The Infiltration Mission

As he stood examining the grate he recalled the words of the Archon. “However; you shall be quiet upon entering the spire, as I do not wish to lose my most valuable men." If there had ever been a blatant lie, that was it. Obviously it would have been uncouth and foolish to state that in the presence of the Archon, but seeing as none of them seemed eager to help get inside he found it hard to agree. The four of them were by no means valuable, Nih'il knew this. He could almost taste how useless the crew was over the acrid paste of the toxins in his body.

That one fellow... his coat was almost fine enough to be a distraction. No. He kept focus. Fashion was not an issue when assassinating a rival Archon was at hand. However, Nih'il thought it weak for the Archon to send 'lesser' Kabalites to murder his rival. Whatever happened to doing a job yourself to prove your worth?

Nevermind. It did not matter now.

“Dracon.” He paused to run his tongue across his poison-dripping teeth. “A fancy title. I've met Dracons before...” He drifted off, mumbling to himself as his hands moved over the vent to find anything to unscrew or lift.

“You people better know what you are doing.”

Blatant Lie? Even Ahzriva knew that. She of course did her show of being a compliant servant, nodding, saluting, and marching off with her...squad. She had worked with far less warriors before, that didn't bother her, it's just that she never before was given such a small selection of...talented fools. No matter, they would prove to be useful, one way or another, she would see to that. As they reached their destination she moved into action.

"Dracon is a fancy title, isn't it?" she responded before adding her help to opening the gate. " I've met a few myself. After you meet so many they don't seem so fancy, do they?"

She took her power sword and determined how thick the fastening were. If they were thin she would use the power-weapon to gently sever the bindings while her underling held it in place. The blade itself was a lovely blade. It was stylized, more than likely a gift, as rare as those are in Commorragh, and it was effective. The hilt was dark onxy-like stone cut to be ergonomic and offer some heft to hold onto. The blade was the standard ever-sharpening material with some out-of-place but somehow familiar flourishes on the metal...a mix of craft world and Dark eldar. When staring at it, the pattern would emerge and the design was actually cruel acts of murder on various beings made from the decor and script on it. It provided a dull violet light that crackled and pulsed like all force weapons do. It was her prize. The blade was "Fancy" which...for such a blade sounded....out of place and even silly.

"Heed my words though, my title is only in name, you will find my performance to be as cruel as an Archon if you stir my ire. I ask that you follow my orders and do as you are bid. Defy me at your peril. Everything else I could care less. " She'd hiss while working on the grate.

Without removing his focus from the grate he considered the Dracon's words. He wasn't talented in having conversations. In fact, it could be said that he was as talented with holding conversations as a blind man is at painting a masterpiece. His mother had told him a piece of his brain was missing. He thought his father had beaten a chunk of it out of him. The Haemonculus told him to stop being pathetic.

"Dracons that stand on high plinths become large stains on the ground below." He carried on fiddling with the vent before realising clarification might be in order. "That Dracon was birthed of tube. He made a big, tube-blooded stain."

He listened intently to the Dracon's threats. Threats were a part of everyday life, but they held more weight with the Dracon's reputation for violence.

"Nih'il listens. Nih'il obeys. Nih'il kills to keep those of true birth alive."

While she worked at letting the force-blade do the work of severing, not bashing, the bindings of this GRATE that GATED their passage, she grinned wickedly at the other's words.

"Sometimes you'll find that we all splatter the same. Some just land with a bit more dignity."

Her sword gently crackled as it touched it's foe, that foe being matter in general, and she attempted to be as silent about this as possible. Which, in practice, should be about as noisy as cutting butter.

"That's awfully convenient. We'll get along splendid then but don't go throwing yourself away- any shred of loyalty pretended or not - is welcome for the moment. Work well and be rewarded well. Now hold this blasted gate still."

As he hummed his tune, he checked the surroundings and thought, Should I have saved the Driver? It would have been a simple task, but why bother? Cathrages aren't free and why draw the attention? Who cares about some da.... What are those fools blabbering about? Do they not know the meaning of the word covert? The Dracon wont' stop barking ord.... Oh and look! A flashy power sword! That was sure to keep them hidden while sneaking around.

Oh well, he thought to himself. He'd keep the watch and if anybody took notice he would be the last thing they'd.... Wait, what was so valuable about them? Out of this small group? I'm better than them but not too valuable. And that damned venomed trueborn! He's after it! My coat! If I die here he won't get this coat! I'll make sure of it! Although . . . It would be worth it to mess around with that creep.

Solerion was silent from the beggining, and even as he and his team watched as the Venom was crushed down, no word came out of his mouth. The bone charms and a dozen of little shiny pieces of metal were all tied together with small little chains. As the Viper moved, they rang quietly, creating a music, which sounded as a whole army of some tiny people were playing a war march.

While the others were working to create a passage, the Pale Blade was looking for any sign of attackers and holded his weapon steady and ready to aim. The other began to talk about the title, wich was despised in the ranks of Solerion's kabal. Trueborns... what a stupid name to call yourself. Even though Solerion was indeed not born in artificial birth chamber of Haemonculi, but from real parents, none of Sea Vipers ever bore such title. Only through war, plunder and strength you become an elite. The Raider's Code told so. The Raidmaster told so, and Kabal obeyed.

"If you finished your stuipid talk, continue cutting. We got an Archon to kill" - the voice of Pale Blade was blend and unemotional under his reinforced helmet. He shrugged and lifted his splinter cannon up on his shoulder. The weapon gently rattled as it was placed between the blades upon the spiked shoulder guard.
"No sign that they will come back, but we should not linger. Eldritch Eye are not good to uninvited guests, my Kabal had a lot of... troubles while putting them in line."

They would all die. The man with the coat. The man overcompensating with the Splinter Cannon. Even the Dracon, in time. Death is innevitable. Even Vect cannot evade it forever, despite what the crones of the deep cackle.

Solerion chuntered away about Nih'il's fantastic (and delusional) brand of conversation, urging silence. He found it remarkably rude. How uncouth, he thought to himself. I do not see you attempting to help gain entry. One would be wise to refrain from addressing your Dracon in such a way. I bet you would prefer to stand stroking your cannon rather than actually lend a hand.
He thought of the words over and over.
He opened his mouth, and they came out: “Silly cannon. Quick to words, slow to work.”
Drats, he thought. Better luck next time.

The grate came away with the Dracon's 'tool' recklessly damaging the item. He wouldn't admit it, but the sword proved quieter than expected. Would be better if envenomed, he thought. He let out an audible sigh, placed the grate to the side of the access point and looked around. He gestured with wide arms to see if anybody else felt inclined to traverse what he felt to be the doom-tunnel first. They may have, but his mind chose to ignore them if they indicated any intent for haste. He rose elaborately from his crouched position, withdrew a splinter pistol from its holster and took a second for his tongue to caress the length of the barrel. His saliva left a sticky green sheen that seemed to twinkle in the cold lighting.

“Scalp.” He proclaimed. “Definitely scalp.”

In his other hand he clutched a venom blade that dripped like cleaver that had met the neck of a foe. A wide smile came to his face and he moved forward, attempting to gain the first place in the vent.

"Watch your tongue while it's still in your mouth, lest it becomes much easier to see." The Dracon snapped while helping lower the grate and then straighten, putting the decidedly handy blade back in it's sheath. Taking out her pistol she made it clear she was following the venom favoring fool valuable ally.

She did not show her back to her underlings, however, proceeding with her body turned so she can monitor her front and back, her armor a few inches from the wall as she proceeds. A hand motioned behind her for the others to follow.

"Scalp?" she hissed quietly. "You can have all the scalps you want when we're through with this." she promised as the Dark Eldar commander lightly tapped the barrel of her pistol on the vanguard's shoulder. "Beware of traps." A helpful suggestion? No, an order.

While her hand was not motioning and issuing movement orders, it hovered close to her sword...just in case she needed to deliver some close range...incentive to anyone, friend or foe.

Solerion got used to hear veiled threats as well as open ones. And found them most invigorating, they reminded not to keep his guard down. Sea Viper nodded to Dracon and . After a few moments, the kabalite turned his head, reacting to his early alert sistems. The upgraded helmet allowed to understand, when the enemies are close to be ripped to shreds with splinter cannon.

"Movement, two objects" - he said to warn his comrades as he was activating scanners inside his helmet. "First is some kind of Haemonculi creation, trying to identify the second one"
The creature looked pretty wierd for the taste of the Pale Blade. But still, it is not friendly, and can be a threat. Solerion became more focused, his arms were manipulating with cannon in order to prepare it to fire at any moment. While preparing weapon to fire, he finally identified the second target. That was not a single object, but a group. They were the Athair...
As he grabed the splinter cannon in both hands, he explained what he saw below to other crew members.

"This is not right. Why the Cegorach servants are here, and entered just as we got inside?"

"Clowns..." Nih'il grumbled. Too much colour. Too much dancing. Too many masks. Too scared to show true faces.

"It only takes a single flick to topple all the dominoes."

Nih'il contemplated priming his grenade and let it tumble to the ground below, but ultimately it seemed like a bad idea. With or without the interference of the Harlequins the Archon had to die. He thought it would be unwise to waste his boom-ball and give away their position so soon.

Shrugging, the trueborn began to approach the two that had just opened the grate carefully. He grinned at the sight of the odd one's boldness to enter the citadel before the others.

Humming a tune, he winked at the dracon and gripped the pistols in his pockets tightly. If something were to happen, he'd be ready.

'Scalp' he repeated in his head, laughing at the thoughts he had. And, when the dracon told the group to beware of traps, he was certain he'd laugh at how naive she was. Everybody always heeded their surrounds - as they were in the Dark City! Those that weren't cautious were blown to smithereens!

As long as they weren't seen and as long as Solerion didn't open fire on whatever he was looking at, he was certain they'd be safe.

Crawl crawl crawl. Keep crawling until the light shines, or the voices start, or you fall through the floor and into an armoury. Just keep crawling. Listen to the Dracon. Don't kick dirt back in the Dracon's face. That would be awfully rude.

He scrambled on all fours the best he could through the vent, despite it being somewhat constricting and his armour grating off of the walls in places. Despite the sounds of the party moving through the metal labyrinth he could hear something clicking off in the distance. The sound of insectile scuttling, and as the creatures came to view he could taste his acrid saliva start to flow.

"Dracon." He whispered so she could hear. "Beasties ahead. Guts, blood, ichor! They are covered." His breathing started to become a heavy heaving of excitement. He remained focused  and kept himself from storming ahead at the prospect of slaughter, even if it was of some insignificant beasts.

Nih'il checked to see if there was a way around them.

"Dracon? Engage?"

"Hold fire. Melee only. If they get close take them quietly." The Dracon hissed.

It was hard to lend any sort of aid to the point-man. The tunnel was so small that she couldn't imagine some pests being dangerous if they were also confined to the small space...after all, the Dark Kin were the most lethal things that crept in the dark.

The wink she was given gathered no visible response. If the wink was a dart it had missed the dart-board and plunked into the floor way off it's mark. Though Ahzriva wasn't moved by the action she did nod to awknowledge it...or perhaps mark it for later punishment. Hard to tell with the Dark Kin.

Following after the Dracon, he stopped humming to himself and thought, 'Well, nothing ruins the day more than crawling through filth.' Not that he had a problem with dirty work. It was just . . . his coat would need cleaning. The only upside of this was that he'd be able to crawl behind the Dracon.

He didn't like the tight areas and wanted out of the vents as soon as he began to enter them. He grinned as he saw the little creatures crawling ahead, wondering how the trueborn up front would deal with them without making too much noise. Preparing his pistol, Zergavas was getting read to fire when the Dracon said, "Hold Fire."

The last time he had been told to hold fire was by a Dracon who was later turned into a pile of mush with how many bullets when through them. Although, unlike that time, this one actually called for a hold of fire. Splinter weaponry was silent for the most part but, looking at those creatures, he knew they wouldn't be once unloaded into. And he wasn't in a good position anyway, as he'd have to risk shooting the Dracon if he were going to try to shoot one of those beasts. "Holding fire," he muttered, not caring if anybody heard. He merely wanted to allow her to know that he had acknowledged the order.

The warrior continued to observe the situation wich he noticed below the entrance. He activated his helmet interface in order to get a better picture, but it still wasn't that good to make any strict decisions. But the possibility that another team is allied with Harlequins was indeed distubing.
"Seems like something is going not according to plan" - he told to himself, looking on how two groups communicated.

After a few moments, Pale Blade grabed his gear in order to join his team, but as he foun out, it was a bit problematic.
"I won't be able to enter the shaft. From what I see, I will have to leave my weapons behind if you wish me to squeeze inside. Orders, Dracon?"

Nih'il pondered upon his options. If he calculated it right (and had perfect timing) he could launch a venom blade and potentially decapitate one of the creatures. It would leave his hand free to draw a pistol and unleash venomous volleys whilst hurtling forward to massacre the others all in a matter of seconds. It would be glorious and it would all be so well thought out that - "BUUUUUUUUGGGGGSSSSSS!"
Bugs!
Bugs!
Bugsbugsbugsbugsbugsbugsbugs!

His hands trembled in anticipation. So many options! so many options...

Grenade! Yes! YES! GRENADE!

No. Not grenade. Shaft is small. Grenade isn't stealthy.

BUT GRENAAAAAAADE.

*Sigh*. No, not grenade. Grenade equals doom.

DOOM! Yes. Doom is good.

Not doom for us, imbecile.

He frowned as he found himself storming forward with blades drawn. How he longed to feel the weight of the explosive in his palm. Alas, it would have to wait.

Some would be eager, and others annoyed when in the position that he was in. He had nothing he could do but wait, and the one with the large cannon could do nothing but request orders. He had little he could do himself other than wait for the poisoned one up front to finish his combat. Sighing, he pressed a button on his wrist-brace and turned up the volume of his space-pandora.

( Apologies for the delay in response. I should be back to a normal posting schedule. Also, found out splinter weapons are silent. Whoops. )

The Dracon peered over the shoulder of the crazed toxin one and scowled harshly behind her helm. The acid eating away the metal was more than likely going to wound them and the scuttling bugs were at an advantage. Before if they had just been the kind to bite and pinch, they would already be forgotten, but much like everything else about this mission, nothing was easy.

"Change of orders, pull back" She hissed quietly, using her leg to aid the one behind her to back up the tube they had just started to crawl into. " Come, we'll have more things to stab and maim" she promised, almost sympathetic to the crazed one's plight. "However, we don't want your lovely face melted." the last added under her breath. " Splinter cannon, when we are clear, erase them from this tunnel so we can proceed. We will push your weapons in front of you after clearing the insects."

A hand carefully reached out to try and find a spot to grab the crazed Dark eldar and settled gingerly to tug at him while she rapidly pulled back so the splinter cannon could silently whisper death down the tunnel.

How dare she! He thought as he went to draw his pistol. That was, until he noticed the creatures skittering toward them. "Oh," he muttered, starting to pull back. The Dracon was lucky, for she was going to be allowed to live. That was if she didn't damage his coat, anyways.