a good fit across his shoulders, and not too loose until it flared out just at the hips. The fur trim added an exotic touch. He fastened the last button up on the high collar and straightened his posture.

"Well, what do you think? Will this keep me warm enough, milady?"



Shopping for provisions and some minor recreational hallucinogens, nothing too potent, and then on to boots and a nice long, dark and fur-trimmed coat. If he's going to be properly dressed, damnit, Keshariel wants to do it with style.

When the fight between the Incubi and the Dracon's yelling finally reached Sarele, he had already missed out what happened but he could guess what.

"Fight in the group, so soon? Maybe this time it won't be by my hands everyone dies." Sarele thought. "They better not die yet though, I still got a job to get done and going alone would make things harder than it is.". Even though Sarele would prefer to work alone, he knew he needed everyone in this odd group for success. At least for his own survival, they're just meat shields and expendables in Sarele's eyes.

Before he heard of this quest, Sarele occupied himself mainly with small contracts and jobs from many different smaller cabals, gangs or groups in the Dark City. The jobs were often assassinations, bodyguard, delivery and to some extent mercenary work... Earning a little here and there. Most of the time, he worked alone. Or at least at the end of the job he was alone. But this quest, or job, would certainly allow Sarele to advance his ambitions faster. If the job gets done, the reward should be enough for Sarele to restore his wings and get his revenge against his former Archon.

When the rest of the group left the Dracon and his retinue of Incubi and met up with Sarele outside, two of them looked rather hurt. Either physically or their pride.
"Don't loose your heads now.", The Scourge mocked them. He then let out a howl. "And what is this?", Sarele glared at the Incubi and then pointed a clawy finger at him.

When the party reached the streets and markets they aquired their supplies and other items with haste. They didn't have time or lust to find entertainment or pleasures. Sarele only stopped for a brief moment to watch a Kroot merchant getting beaten. They finally stopped by a shady tailor where Keshariel and Maeve busied themselves with clothes and shoes.

"You better get some armor instead of playing with fashion, wych. You can't dance your way out of a fight like in the arenas, in real space you will most likely get hit. A warm 'dress' won't save you from getting hit by lasers.". Sarele was implying to a kind of weapon the lesser races use, mainly the humans. "I'll leave you two here, I'm heading to the docks".

Sarele did not head for the docks immediately. Instead, he ventured into a small bazaar and attempted to procured more poisons, drugs, medical supplies and one splinter pistol for himself. But the most important item that he actually aquired without problems, was a coat for conceiling his armour and weapons. And for keeping him warm.

Shopped with the others, but shopped more poisons, drugs, meds + one splint pist with gems, if it is ok. Then head for docks w/o the two others

Markets like this still made Maeve feel uncomfortable, but on a Wych's arm and with Sarele in the same group she felt slightly better.
She quite happily watched Keshariel's fittings for the coat, despite the scourge's whining.
"Well, what do you think? Will this keep me warm enough, milady?"
Maeve delicately stroked the fur around the Wych's neck. "Mm, yes, it is rather nice, isn't it?" She smiled. "It does so suit you."
Then Sarele left for the docks.
"Oh dear, it seems we've been left alone." She grinned.
"Must remember food and drugs before we go." she thought to herself. "Oh! And the crystal. I wonder why Sarele was in a such a hurry to leave without me sorting that out. Would have thought he would actually want to know the details now."

"Where is it you wish to find?”


Zaonath looked at the old decrepit man that had questioned her at the docks.
This is going to be funny.
She drew her witchblade once more, and carefully placed the ghosthelm, shining blue and black (Ulthwé design), with her other hand on top of her head, and spoke, grinning at the thought of what her voice sounded like.
"I want to see how well does one of you street apes fight. If you are armed, raise your weapon. If not, I will slay you here and now, and throw your body for soul-thieves to feed upon."
She took a few careful glances around to see if there were any kin following. She doubted that any alien would try to interfere, but she had already learned that gangers are likely to pile in on any fight they see.

With a quick leap, Zaonath charged at the man, trying not to inhale the smell of drugs.

"Khaine take me for a fool..."

Myr quickly looked for cover. Gangers did rarely travel alone, and moreso they tended to have lots of guns. Guns that tended to put holes into people otherwise innocently standing in the streets surrounded by lunatic Incubi and Craftworlders.

From a distance, while fumbling with his new pistol he was trying to hide under his new great coat, Sarele could pick out a distinct figure waving a stick in the air. Finally he concealed the pistol under his coat and secured in the holster, he once again paid attention. After realising it is Zaonath and a sword (not any stick), Sarele pulled out the pistol again and started to run towards the scene.

Shopping! Always a fun afternoon well spent and rewarded with the gratification of having prettier possessions than you peers. In Keshariel’s eyes they were possessions that would keep him entertained, warm, and (most importantly) alive out in realspace.

In the shopping spree the Wych and the Corsair had acquired a lovely number of items that could be of use: A luxurious coat for Keshariel and a pair of boots, protein, and nutritional supplements to feed the party for a week and quell any complaints of hunger or political starvation. From the pharmacist in the store they had acquired a long inhaler that resembled a pipe. It was used to create a vapour from the leaves of the Calphract plant (of which two pouches had been purchased, each holding up to three refills worth of the shredded leaf) but could be used to vaporise just about any drug.

For the corsair there was something else to do. She still had the data-crystal but had not yet been able to find out the information from within. This, however, seemed like the perfect opportunity. The crystal could be read by any cogitation machine, and it just so happened that most shops contained them for receiving and processing accounts and orders.
When the Wych was off perusing the fine drug selection, Maeve had noticed the shop assistant walk away from the counter with a business-like smile plastered across her face. It wasn’t very convincing, but maybe her sales pitch was better. Taking a short look over her shoulder to make sure that the shopkeeper was preoccupied she stalked behind the counter, inserted the crystal and viewed the hololithic screen. From all the information present she was able to extract the two most important points:
1. Their destination was the oblivion Abyss.
2. They would be dealing with a man named Prince Niranúir.

From Sarele’s short shopping exploits he had obtained three phials of poison, a jar holding six pills of a street drug known as ‘thunder-vein’, a Flesh Melder and a new Splinter Pistol.
After moving through the bazaar (and leaving the other two behind due to his boredom with the tediousness of acquiring clothes) he had travelled for a while, taken a few detours and had a look around for some entertainment. After passing many fortune tellers and executing a sword-for-hire to test out his new weapon he grew tired of this place. He just wanted to get out into realspace, and soon. This place was too hot and there were too many people. To the docks he would travel… at the docks would be where the fighting was at.

The Klaivex had watched over the trio, his constant state of vigilance could have been perturbing, but it was more of an annoyance to the other Incubus. He would have murdered the short one and got away with it if it hadn’t had been for the other stoic warrior from jumping in and interfering. Why would the Dracon want such a wretch to take part on this mission, anyway?

That brute! What a psychopath! Completely unprovoked he had attacked and aimed to kill. This wasn’t very productive, Myr thought to himself. At least the Klaivex was accompanying them now, though. He could put a stop to any other murder attempts or put the Witch in line, if needed. Maybe having the company of a Klaivex, or Incubus-Thera as he had been referred to (most likely a single shrine’s tradition) would prove profitable.
“A most unlikely and regrettable situation.” The Klaivex muttered, voice dripping with hate at the task he was made to carry out. He didn’t like having to babysit anybody for any reason. He just wanted to protect his client.
“Short one, keep an eye on the Witch for me. I have business to attend to.” The Klaivex planted a hand firmly on Myr’s shoulder and walked over to X’leith who was flanking somewhere amongst the crowd.

“I know that you must have questions, Incubus. You probably have a new grudge to settle. Your qualms do not bother me, and I do not wish to interfere. Rest assured that if I can help I will. If you have questions I might have answers… and if not” he tapped an armoured hand upon his Klaive “then all can be settled in blood.”

And now the chef had been left with the Craftworld Witch! What a joyous duo! It would have been all the more joyous if the Witch hadn’t have decided to become openly hostile to the first person that could have been of some use to them! Myr hid behind a wall, withdrew his pistols and readied himself. The Witch had charged at the man and would clearly be the victor of the combat; what Zaonath may not have considered, however, would be all of the other gangers in the area.

The two incubi looked at the commotion and started to move forth as the Craftworlder effortlessly slashed the man in two. In the ensuing moments the street became a riot.
On all sides different factions withdrew weapons and opened fire with one another or took to duelling. All of this carnage was thanks to the acts of a single being.
 



Sarele: The Flesh Melder is used to… well, meld flesh. It’s held in one’s hand and reseals a wound, making one able to use a limb that had previously lost function, just without full efficiency.

As you realise that the Seer is about to engage in combat you draw your weapon and break into a furious sprint. Two men block your way initially. They appear as if they want your blood, but they could just as easily claim any other life nearby.

X’leith: Nine gangers (four of which seem to be slashing with hellglaives) have you and the Klaivex surrounded. You stand back to back as you try to stop the onslaught.

Myr: All around there are small skirmishes. You have your weapons, you have your cunning and you have your whit’s. A man has grabbed your arm in a hostile fashion and another is closing in.

Zaonath: You’ve started a widespread brawl! Congratulations! You had noticed the tension of the individual factions from the moment you had arrived and your act of violence has triggered something big. One man lies dead at your feet and four of his gang have moved close to try and avenge him.

Keshariel and Maeve: You have purchased all of your items and obtained the information from the data-crystal. It’s probably time you head towards the port. The Ship will be leaving soon.

Annoyed by the erupted gang and street war, Sarele let out a war cry in an avian fashion. Howling like an eagle. Running instead of flying or soaring. Wrong, that is wrong. In Sarele's annoyed state of mind, he became frustrated by his handicap. How he missed his wings. But he quickly cast aside those emotions and thoughts, combat was imminent.

"Killing and be done with Zaonath would perhaps increase our chance of survival signicifantly, rather then rely on her to help us survive...", Sarele thought. "Must resist the thought and temptation though, I'm not in my old position anymore. Killing her outright might upset and trigger the others to kill me in return. If they are not smart enough.", he continued in his own mind.

The ground has changed. The bazaar floor was decorated with some kind of marble stone which proved difficult for Sarele's talons to grasp. Now though, it was even harder as blood has already pooled up and made it slippery to grip. The gangers and other pedestrians obviously had weaponry to fear. Someone must have used splinter rounds filled with "Thinner", a type of poison that thinned out blood around the wound. This causes blood to effectively flow and drain the victim fast. Sarele was happy to see the local poison in action and was even more happy that he obtained one vial of it, loaded into his splinter pistol. In a very brief moment, Sarele fantasized that he would shoot Zaonath with this poison and let her bleed out. He already felt the joy and pleasure over such tormenting fantasy and now grew an urge for it! He decided he must find an oppourtunity later for doing so. And if the rest of the party didn't like to have the Seer dead, The Flesh Melder should be able to reseal the wound stop the blood from leaving her beautiful body.

But Sarele had to stop this. He needed everyone in the party alive, especially Zaonath now that he had something planned for her. Since this was the Dracon's domain, he wanted to try and stop the fight by announcing the Dracon's token of authority. But the token was not in Sarele's possession and Keshariel and Maeve was missing in this party. He felt annoyed once again, but cast that aside. He had to at least try and pronounce the Dracon's name but not reveal too much of their identities. For starters, Sarele let out another howl, more powerful than before. His voice augmentation was being put to the test.

"By Dracon Dsyarriv's name! Cease this fight and return to your business! Or you will face worse fate than death by your landlord or me!"

And to prove the point, Sarele fired two shots at the closest of the two men blocking his way.



---------------

I suck if I miss my shots -
I suck even more if nobody hears me - ;(

Zaonath laughed maliciously as the ganger died.
He looked so surprised! Hah, no reflexes at all! These guys are just... hey there's more. Hey, why are those guys fighting?? And those guys over there?
She kicked the body in annoyance and wished that she would have gotten more audience. Now no one is looking at her!
She looked around and saw Sarele.
Well, I think he will be alright.
She looked around for Myr next, but couldn't see him.
Hah, that's got to be a good sign!
She finally noticed the gangers advancing at her.
Oh great. Now those four are coming for me, and everyone else is too busy killing each other to see this! Oh well, I suppose I should do something anyway.

"FEEL MY STING, YOU CURSED LITTLE SOUL THIEVES!!" She roared and jumped at the advancing gangers, waving her witchblade.

Myr watched it all go insane.

"We'll be lucky if we even get to realspace in one piece..." He mused. Then again, maybe everyone else had already bought regeneration contracts or something. He frowned as he realized he should have gone on the shopping trip and done that, if nothing else. Oh well, no use crying over spilt blood, he'd just make sure everyone else ended up dead instead of him.

As he was thinking all this a local ganger grabbed at his arm. Myr looked over in surprise, and noted that a second figure bearing the same gang markings was closing in on him. It was all very rude, he'd clearly been in thought and wasn't carrying any overt wealth. They were both probably just young idiots caught up in the war play. He sighed, the things he had to put up with...

He twisted out of the first Eldarith Ynneas' grip and back-peddled away from him as the man took a nasty cut at him with a barbed dagger. Yes, very rude, that had even been a kill shot. Myr decided he didn't like either of these two. He spun away as he started to run from them, glancing around the battlefield quickly he noted that other figures with identical gang markings to his two attackers were mostly battling a different gang that sported red mohawks. Spotting a large clump of them he sped forward with his two assailants hot on his heels.

"They fell for it!" He happily announced as he charged into the group of red mohawked gangers, "now we can get them!"

There was a moment of confusion as Myr happily shoved one of the red mohawks towards the two attackers, and then the entire mob fell in after them, attacking the two surprised dolts who had dared to attack him. Myr happily turned away and slipped off into another side alley as he circled back for an angle to keep an eye on the Eldarith Idioticus, Zaonath. He was of neutral attitude towards her, but figured he should at least keep an eye on what was going on so he had the option of choosing to allow her to die or live. Life was all about having options, after all.

Myr sighed again, sometimes it was as if the whole world were against him.

Keshariel was enjoying himself. Very many lovely things, a full-length mirror and not least the attention of a beautiful - and somewhat exotic - woman and the wicked Wych was in his element. Raised to the applause and adulation of an arena crowd, he couldn't help but respond with a little tilt of his chin, closing his eyes for a moment as she stroked the fur around his neck, confirmed in his own gorgeous starring role.

"Mm, yes, it is rather nice, isn't it?" Maeve smiled. "It does so suit you."

He broke from his reverie to find that the complaining Scourge had gone on to - do whatever it was he had planned to do. Some kind of ... thing. At any rate, he was gone, leaving the two of them to their own devices.

"Oh dear, it seems we've been left alone." Maeve grinned.

"So it does. I wonder what we might find to pass the time?" Keshariel's smile lasted until he remembered the mission, and its list of priorities. Mission first. All play and no work makes the Wych a dull boy. "Well, I think this coat will do very nicely. All that remains from our list of chores," he paused, reluctantly stripping off the unpaid-for merchandise so that he could take it to be bought (but still with a flourish), "is the supply run, and little visit to the specialist apothecary for some of the better educational narcotics. How familiar are you with our finer chemical enhancements, milady?" Keshariel's smile grew a little wider, more enquiring. "I would be happy to advise you if you have any questions ..."

In the end the smart choice - and it was starting to look to the tall Wych like he'd made a very good choice of ally - was for him to deal with what he knew best here - the excellent selection of drugs - while Maeve extracted the mission information. This went over smoothly and with minimum fuss, an efficient approach he could appreciate. Armed with the mission essentials, it was time to make for the docks.

Keshariel was quite happy to walk when there was sufficient reason to do so, but this was an occasion to use the Dracon's name for all it was worth. He hailed a sleek, hovering transport and hired it for the trip, elegantly offering Maeve a hand to board it as he took a seat at the back, reclining happily, enjoying the view of his lessers as they thronged the streets below and the wild, lush garden that seemed to constitute most of this benighted realm. After all, how many chances does one get on a mission such as this to relax? In realspace, probably not very many. Best enjoy the moment. Keshariel was good at seizing the initiative, his opponent's jugular, and any chance to have a good time.

Speaking of which, the docks below appeared to be in the midst of some kind of playful riot. The Wych grinned. He had been suffering, just a little, from a nagging feeling that there might not be ample opportunity while he waited for the others to do ... whatever it was they did and he might begin to get out of condition. He couldn't allow that. He owed it to his public to stay at the peak of sleek and athletic perfection.

"Drop us just there," he indicated to the driver, pointing languidly to a corner of the plaza with a bit of a height advantage, not too far from the embarking points where their ship should lie.

"I'm not going into the line of fire -" the driver's reluctance was obvious as the vehicle began to climb.

"Drop us just there," the silken voice of the Severer purred in his ear, as the driver felt the cold wire of a garrote slide around his neck.

Keshariel tipped him a little more for his compliance, but mostly because the Dracon was paying. He leaned over to whisper in Maeve's ear, in the manner of one in a noisy nightclub, because there was a fair racket in the square below, but he did notice the view it gave him of her intriguingly tattooed skin and the well-formed points of her ears.

"I don't know about you, but I consider it far too long since my last bout of recreational violence. I am going to see if I can't spill a little blood between here and the docking bay. You might be able to persuade the driver to take you," he didn't suggest for a moment that she was a coward, but guessed that she might think such back-alley brawling beneath her, "or you would be welcome to join me in the field."

Vaulting out of the aircar, knives in his hands, Keshariel gave Maeve a bow of invitation, arms held out to his sides. His amethyst eyes glittered.

"Race you?"



Keshariel will take a fast and acrobatic route across the last corner of the killing ground, just enough to stretch his legs and spill some blood. Opportunistic killing and mayhem await.

"Well, I think this coat will do very nicely. All that remains from our list of chores," the wych paused, stripping off the coat, if only... No, Maeve. Mustn't be thinking those thoughts. Things to be getting on with. "is the supply run, and little visit to the specialist apothecary for some of the better educational narcotics. How familiar are you with our finer chemical enhancements, milady?"
"I suppose I know enough, but I'm sure you are much better educated in the ways of this realm than I."  Patting the pouch containing the data crystal, she looked around for a cogitation machine. "I've got this to sort out anyway, while you're doing that."
Quickly inserting the data-crystal into the machine, she noted the seemingly most important details and placed the crystal back in the pouch. She moved back over to Keshariel's side, glancing at the drugs he was examining, though admittedly she was more interested in the- No, no more of those thoughts.
Taking the offered hand, Maeve hopped into the vehicle. Overwhelmingly concious of the warmth of the Wych's skin so close to her, she tried to focus and watch the city go by, though she was quickly distracted by the roar of the brawl when it became apparent. Maeve cursed quietly. Not even out of the city and already going to have to walk through a fight. She thought that maybe they would have at least gotten onto the ship before any mass violence broke out. Staying quiet as Keshariel "convinced" the driver to pull up where instructed so as not to spook him any further, she considered the best course of action to get to the dock with minimal injury to herself. Then the Wych's face was barely centimetres from her own. She could feel his breath on her cheek. Much less thinking occured. Her hand involuntarily gripped a loose fold of her cloak, and she didn't catch a word of what he actually whispered. She did, however, after briefly enjoying the manner in which he exited the vehicle, hear "Race you?"
For reply, she jumped out herself and began to run. She knew she would be easily overtaken. She was no match for this arena perfomer. Although the Wych was there to spill blood, her sword was only drawn to defend herself on the way down to the docks.
It quickly became apparent who was at the heart of this brawl. Spotting Zaonath and realising she had caused this, Maeve elbowed her way through the crowd, slashing at would-be attackers. As she drew close to the witch, who was brandishing her own weapon with an apparent abscence of any sanity, Maeve sheathed her sword and drew her splinter pistol in its place. Grabbing Zaonath's wrist, she spun the deranged woman round and shoved the splinter pistol hard into the soft spot between her throat and her chin. She screamed both out of rage and to allow herself to be heard over the crowd "ARE YOU QUITE MAD? WE'VE NOT EVEN LEFT THIS CITY AND ALREADY YOU'RE ENDANGERING THE MISSON WITH YOUR LUNACY!" The gun began to hum menacingly as it was flicked to Armed.

Maeve at first intended only to scare Zaonath but is angry enough to make an attempt on her life depending on the witch's reaction to her threat.

"Mad? These drug-smelling street monkeys are in my way! They would just try to stab me in the back anyway if I wouldn't make it clear to them and others that I am not someone to be messed around with! Surely you understand, corsair!"
Zaonath came aware that her life was depending on whether or not the splinter pistol was going to be fired. She tried to calm herself down, and slowly lowered her sword.
"C'mon, Maeve. Nothing too bad has happened yet! Look, even Myr there seems to be happy!" she said, pointing at the side alley where the chef was hiding. "If there is someone mad here, it's these dark kin. They kill people to feed on their souls, not because they are in their way, Maeve!"

Hearing that the Klaivex does not wish to interfere was pretty much what X'leith thought would happen. As the words hit him his assumption was confirmed and he let loose a small, what could be considered a smile under his helm.

"I will contain myself for in order to complete the mission. As long as that little imp stays out of my way. Although I can not effect the outcome of "accidents"

"I do not mean any disrespect but why would your Dracon allow such weakness to serve him? I understand that cowards can have their uses but this one is so insufferable. He seams to be proud of the fact that he is weak." the incubus said to the Incubus-Thera.

As their conversation came to a close X'leith and Tarrar noticed a set of nine gangers approaching their position. Some of them swinging wildly with hellgaives.

"I am pleased to say that we are about to get some exercise." X'leith says as he readies his weapon. "This should be relaxing and take my mind off the lowling for a moment." he thought.

"It will be an honor to fight by your side. It has been a while since I have had the opportunity to fight by the side of someone so skilled." X'leith said to Klaivex Tarrar. "Lets have some fun."

Within the space of a couple of heart beats the beaten ground held aloft by great architectural symbiosis between the unnatural nature and Eldar-made structures became caked with blood visibly thickening in the baking heat. Gangs and mercenary bands bearing different tribal markings and gang colours fought with anything from knives and powered weapons to broken glass and teeth and nails.
It was amusing when things like this happened, generally.

From where Zaonath stood she could see Sarele emerge from the masses, new pistol firing twice into some thugs that blocked his path. The first toppled with an angered cry, but the second stepped to the side, making the round barely scrape his cheek.
This, however, was more than enough for the poison to enter his system. After a few moments the graze poured with blood, and half a minute after the Scourge pushed him to the ground he bled out, adding to the swirling artwork underfoot.
The Scourges shout had made a couple of them stumble and falter, reconsidering the consequences of their actions. He had a strong voice, but over the sound of erratic combat it was lost at a distance.
It didn’t matter too much, however… something big was coming…

"ARE YOU QUITE MAD? WE'VE NOT EVEN LEFT THIS CITY AND ALREADY YOU'RE ENDANGERING THE MISSON WITH YOUR LUNACY!" The gun pressed to the Psyker’s throat made a good point. The words could have easily been heeded and considered, but the threat of death around this many soul-thieves was more persuasive than any other factor.
"Mad? These drug-smelling street monkeys are in my way! They would just try to stab me in the back anyway if I wouldn't make it clear to them and others that I am not someone to be messed around with! Surely you understand, corsair! C'mon, Maeve. Nothing too bad has happened yet! Look, even Myr there seems to be happy! If there is someone mad here, it's these dark kin. They kill people to feed on their souls, not because they are in their way, Maeve." There had been much longer rebuttals in the past, but through experience it was apparent that they tended to end with throat slitting. There was no harm in a little street fight. What did the Corsair find to be the problem? Many Dark Eldar lay dead… their naturally villainous existence ended.
The Corsair and the Witch stood with weapons drawn, tension mounting as one waited for the other to make a move. No harsh words had been exchanged, but it was clear that more blood could be shed; in the name of Khaine or whatever foul deity they might have come across in their travels.
Maeve sighed, “I’m not like the Ynneas Eldarith, though. I won’t kill one of my own in a moment of fury… don’t tempt me again, though.”
A mighty shadow engulfed them, however, and their heads averted from one another simultaneously to lay eyes upon what stood over them.

X’leith and Tarrar quickly cut apart a dozen assailants before those around them started to become hesitant about attacking so close to the great Klaives. With two great warriors of the shrines it would be very difficult for the gangers to land any serious blow upon them, let alone one that could get through their armour.
"I do not mean any disrespect but why would your Dracon allow such weakness to serve him? I understand that cowards can have their uses but this one is so insufferable. He seams to be proud of the fact that he is weak."
The Incubus-Thera looked to the other shrine-blade, his bone and razor helmet hiding any expression upon his face. In reply he snarled, cut open the stomach of one ganger and then started to reply, “One thing that I have learnt over the centuries, Incubus, what we perceive as cowardice can be so distant from its true meaning.” He sprang forward, quick on his toes, to scare the last of the aggressors away before turning to X’leith, “I’ve seen Hellions die in flames of martyrdom for honourable causes and ‘mighty’ heroes of the Imperium flee and leave their brothers to die when too scared to face their own mortality. Everything has its place in war, as it does in society.”
He gestured over to where an alien with polished armour rose above the rioters. “All shall become apparent, it seems.”

The Chef and the Wych were the closest to them when they arrived. The Wych had won the race in the most glamorous of styles, blades slashing as he flipped and pirouetted through the masses. His grace was far superior to that of the average civilian, and it was even noted by the Klaivex as ‘above par’.
What was happening around the Wych did not concern him, and as he landed all else seemed to pale in significance.
He’d slain bigger targets before, but he knew when not to pick a fight.
“Can I be of assistance?” He asked, looking at the creature before him. It stood uncaring, with a large, brutish gun clutched between its second set of scaled hands. To say it was large was an understatement. It possessed four pairs of limbs, four of which it walked upon and four of which protruded from the section that had curled upright. It was obvious that this alien could run at startling speeds when on all four pairs of legs… or hands… but  when attempting to stand upright its head was nine foot from the ground. This made it, and its two brothers, tower over all else around and silence the air with their presence. The tails they possessed ran far behind them, strong and scaled like the rest of their bodies. The Chef noted how the tails by themselves must have been as long as a man.
They were menacing in appearance, and one of them seemed to be staring at Myr. “You're too small! ‘Tis hardly a snack!” It laughed, coarsely.

It stared with piercing red eyes at those that had gathered, the weapon threatening to fire into the swarm of relatively fragile Eldar. Some people started to whisper while others slipped away. One thing was certain from the repeated syllable in the air.
These were the Sheed.

One of them made the Incubi move to the centre of the platform while the other picked both the Corsair and the Witch in one hand each. They closed in to herd the seven Eldar into the centre of a triangle where they faced the largest of the three. Horns protruded from every limb he possessed and his teeth were longer than a human’s skull.
“What is this?” He hissed in almost serpentine sounds. “A Klaivex escorting the weak? Are you the cargo? Tell me!” He roared, firing into the air.
The gun sent out a storm of shrapnel that shredded the air and made many of the former rioters run off, leaving only the dead.

Four more Sheed moved from the direction of the largest ship in the dock on all feet, their claws snapping open the femurs of the dead to get to the bone marrow within.


All: Three Sheed have surrounded you. They are low in numbers but look high in aggression... you can try and escape, try and bargain with them, try to fight or try to strike up conversation.

Do whatever you like, just remember, once you are on the ship the protection of playground mode is over.

"Of course I'm too small to eat, that's because I am not meant to be eaten." Myr did allow himself a smile at the thought of what would happen if one of the brutes tried to eat him, especially if they didn't properly prepare him first. There were so many interesting flavors, after all, and the hidden pouches of his clothing hid many both delectable and deadly. "That said, once we are aboard your ship, if I like the look of the kitchens, I assure you I will make you a feast fit for an Archon."

He sighed as the detestable base creatures hemmed him and the others in, and then watched, eyes growing saddened, as the other Eldarith Ynneas ran off at the arrival of the Sheed.

It was as well that you might run from a barking animal, as flee from this. Had they no self respect? It saddened him on multiple levels, how quick the violence yet how quick the weakness. It was no wonder that this port was hardly known for the quality of its citizenry. He kept his hands folded up under his cloak and his eyes on the Sheed as he kept a happy smile on his face and shifted to ensure he was near the center of the group in case the Sheed grew antsy.

It was going to be dreadful traveling with these things, perhaps even more dreadful than his traveling companions. Also, judging by their brutish responses they were likely to always resort to crass violence and shows of strength. Myr sighed, it was likely to be an unpleasant and boorish journey.

Myr had no desire to speak with the leading alpha Sheed, and pointedly avoided eye contact with it so as to not allow the dreary beast to decide some challenge to its authority was happening - as well spend your time trying to convince a gun you were its master. He did patiently wait for whoever the group leader was to speak up. He was still waiting to see if there would be one. Clearly not either Incubus, one was about as subtle as an artillery barrage and the other was too clever to fall into that trap. The Wych wouldn't do either, it was hard to lead while self-preening so much. That left...a not pleasing set of options. He began to wonder if, at the very least, he might be able to arrange to have the witch's vocal cords damaged, that would at least help alleviate his current, and likely some future headaches.

Maeve struggled and squirmed in the enormous hand until she was facing the sheed that held her fast. She spoke a few words with it in a strange language and eventually it put her down with an infuriatingly condescending pat on the head.
She brushed herself off and considered asking it to free the witch too, before concluding that it was in everyone's best interests to leave her safe there.

'Cargo'???? 'Cargo'? What kind of idiots are these creatures?
"If you are planning to eat me, I will ensure that your insides will explode!" Zaonath shouted at largest one. "I can do that!" I bet they are scared of my ghosthelm!
She struggled free from the alien holding her. No minion will keep me held! This big one is the boss, so it will get all the attention it wants! She grinned as she adjusted the ghosthelm that had come slightly loose. She didn't want to break the illusion these creatures must have had, of course, since they must think it as her real head!

Zaonath strode back and forth in front of the Sheed, staring the aliens intently.

They were simply trying to threaten her, that is all. Her and the other eldar, of course.
She had no intention of allowing these creatures to enjoy their size advantage against her, no way!
After a quick moment of consideration, she stopped walking in a circle and browsed through a pouch on her belt for a plasma grenade.
"You want a snack? Just try doing something stupid and you can have this!"
She held the grenade so that it would be roughly at the creature's eye-level, but she made sure she could hurl it at any moment they would go aggressive.

She completely ignored everyone else behind her, focusing completely on the Sheed in front of her.

Maeve stepped over to the Witch. Quietly, she whispered "You might want to remember that they're agressive and not too fond of Psykers..."