Raem
28-04-2004, 11:56
Rath's face, hidden behind the matte white mask of his Incubus helm, turns to take in the assembled Eldar in the cold stone hall. Each bears the distinctive symbols of rank for his or her Kabal; Archons and Dracons, thickly ringed by jostling and glaring bodyguards. If it came to bloodshed, it wouldn't be the first time an influential Kabal had tried to murder its competition under the guise of a conclave. Besides, any time this many Dark Eldar gathered, bloodshed was almost inevitable.
Even though the knots of leaders and guard leave practically no room to breathe, no one is willing to come within a few meters of the Incubi on the dais. No one brought warriors of that calibre, and they all rightly fear Rath and N'wah Man.
"My fellow Keigh..." Rath begins; his voice is a rasp magnified and projected by the speakers in his scorpion-tailed helm until the whisper of paper on paper becomes the furious buzz of a swarm of insects. "You are here to fulfill certain... obligations which you have towards me. You belong to me, though I grant you certain liberties. It is time you understood what it means to serve the House of the Fist of Death. Once before, we fought against our kin, and the war dissolved into chaos. It is time to try again. We will scourge the Farseers of the Craftworld."
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The sleek capitol ships of the Twisted pull away from perilously thin spire-berths. Those needle-like towers thrust far above the distant ground-level of Commorragh, disappearing into the twisting red glare that houses and hides the Dark City. One by one, each ship turns to follow Blade's Kiss away from the city.
Only one fleet bears the heart and fist sigil of the Man'men Kabal. The others are a hodgepodge of ships bearing alliegance to a host of lesser Kabals, including the Kabal of the Black Hand, whose fleet is second in size only to Rath's.
Slowly they disappear into the swirling aether, to once more search out their Eldar enemies.
Even though the knots of leaders and guard leave practically no room to breathe, no one is willing to come within a few meters of the Incubi on the dais. No one brought warriors of that calibre, and they all rightly fear Rath and N'wah Man.
"My fellow Keigh..." Rath begins; his voice is a rasp magnified and projected by the speakers in his scorpion-tailed helm until the whisper of paper on paper becomes the furious buzz of a swarm of insects. "You are here to fulfill certain... obligations which you have towards me. You belong to me, though I grant you certain liberties. It is time you understood what it means to serve the House of the Fist of Death. Once before, we fought against our kin, and the war dissolved into chaos. It is time to try again. We will scourge the Farseers of the Craftworld."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sleek capitol ships of the Twisted pull away from perilously thin spire-berths. Those needle-like towers thrust far above the distant ground-level of Commorragh, disappearing into the twisting red glare that houses and hides the Dark City. One by one, each ship turns to follow Blade's Kiss away from the city.
Only one fleet bears the heart and fist sigil of the Man'men Kabal. The others are a hodgepodge of ships bearing alliegance to a host of lesser Kabals, including the Kabal of the Black Hand, whose fleet is second in size only to Rath's.
Slowly they disappear into the swirling aether, to once more search out their Eldar enemies.