To Rise Above the Fall

With the back of a perfectly sculpted hand, Kayle brushed it across her forehead in a form of relief, the adrenaline and sweat that had built up since the wreck site all captured in a small tableau across her beautiful alabaster flesh. Between the damage from the intial blast and the resulting emergency landing, Exacting Vengance had been taken for quiet a ride already.

However, the Raider was under the capable and elegant hands of Kayle Amaryllis, and not to toot her own horn so to speak...who was she kidding, she'll toot her own horn all she wants! With most of her pilot controls back online, their was only a few things left to repair before they could fly out of here like a Razorwing outta Aelindrach.

Despite all the commotion around her, Kayle was able to focus upon the now damaged Raider before her. That was until she heard a roar coming from the hull of the Raider. Considering their current situation, as well as their little encounter with a cadre of Mandrakes, instinct kicked in and Kayle vaulted over the controls with both the grace of an Arena fighter and one of her daggers from her waist in her hands.

When she realised what was the cause of the roar from the hull of Exacting Vengance, Kayle couldn't decide if she should pull of her hands over her mouth to hide her laughter, or to scold the flesh-weaver for putting bloodletting over her survival...and the others of course. However, she refrained from putting a dagger to his neck when she saw the work he had completed on the hull.

As she turned around, she caught the action taking place before her, with her adrenaline pumping she did not know if she wanted to jump in and show the boys a thing or two, or shiver as a cold chill ran down her back from the webway corridor. Still pumped up full of adrenaline she returned back to Exacting Vengance and drove right back into fixing the Raider.

'I swear that if he does anything else to the Raider, the tubeborn twitcher will find himself a few pieces shorter then when he left the growth vats.'

"AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhehehehHAHAHAHAHAHAH...." Em'eyeth screeched past Chy'ier's lips.

"ThisiswhatcomesfrombeyondinsanityChy'ier? "Theyareslowanddumbhowcouldourbloodhidefromthem?" Em'eyeth quizzed Chy'ier as she controlled Chy'ier's body like a dancing marionette.

"LookValishavingtroubleshallwereleavehimofhisnewtoy?itsawfullyshiney!" Em'eyeth toyed with Chy'ier as she guided him around and through excellently coordinated sets of blows.

"No, He is my...." Chy'ier warned Em'eyeth.

"ItwouldbewisetowaityourturnChy'ier" Em'eyeth warned Chy'ier while he dodged yet another blow with the grace of a master dancer.

"aknickhereanicktherethisisallfunandgamesuntillsomeonehastopaytheJester" Em'eyeth mused to Chy'ier as she danced between the two entities to the other side.

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OOC: Em'eyeth will dance Chy'ier defensively taking shots at openings where she can get them, eventually passing between the two monsters to get behind them, opening up a shot to the waiting overwatch.

Cut... Rip... Tear... Bleed... Skin... Stab... Cut... Slice... Burn... Rip... Tear...

Despite having more common sense than most on this misbegotten hunting party, even the Wrack had need to satisfy its own hunger... To satisfy a dark and cruel need that fueled its life, the singular pure intent that filled the void where ambition and treachery would have taken shape. Bare feet touched down upon the strange texture of the webway portal's flooring, causing a full rattle of chain. Slowly but surely he rose up to full height, four arms unfurling each to reveal murderous intent with each. The hooks and hand scythe that served as his signature weapons were held in his two unaugmented hands, swaying slack on black chain links as his body swayed on its own. One black metal claw protruding from his spin unfurled with a flaying dagger twisting in one hand while the other began to dismantle, revealing the liquefier gun housed within.

Warp Hounds.

This was hardly what he would call suitable prey... Creatures far too bestial and far too warp engrained for him to savor their agony, savor their suffering as they died at his hands... Once more he would be left denied his true heart's desire... He decided to make this as quick as possible, perhaps then he could vent his frustration out on the tube born whelp.... Yes that would be nice.

He slowly lowered his back arm, taking aim to the approaching mutts with the liquefier gun, waiting but a mere heartbeats before activating the muscle encoded trigger. Unlike most guns that had their own ammunition of sorts, the liquifier weaponry of the Haemonculus covens used the weilder for just such a task. Decades of genesplicing and operations had seen blood turned to toxic ichor, able to render flesh and bone to wretched decaying slag. In truth, the Wrack could hardly say if there was even a scrap of his being that wasn't altered or replaced in some way... It might be something able to give a man identity issues, but he never concerned himself with such things. Too much work to do, so little time to do it.

With care, he released a torrent of the black ichor from the liquifier gun in a 90 degree arc, hoping to do away with both of the Warp Hounds at once, and should atleast one of them make it through, he had three hungry blades ready and eager to dig into flesh.

[Honestly, one day I'll remember to overtype this not post beneath it.]

Daranúr palmed a couple of capsules as he brought his sword up for another swing, covering the action with his humming new toy. It was good, but it didn't make enough of a ... splatter. Where was the fun in killing without the blood? Swallowing the discerning man's combat enhancement - at least so he'd been assured by a man who was, so Daranúr hoped, too intimidated to have sold him inferior merchandise - he could feel the kick to his system as the Adrenalight took hold. Rather pure stuff, in fact. A small voice at the back of his mind hoped he'd be able to handle something uncut, but it was drowned in a tide of raucous glee and mayhem. Moving faster now and with the reactions of a Wych on heated sands Daranúr drew his original blade and started to whirl deadly strikes at his unwounded opponent. Better slow two down than take one out!

Such backstreet logic did stand him in good stead with the Adrenalight flowing through his veins, amping up his speed and enabling him to wield the two blades in deadly arcs. He wasn't sure he could bring that off straight, but who cared? He struck the forelimbs out from the unwounded beast as it lunged at him and almost lazily, moved in to stab it through the spine. It collapsed, mewling, spouting ichor. It wasn't red, but it would do.

Caethir needed no such tricks. Taking up a defensive stance, the Incubus brought his Klaive around two-handed and quickly reversed it as the beasts leapt towards him, roaring out a challenge of his own. Sweeping his blade around he aimed to cleave the wounded warp-spawn in half. With a shower of foul blood it was sundered, and the great power of the blow caught the hind limb of its fellow as it aimed to dart away. Howling in pain it stumbled, its lashing forepaws missing their target. The last remaining beast facing Caethir launched itself up at his face, using some of the wreckage as a boost, and he brought the Klaive around, disembowelling it with the pommel-spike.

Facing down the hissing, wounded devilkin, the Incubus spat a sibilant curse of his own.

At the far end of the line, Chy'ier danced and spun, the little Tubeborn seeming to have come alive in combat. He ducked and wove, leading the leaping warp-spawn in a fatal pas-de-deux with grace and flair. Of course, the mad laughter bubbling up between his lips might have been unnerving to a less hardened crowd, but these were Commorrites. As for the beasts, well, their job was to scream and die, and they were doing it well.

Giant claws lashed out for his new skin, and he ducked. Em'eyeth saw to that. She drove like she meant business. Chy'ier managed to move between them and out the back, although he didn't quite get them to strike each other while missing him. Em'eyeth pouted slightly, but it was all in fun. The plan was going nicely and, spinning around to swipe at the back of one of the creatures, she had Chy'ier catch Valarauka's eye as if to say, Over to you.

Unfortunately for the Sybarite, while he had the vantage point, he hadn't got quite as far as making that commanding position count. Saving the blast pistol for a situation where the eyesight of his companions in arms was less crucial, he'd taken a couple of decent shots with a splinter pistol, hitting the second of Chy'ier's attackers in between its second and third pairs of limbs, but there was a distressing little light code flashing on his new toy. Reload needed. Cursing fit to make a Lhamaean blush he fumbled with the pouch at his side, hoping he'd got some ammo ...

Down on the deck, at the other end of the line, what the Wrack lacked in finesse he made up for in brute strength and force of arms. Rather literal arms in this sense; spreading all four of his augmented limbs in a spiderlike pose of attack Excision readied an assortment of tools - blades - instruments? In any case he was ready to perform his part. Raising his liquifier gun, the servant of Pain aimed at the two beasts facing him with a swiftly-calculated arc of fire. With a minute adjustment down the semi-living connection to the weapon, its muzzle sprayed its unholy ichor through a fanlike nozzle, and the noxious fluid hissed and sizzled as it made contact.

One of the warp-beasts was dissolved down to its flexible, still-writing skeleton. The other, caught at the edge of the horrific spray, yowled and twitched and leapt aside, trying to scrape the hell-blood against the floor of the webway, the body of the nearest beast, anything to rid itself of the clinging, dissolving ruin. Desperately, it ran at Excision, and the Wrack stooped to meet it. Making eye contact through his barred mask, he leaned down as one might to pet an animal, and neatly opened its throat.

Back at the Raider, Kayle was instantly ready to join her companions, but she quickly realised that her unique skills were needed elsewhere. It was a tough job, under pressure too, but she knew that she could do it. And who better? If anyone knew their craft with craft, it was Kayle Amaryllis. She selected a fine-tipped welding tool and bent back to her work, sharp ears alert to the sounds of combat as she worked. Of course, she would miss the fun, but the boys could handle it. There would doubtless be plenty of opportunities to see them in action on a mission like this, anyway. She nursed Exacting Vengeance back to life even as they brought death. So long as she got this right, there would be time to play later

Listening as she was, her mind otherwise occupied with the mechanical tasks and free from the distractions of creatures trying to harvest her major organs, Kayle could hear a very strange, very anomalous sound. It sounded like nothing so much as a pair of high heels clicking on a hard floor, rhythmic, languid, and coming from the same direction as the warp-spawn. As soon as she had it, she concentrated too much on the sound and it was drowned out by Daranúr's warlike - and very cheerful - bellowing about the creatures' parentage and the mad, high giggle of Chy'ier as he danced about the fray. Changing the solder-tip one-handed she brought the last strut into alignment and shook her head. One more pass and the wounded bird would be ready to fly..




Extra Info:

Daranúr: You have one wounded warp-beast left, and you have used up your combat drugs. Party time!

Caethir: You also face one wounded warpspawn.

Valarauka: Your splinter pistol is out of ammo. You don't yet have anything up next to you in melee, though, so perhaps Khaine is watching over you, rather than laughing and pointing.

Chy'ier: One down, one to go!

Excision: You got both of yours. You now have no warp-beasts facing you.

Kayle: Exacting Vengeance is functionally ready to fly, though you have not managed to bring either the weapons systems or the shields online. Still, you did an excellent job under fire.

Summary: there are three remaining warp-beasts, all wounded. The Raider is ready for takeoff. So far, due to careful strategy and effective fighting, no-one has taken any more wounds.

“Hello my friend.” He grinned at the remaining beast, asking himself what coulour the insides of this one would be.

The Drugs in his system made him far more alert than he had previously been… he just hoped for no negative side effects when they eventually wore off.

Brining his blades up as he faced the last of his wounded foes he tilted his head, started to sing a song in his regional dialect and struck out.

He would make sure this beast was dead.

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

Daranúr is going to strike at the last beast and, if anybody else needs help, potentially offer a drugged up hand. (Apologies for the short post)

The wounded beast flopped around on the ground like a fish out of water. Its wound was oozing with a black like ichor, the stuff of the warp. Even wounded and trying to crawl away, the beast still had an otherworldy ferocity in its eyes. Caethir could respect such a look. A creature cornered was a dangerous one indeed. He cautionly aproached it for the kill.
 
The Klaive hissed with steam as the ichor on its blade was slowly evaporated by the energy coursing through it. From behind him a low chant started. It seemed that the Mercenary was having a grand time. Caethir could not help but smirk at the realization that he was as well. To bad it was all over... for now...
 
"Die foul beast. May you forever remember the voice of he who banished you!" And with a swing that was not unlike that of an exocutioner, Caethir went for the killing blow.

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OOC: Caethir is going for the killing blow. Lets end this

WhatgoodisworkingwithagroupwhentheyareineptatdoingthierjobChy’ier?  Em’eyeth harped Chy’ier while easily dodging the predator’s mouth.
 
 
Thiscouldbemybestroutineyet,whatdoyouthinkChy’ier,agrandfinaleinorder?  Em’eyeth finished as she threw a knife at the creature’s foot at an attempt to pin it to the floor of the webway.
 
 
Thebiggerthebetterright?! Em’eyeth cackled past Chy’ier’s lips as she easily pulled his last plasma grenade from its hidden compartment on Chy’ier’s person while dodging another blow.
 
 
WeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHAHAHAHAHAHA!!  Em’eyeth screeched past Chy’ier’s lips while cartwheeling over another blow.

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OOC: Em'eyeth will continue to fight defensively exploiting opportunities to nick and slice at the monster.  If such a situation reveals itself Em'eyeth would like to throw the grenade down the monster's throat and of course back away in a stylish fashion.
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Daranúr was finding that he liked consistency. For a moment there, he had been - well, not worried, certainly, but ... uncertain how these eldritch abominations would die. Fortunately, the answer was at speed and, now that he'd changed back to his old favoured sword, in a welter of not-exactly-gore. Close enough. He began to sing lustily, regaling the dying with a song he'd learned in a backstreet tavern. He still hit them and they still died, and that was the way the mercenary liked it.

“Hello my friend.” he grinned, asking himself what colour this one would leak all over the webway floor. With a spinning pass - just for the sheer joy of killing momentum, really - the drugged-up warrior cleaved it in half, pausing to watch the resulting spray of viscera. Quite pretty, really, like the writhing tentacles of some half-sentient plant or the hair of a sacrificed slave.

To his side Caethir raised his great Klaive to send the wounded beast back to the warp that spawned it, the fractional pause before the killing blow fell a mark of his respect for its ferocity.

"Die foul beast. May you forever remember the voice of he who banished you!" Though the creature snarled as it leapt at him, even its supernatural evasion was not enough to allow it to bypass the blade. It fell, choking out its last breath in a growl of hate. With a last talon raised as if to strike, it collapsed in a steaming pool of innards and bile.

To the - left? right? now in the middle? Chy'ier was dancing all over the melee, darting and spinning for all the world as if he was in the arena, watched by expectant thousands, hovering over the sands, vaulting in graceful arabesques amongst the dead and dying. He threw a knife to pin the remaining beast to the floor, and slipped back out of range as two of its other paws swiped at him.

"Thebiggerthebetterright?!" he giggled in a rush, sweeping one of its attacks aside and cartwheeling amid the viscera, spray from the fight decorating him like a Bloodbride. Chy'ier slipped a tiny, shiny spheroid from a pocket.

"WeeeeeeeeeeeeeeHAHAHAHAHAHA!!" He jinked in, right before the stunned beast's jaws and tossed the little bomblet. Being a hound, albeit one tainted warpspawn of a hound, the creature reflexively snapped its jaws around the silver trinket. Chy'ier jumped back, almost leapfrogging the stooping form of Excision. Briefly, he considered using the Wrack's broad back to boost himself, but wiser counsel prevailed. Well, that and the busily-whirring mechanical arms and fluid dispensers.

There was a brief, muted flash, a loud bang, and the wet splatter of shredded warp beast raining down over all and sundry. There was a terrible smell of charring unholy flesh and sizzling ichor. Then there was silence, ear-ringingly loud, broken only by the snip of Excision's cutters.

The Wrack had killed both of his opponents in short order, and now he bent to study one of the corpses - the one less dissolved - taking a nice patch of the mutated, sickly-hued skin to add to the growing collection on his belt. The damp scrap of Mandrake hide still bore a remanent chill, he noted with interest, cleaning his tools with care and wiping his hands on the hide of one of the more intact corpses. The bones, he noted, were unusually supple, lending a certain strength and fluidity to the beasts' limbs, though he had yet to work out the mechanics of that peculiar gait as they leapt from floor to wall. He ignored the muffled explosion as irrelevant, though he did pause to remove a piece of spleen from one ear. Then, specimen collected, he stalked back to the downed Raider.

"Are we ready to leave?..." he asked, turning to Kayle as the blonde pilot turned mechanic packed up the last of her repair kit.

"We're done here," she said, hands on hips, surveying the mess they'd all made of the warp hounds, "Exacting Vengeance may not look as pretty for a while, but we can fly."

"By Khaine's bloody hand," Daranúr swore, "I enjoyed that." He sheathed his newly-cleaned sword and kicked the corpse of one of the creatures, looking slightly disappointed that it didn't so much as twitch. Still wired, he grinned up at Kayle as she addressed the small crowd like some Archon giving a post-battle speech to her troops. Well, a bit like that; most Archons didn't have a firm grip on reality, let alone a socket wrench.

"Nothing like a good ... fight, to really give the muscles a workout," Kayle drawled, nodding her approval of the slaughter. For a moment, she and Daranúr exchanged glances. Maybe ...? Nah. She shook her head. Kayle Amaryllis was a discerning girl. Anyway, not only was he street trash, he was still as high as a kite from combat drugs. She returned her attention to Caethir and reported with a cheeky salute.

"One Raider ready to fly, Sir."

"Sir? I'm the one with the webway map," Valarauka complained. She twitched it out of his hands with a fluid movement.

"Was the one with the webway map. Now, all aboard for distant stars, bloodshed, fame and fortune." Her gaze lingered on the tall Incubus, still scanning the darkness. "And the ride of a lifetime." She flicked the engines on with a little bit more confidence than she felt, then smiled from ear to ear when they purred into life. I am so good at this.

Caethir was the last to board the impatiently hovering craft, his Shrine-born instincts telling him to make sure the rest were ready to evacuate. He scanned the webway tunnel one last time. There  - for a second - he was sure he could hear something. He waited, statuesque, silent, Klaive in hand, instantly poised to strike, but nothing came. With a grunt of mild dissatisfaction, he leapt aboard the waiting Raider and Kayle rocketed it off into the winding labyrinth dimension.

During the couple of days it took to reach the point where the map indicated it would be good to use the portal to make planetside, no-one let Chy'ier eat anyone. Caethir insisted on throwing the remains of the Wraithkind overboard; they were poisoned, and anyway the smell indicated that the corpse was fast becoming unhygienic.

During the brief times they took for sleep, Kayle didn't trust anyone else to fly the battered Raider, so she made the others wait until she'd had her beauty rest. Oddly enough, Caethir always took a watch while she slept, then retired when it was her turn to be on duty. Excision staked out the patch of warp-beast hide across a small area of the deck, smoothing the brains he'd scooped out of the Wraithkind's narrow skull before it was ditched across the clean-scraped skin to tan it. Valarauka and Daranúr fell to gambling when there wasn't anything else to do except watch the webway slide by, but Daranúr still hadn't managed to get the sometime Sybarite to lose any of his more interesting stash. He was beginning to suspect him of cheating. And after being gloriously, technicolouredly travel-sick once more over the back of the speeding battle-craft, Chy'ier had curled into a small ball and slept.

Finally and without external incident, the appointed place on the webway sectional map came into view: a broken portal, its ancient, scarred surface the veteran of many lifetimes of service before some long-forgotten catastrophe closed it down. The mining facility on the third moon of Lyris 9 in the Menthis Cluster awaited below, and within it, the Lady Dracon's prize.




Extra Info:

Kayle: you now have the mission map detailing how to get to Lyris 9 via webway.

Daranúr: the combat drugs are wearing off, but you only have a mild headache and a slight thirst. Your supplier wasn't lying about this being good stuff. A pity he was later found in seventeen disposal chutes and a ur-ghul.

Chy'ier: You are down one plasma grenade, perhaps to the relief of all concerned

All: the webway portal here is broken, but Caethir has a portable gate. It will only allow you to proceed on foot. Unfortunately, it is not possible to see what is on the other side of the portal before you exit (except by sticking your head through ...), but being of superior Dark Eldar manufacture it is set not to allow you to come up underwater, high above the ground, and so on. Well, not unless the Lady Verrax has a particularly strange sense of humour.

You have a map of the mining facility (held by Valarauka) and your seals, now three days out from Commorragh, are starting to degrade. You have a few days before the pattern becomes too faded to read.

Em'eyeth walked Chy'ier over to collect her dagger left in the partially charred foot of the warp thing.  "Shamewashopingtogetafewmoreroundsoutofyou."  she uttered through Chy'ier as he turned back to the awaiting raider.

----

"Was the one with the web way map. Now, all aboard for distant stars, bloodshed, fame and fortune... and the ride of a lifetime."

"WHAT?" Em'eyeth screetched as the raider took off with an uncontrollable start.

It was hours after Exacting Vengance, the now wounded but soaring bird that it was, had taken off before the smug look on her face faded ever so slightly. Between the soft purr of the engines as proof of her handy work in giving back the Raider its wings, the tubeborn twitcher losing it again and a little of the slaughter the boys had pulled off with the webway creatures, the girl had much to be smug about.

As the only member confidently able to fly Exacting Vengance, Kayle logically made the others wait while she rested before the Raider would move again, a mix of cold logic, old Commorite paranoia and a sharp look in those blue eyes which promised that if they wanted to act like her, they will be 'adjusted' to fit the part...so to speak.

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Time in the webway seemed to pass in a routine of sorts in the next few days, and Kayle was not amused. It seemed that her little Incubus took measures to limit their interaction, maybe it was the promise she spoke with her eyes? No, it couldn't of been and besides, she still needed those parts of him...at least for a time. No matter his reasoning, the Incubus was still missing and it was affecting her mood, though the memories of his muscles in action stayed her blade handed charms for now.

In time which seemed to pass too quickly during the crew's usual routine, the webway seemed to pass Exacting Vengance too easily considering their previous encounters, she could make out from the map she had taken from the gunslinger kabalite and the view from her station, their destination point.  The broken portal before her had a beauty which shone through, despite the scarred surface and disrepair it has suffered.

A smile broke out across her face as the Raider edged closer, she recalled that the Dracon had placed the portable gate under the Incubus's care, and had not felt it was advisable to hand it off to another in their party, which meant that his little game of avoiding her was coming to an end.

Excellent... Her fingers coming to caress its partner on the other hand accompanied her now improving mood.

The webway was quiet, in the way that the swirling, misty-walled expanse could be when it tripped the paranoia of the Dark Kin and anyone with even the slightest sense of self-preservation. Nonetheless, stepping down from the battered Raider was the only way forward and, weapons in hand, that is what everyone did. Caethir took the water supplies from the small cabin and shared them - for carrying purposes - among the group. Kayle took a last, fond look at Exacting Vengeance (surely soon to be the site of some better memories, once the mission was over ...) and walked up to the ancient, crumbling remains of the portal itself.

She ran a hand over the darkened, aged wraithbone, feeling the sense of time and loss in the still-beautiful architecture. This was from a time when they had ruled the galaxy, quenching suns at their Will and making whole solar systems tremble at their passing. Great days. She stepped back to allow the Incubus to place the webway portal they'd brought with them, its smaller, more portable cousin. Keyed to the planet below, it was a useful tool, but not as elegant. With an activation stud pressed and but a word spoken, a swirling mass of nonspace opened up before them, sickly green and purple hues enough to disorientate and disconcert any normal viewer.

Being Ynneas Eladrith, that was not a problem.

"Who's going first?" the Reaver Pilot asked, surveying the small group. It was strange; no-one was exactly forthcoming.

"I will take the lead." Caethir's deep voice was as assured as ever, practical, focussed on the mission.

"I was waiting for you to say that," Kayle purred. As Caethir strode forward into the maelstrom of energy she looped an arm around his waist and drew in close. "No sense in risking us getting separated, now is there?"

"Maybe we should all hold hands," Valarauka suggested acidly. He took the next step through the portal, anxious not to look as if he was reluctant to take the trip.

There was a sense of displacement, and for a moment it took the inner ear time to catch up with the fact that the rest of the body wasn't falling. Only Excision seemed unaffected, and who knew what passed for a Wrack's hearing anyway?

The mine workings on Lyris 9 were, true to the Lady Dracon's word, still provided with breathable oxygen. The planet was dusty, shades of rust and grey from the barren, rocky surface matching the crumbling remains of the station itself. Small fragments of parchment-pale plants blew and tumbled around the foot of the old portal, scattered by the intrusion of the new vortex. At once Caethir disengaged himself and he and Daranúr fanned out to check the immediate surroundings. Kayle took up a stance perched on one of the oil drums littering the ground, while Excision readied his liquifier beside her. And Chy'ier found a good vantage point in the shelter of one of the arms of the old gate itself, amusing himself by jumping in and out of the shattered oval.

"One foot in ... one foot out. One life in ... one life out."

Kayle called out to the two warriors.

"Any sign of life, boys?"

Caethir shook his head and signalled to them to advance.

"My side, your side, mysideyourside-" Chy'ier knew something they didn't know.

"We are missing the gunslinger." Caethir strode back.

"Khaine's blood," Daranúr spat, incredulously, "he had the best drugs!"

"He had the map of the mining complex." Kayle wasn't in the mood for this. One more upset and her perfect mood might be ruined. Daranúr swore some more to underline his displeasure. Despite the fact that the gunslinger, had he been present, would have found it quite hard to comply with his impromptu requests, it did make him feel a little better.

"No he didn't," Chy'ier hopped up out of the oval and back to the group.

"Didn't what?" Daranúr was momentarily confused. "Look, I know a khymera can't technically -"

"Not that. This," the Twitcher said brightly, holding up the folded map, slightly chewed along one edge, but intact.

"How in Qa'leh's name did you get that?" Kayle demanded. She made to take it away from the little Tubeborn brat, but Chy'ier darted aside.

"Ohno, mine now, pretty lady."

"What happened to him, anyway?" Daranúr looked back at the gate. "He went through in front of me."

Caethir shrugged, as expressively as only a silent Shrine-warrior can.

"There's not even any bits." Daranúr complained.

After a small pause to regroup, perhaps to consult the map and plan, the group headed to the main entrance of the mining complex, a gaping, open mouth in the windy, dusty desert, shifting sand piled up around and beginning to mask even their newest tracks.



Extra Info:

All: Valarauka has not made it through the webway portal with you. As several of you definitely saw him enter, it seems he has met with an untimely accident.

The ruins of the Lyris 9 mining complex lie mostly underground, where rare minerals were extracted. Your map shows three main areas: a habitation unit, a control centre and the tunnels themselves. All are interlinked by sturdy passageways from the main entrance in front of you.

Chy'ier: Quick hands and a strong survival instinct mean that you managed to acquire the map of the mines when Valarauka wasn't paying you enough attention. It's not always the quiet ones.

Side Note: as Eldar of any flavour can, you will be able to see well in the dark, but not in pitch blackness - you will need at least some source of light for that.

“Come on.” Daranúr ordered. If nobody else was going to take charge then he would have to momentarily. He nodded to the Incubus to stay on the flank, as the mercenary himself did.

Obviously the others could defend themselves, but after the disappearance of Valaruka it would probably be best for those with the most experience with blades to remain on the outskirts of the part.

A couple of times he had thought he had heard a noise, but he realised it was just a combination of his own paranoia and the withdrawal from the combat drugs. Darn, they were annoying. They were grand at the time, but now he felt like Ur-ghul with a sore head, and felt just as angry! No change there then, he thought to himself.

“Twitcher, you have the map but do you have the ability to read it? Tell me, where is it that we are heading?” He held his Power Sword in a strong grip, ready to pounce at anything that moved from the wastes around them.

'Of course this would happen...'

It seemed way too good to be true when she got to feel the Incubus body so close to her's with her arm wrapped across his waist as they went through the portal, the defined muscular form close against her own body, and it turns out that it was...not only was the gunslinger presumed dead (no body, so they could not be sure of it), that damned tubeborn had the map!

For that damn twitcher's sake, Kayle's mood was good enough that she wasn't going to skin him alive...yet, with the recent interaction between herself and the Incubus, her own little Lith'antu Khlavh so to speak.

“Come on.”

The drugged up Kabalite alongside the Incubus seemed to have an understanding of sorts, as they both took to a flank of the group. It mattered little to her, except to ensure that she stayed more towards the Incubus's side, after all she needed to ensure his survival after her own...no good would it be to see the Incubus lost...at least as long as her wager with the Dracon still stands.

Kayle walked onwards, her pantherish grace and strade made the others movements seem unco-ordniated and sloppy in comparison to her eyes. With a sharp dagger carressing next to her skin, she was confident that she could handle herself.

“Twitcher, you have the map but do you have the ability to read it? Tell me, where is it that we are heading?”

'Now that was a good question', she smirked inwardly. The tubeborn seemed to grasp combat, but she had to wonder, could the little thing handle higher brain function. Despite her obvious dislike for the damned Kabalite, he did prove to be amusing...when not destroying Raider's or sharpening her blade's edge in anger.

"Poor thing, do you need help with that?", she was not hiding her smirk now...

Chy’ier clicked open the map already knowing that he probably wouldn’t know how to read it, or let alone read.  

“Poor thing, do you need help with that?”

“Grinning kymerae who ate the razorwing, what have you won in isolation?”  

“Yes Em’eyeth, I know, she reminds me of that stray kymerae rubbing on everything before it dies.  Pretty lady doesn’t know the meaning of friends.  Always soft or sharp, mostly sharp.” Chy'ier said to seemingly nothing next to the pretty one.

“Good idea!” Chy’ier exclaimed as he turned and handed the activated map to Daranur.

“The pack doesn’t have much time!”  he said as he shouldered his rifle while keeping an eye on the pretty one.

SR's post
_______________________
The Absence of the Sly One bothered Caethir more than he would admit to the others. A malfunction must of happened with the portal, but whether this was by design or on purpose has yet to be seen.

"Come On" Daranur ordered. This Shook Caethir out of his train of thought. With a nod only two who had been through alot in a lifetime understood, they both set up on opposite edges of the group. Best to keep an eye out while they argued over the map.

And here it came. He did not even have to look at them to see the scene play out. The Incubus cared not who got the map, he just wanted to know the quickest way to the objective and get back to the LZ as quick as possible. A smirk did cross his face at the Feral One's comment about the Reaver.

"Just plot the coarse and let us get moving. I dont want to be left still in an area we have little infomation on." He said while gazing around the room preparing for the worse.

“Good idea!” With the comment from the Twitcher the map was shoved in the mercenary's direction. Not one to deny an opportunity to have power over others he gladly accepted with a slight nod. The Twitcher might only be young, but it was always good to manners, especially to those that shared so readily their resources.

"Just plot the course and let us get moving. I don’t want to be left still in an area we have little information on."

"One moment." He spoke with certainty in his voice. It had been a while since he had last used one of these models of maps, so he reacquainted himself for a moment. "This way." He pointed out ahead of him, sure of his direction before he moved in the direction his sword crackled.

Excision merely moved behind the group in silence, liquifier gun whirring to life with a feint glow of luminescent green that emitted from the weapon housing. Of course he was silent, just as he always was. He remained closest to the Wytch rider, whether she liked it or not. She was, after all, the only member of the little troupe that wasn't utterly expendable.

Find the target. Return it to the Lady. Find the target. Return it to the Lady.

The two simple orders revolved in his head as he moved onwards, towering over the rest of his kin all save for the Incubus but even still the Wrack had him outclassed in stature. Lean muscle drugged and infused with that of beastkin, limbs elongated and augmented, calcium mounds, gnarl husk, two extra spinal cords and nervous systems. There was nothing 'beautiful' about the Wrack in any sense of the word save to those with far more distasteful ideals buried on the underbelly of Commoragh where no light shined. Not like he cared of course.

“Grinning kymerae who ate the razorwing, what have you won in isolation?”

'What haven't I won...'

The memories flashed across her eyes...her first race on her bike, her first bout against those Imperal Guardmen with her kin in the Arena...that one time with those twins from High Commoragh in the Arena back rooms...with all those toys lying around. Just thinking about some of those memories had Kayle's smirk flush into a smouldering yet hungry smile, as well as a thrill run down her back pleasurably as she struck a pose.

Before any glorious re-telling of some of her favourite moments...

“Yes Em’eyeth, I know, she reminds me of that stray kymerae rubbing on everything before it dies.  Pretty lady doesn’t know the meaning of friends.  Always soft or sharp, mostly sharp.”

'You were better off munching on that foot and keeping quiet...'

Any hint of her fun, pleasurable memories or her flirtly nature she had a moment ago had burned away. Venomous and lethal desire to leave that twitching husk of a dna junk heap as nothing but meer bloodstains on her blades...no having him left on her blades would insult the beautiful metalic shine.  

"So the little twitching tubeborn thinks he has some wit...and a backbone no less..."

She moved towards him, still graceful and elegant compared to her fellow companions but less of her patherish strut and more....of a snake ready to swallow its prey whole. and brought herself within not so much of an inch between them...

Chy’ier watched from the corner of his sight as the pretty lady started torwards him.  

“Yes, I see it in her step.” He said to the invisible party member as he lowered his rifle and affixed it’s blade as an impromptu bayonet. “Em’eyeth, remember the pack of kymeraes?”

“Yes, I know.” he said as he shouldered his weapon again ready for a fight.

The Wrack was not one most within the Dark City would consider handsome, but what he was was functional. Strongly functional, with built-in redundancies and self-repairing mechanisms that would make the most expensive construct look slow. Using his crafted body and his enhanced senses to the full, the tall, rugged figure stalked forward. Excision had focus and drive, and he was determined to succeed. In this, he looked streets ahead of some of the competition.

As the gentle bickering - or an all-out blood-feud, he cared little so long as the pilot was protected and able to perform her task - drifted from one to another, the Wrack felt something crack beneath his foot. Glancing down, he saw that there was a little, fractured rune in the dust. Some trace of the lesser kin, weathered? It was hard to say. Wraithbone is notoriously slow to age and breaking it takes so much time. Unless it is as fine as this, as delicate as a new lover's trust.

It was unfortunate that, as he made his way towards the entrance indicated on the map so confidently held in the hands of the proactive Daranúr, other members of his team seemed to lack that crucial focus.

Daranúr himself had the map and a keen grasp on what was needed. Immediate success, followed by political advancement towards the ladder he so longed to climb, with all the opportunities that would allow. Humming a little tune to himself, he stomped along, cautious and poised for any threat, reflecting, inside, that with the street-savvy one gone there were only five to split the reward. Daranúr grinned. He liked those odds.

Like his less-disciplined comrade (and all were less disciplined, to an Incubus - nothing personal, just logisitics), Caethir had a keen eye on the terrain and the potential threat ahead: scanning, reconnaissance at short range, weapons checks. The deployment from the dropzone wasn't ideal by any means, but at least they'd come in close. He strode towards the entrance, checking it for signs of boobytraps and tripwires and finding none. All well and good.

Daranúr came up to stand beside him. He gestured at the map.

"This is the control centre," he said confidently, "we're most likely to find it here."

Caethir nodded. He gestured to the rest to follow, indicating that he would take point with Daranúr and Excision would bring up the rear. The sturdy Wrack would be a solid rearguard. Excision's mask bobbed once.

Unfortunately, as Daranúr and Caethir moved to enter the tunnels, two of the party had other ideas.

Kayle felt her honour was slighted. Her perfect mood was ruined, her Incubus was not playing the way he should play and one of her audience was now gone, lost in some webway accident or other. Even the memory of the dextrous hands of the mechanic was too distant to soothe her now. What had it been, days? Days. Great Khaine. And now, this.

At first it was easy to ignore the prattling Tuberunt as he chattered on and on, but it became clear - when one sifted through the nonsense - that he was insulting her. Her! Kayle Amaryllis, who had spilled more noble blood than he'd ever had in his stunted little body - or even on his body! - as a morning workout! It was just too impossible to ignore. At his challenge as to what she'd ever won on her own, she was tempted to simply answer "everything", but there was so much to recall - so many pleasures that she was almost sidetracked into a mellow enough mood not to kill him. Certain delectable memories, almost enough to save his life. But not now. Holding her knives as the extension of her arms that they were, she slinked forward into the attack.

Bits of that lady, Em'eyeth opined, look just like peaches.

What, yellow, furry, and with a stone in the middle? Chy'ier looked momentarily puzzled as he shared his thoughts. Em'eyeth didn't say she'd known any Haemonculi. If there was peach fuzz anywhere on the irate Reaver it wasn't anywhere you could see.

No, soft, overripe and easy to cut open, Em'eyeth added, swinging his rifle around to fix on the bayonet, though what he was really good at was shooting it.

I don't think she'd like that, Em ...

I don't think she likes you.

"We don't want to shoot you," Chy'ier began, though he wasn't at all sure it was true.

"You won't get the chance," Kayle laughed as she leapt forward.

The way it should have gone was this: she took a swipe across his face, destroying any febrile vanity he may have hoped to nurture in his dreams, then she hamstrung him, snipping the tendons as a gardener prunes a troublesome weed. Then she began to sever each and every bone from its neighbour. His screams a benediction, finally something worthwhile for him to say.

That this did not immediately happen was an outrage it took Kayle a moment to understand.

Excision did not have time for this. His Lady's mission was clear. She had tasked him with keeping the little Twitcher alive and who was he to question Her commands? And the pilot. They needed a pilot. No, that there should be violence between these two would be very bad. Intolerably, it might lead to mission failure. Excision would not tolerate mission failure.

Kayle froze as the steel-sharp mechanical hand closed on the back of her neck, two others clamping her arms. It wasn't the grip on her knife-wielding, perfectly sculptured arms that worried her; she knew a dozen moves to break from a close opponent. It was the knowledge, burning with a cold clarity into her anger-intoxicated mind, that a single increase in pressure from that metal hand would sever her spine and then she, the champion of a hundred arena fights, would be so much stringless puppet.

"Not. Now." The Wrack's low voice was a growl, a bass rumble of dissatisfaction.

"Let me go, you little-!" Kayle spat, stringing Low Commorragh curses together like vitriol-polished beads.

Excision turned to regard Chy'ier. The black-barred mask let out a low hiss, as if under incredible pressure.

"Our Pilot. We need her. You will not hurt her." Excision paused. His heart was thumping, the auxiliary chambers filling his system with fresh, red blood. It was hard to think over the pounding rush. It would be so easy to give in to the desire to bleed ... but the Lady wanted him to come back. To her. To someone she wanted him to meet. He needed to feel the touch of her hand again, either in approving caress, or sweet torment. She would make it all make sense. Even this, even this would pass. With his free hand he checked his liquifier gun, aimed at the troublesome Tubeborn to underline his point.

He turned back to Kayle, looking at her, head tilted to one side for a moment, It was hard for the highborn to know if he was planning to dissect her, or simply checking out her deliciously pale skin. It was hard to know whether to be insulted or - well, there was something about the Fleshcrafters. One did not ... how did they put this, back at the track? One simply did not piss them off.

"Stop." With this, the Wrack deposited her with careful gentleness on her feet.

"STOP." Was there an echo in here?

The towering Incubus had turned back to the squabbling trio, and the speed he moved in the heavy armour belied any ideas one might have about solid equalling slow.

"Stop this nonsense immediately. We are in enemy territory. We are facing an unknown number of possible hostiles and I do Not," he emphasised the word with just enough force to make it stand out, "expect to have to tear you from each other's throats again."

Caethir paced around the two miscreants as Excision moved to take up rearguard and Daranúr watched from the tunnel entrance, half an eye on the shadows, half on the theatre. Adrenaline pounding, chest heaving, blood flushing her cheeks, Kayle knew she looked desirable enough for him to throw her to the ground right now and have his way with -

Oh by Khaine's bloody hand! What did they feed them in the Shrines? Some kind of anti-Lhamaean poison?

Her Incubus was actually turning his attention to the Tubeborn brat! Well, he had definitely started it, but -

"Focus on the mission. If you have trouble with this, consider that we are one down. Consider also that if your antics cause us to fail, the honour of my Shrine will be tarnished."

"For that, I will craft for you an exquisite demise such as will make Archons weep."

He turned his back on them then, his magnificent frame filling Kayle's horizon for a single, lustful moment more before he stalked back to the tunnels and disappeared inside, followed by Daranúr who gave the tableau a little wave and a blown kiss. Too many drugs and the beautiful moment of schadenfreude, and it was all he could do not to giggle.

Excision waved his sickle at them impatiently to go forward, and, with whatever resolution they could muster, the little group did.

Inside the tunnels, the walls were coated with rust as the time-worn supports and lining plates of the mining complex wore away, the inexorable forces of decay claiming the excavations, as impossible to resist as the fall of empires. Excision took a sample here or there, in case some new toxin could be isolated from the metal salts. Some new mutagen, perhaps. Caethir navigated and the Incubus, silent once more, kept the party moving at a decent speed. Despite constant vigilance, no-one had seen anything to be wary of yet.

A change in the acoustics of the tunnels brought Caethir up sharply. He held up a hand, stopping the small party in its tracks.

"Up ahead. A large chamber. Be ready."

Fanning out to either side, the Incubus and the street brawler scoped out the huge cavern before them. Where there had been a central chamber, there was now a massive, ragged hole, with an edge of steel walkway clinging to the entrance like the remains of an eye gouged inexpertly from its socket. In the very centre, protected by its superior blast lining, the remains of the command room stood largely undamaged, balanced on conduits and access shafts like a skull on a stake. Ruptured cables and rusted wires dangled from the entrance, the skirts of the central room, and the far side of the hole.

Daranúr looked up, and across, and down. He swore pithily. There was no walking across here. The drop below was hundreds of metres, as if whatever explosion had isolated the chamber had ruptured the mine workings. A little scanty daylight filtered down from the ceiling above, indicating that the cavern roof was no longer intact.

Not good.



Extra Info:

All: You are on the side of a huge hole torn in the complex with the remains - mostly intact - of the command centre in the middle on a sort of pillar of conduits and access tubes to the lower levels. It looks reasonably recent. There is no settling dust, and most of what is going to fall seems to have fallen, but it is hard to be sure. There are loose cables hanging and a deep drop below the rim of the old passageway, an apron about five feet deep and ten across.

Daranúr: the map doesn't show any other ways to get to the command chanber, as the other side is blown out too, unless there is any access from below. It doesn't look too likely given the masses of rubble down there.

EDIT: the gap between passage and command centre is about 25m, and there are indeed cables hanging down from the ceiling, reachable with a good jump (or assisted one ...).

"Look!" Chy’ier exclaimed.

"I know." he mumbled while picking up a pebble off the ground.

"I’m not sure how they would do it, how would you do it?” he asked seemingly no one as he threw the pebble across the gap.

Still rattled with the adrenaline and anger from her 'disagreement' with the Tubeborn runt, she took one look at the cavernous nature of the chamber, "Great, today is getting better by the minute" she spat out bitterly.

The Tubeborn to her far side was far to happy for her liking, though in her mind he should be reduced to nothing but raw flesh and bloodstains across the floor right now...that brat should thank the Wrack for saving his worthless hide. As she saw him throw the pebble he had in hand into the chamber, it seemed like possibly the second damned thing he hadn't messed up since they left Commorragh.

Shaking with adrenaline and disdain from looking at the Tubeborn she turned her head upwards, noticing the many cables and wires hanging around the chamber. She smirked as the idea was already blossoming in her eyes...a grand display of her athletic prowess and flexibility in a dynamic and risky environment!

A perfect excuse to show off, and of course secure their objective...

"Well boys, I have an idea on how to get across" she announced, her teasing and flirty demeanor returning in full force.

"Those cables up their" she raised a single finger gracefully into the air, pointing out the cables overhead, "I'll swing myself across the gap using them and make my way across to the control room, grab the box and swing my little self back easily..."

"Well boys, I have an idea on how to get across. Those cables up there, I'll swing myself across the gap using them and make my way across to the control room, grab the box and swing my little self back easily..."

The Incubus reached out and tugged on one of the cables to see if it was sturdy enough. It felt fine, but he wouldnt risk doing it in his armor. While he did not like relying on the Reaver, she was the best suited for the job.

"Do it. Me and the Wrack can give you a vault for more height as well." With a slight flourish, he locks the hefty Klaive to his back, and prepares for the vault. "Oh, and do not try to be fancy. I rather not have to be the one to fly us back home."