Wait! It's dangerous out there, take two!

Lae'orenar stares at the Dark Eldar who spoke, tense as a coiled snake.  Without moving, she pulls back the helmet's face plate, revealing intricate designs she has painted on her face before heading off.  The designs mark her place (or her former place) in the Cult of Strife, and they are as resplendent as possible.  In addition, they prominently display her trueborn nature.  With a quick motion she shakes out her hair, which she dyed using mysterious Dark Eldar arts.  It is now a mix of pink and purple, looking almost like shades of a great nebula.  She has hidden small sparkling fragments within the silken strands, and one would almost swear that the heavens rested upon her head.  

After her piercing glare has rested upon the presumptuous Dark Eldar for a few moments, she wets her lips and speaks.  "How ... perceptive ... of you, warden of the mon-keigh.  I am curious how you discerned my nature, given my armor and weapon."  At the mention of her Klaive Lae'orenar starts idly swinging the blade, tracing simple patterns through the air.  "As for these humans, they are returning from a raid.  The Cult of Strife is preparing new events, and I decided to test these gladiators in the Wintervoid of Meios.  Of course, I wouldn't give a menliadeng for their chances of survival in the ring, but I think I have trained them enough that they shall put up a fair show.  You should come see, if you are able to gain entrance."   Her eyes narrow before she continues, "It would end most poorly for you, cre-parten if you were to command my slaves without my permission.  I have spent too much time breaking them to my will for you to ruin their training.  If you fear that they are still too arrogant and may revolt, let me set your fears at ease."

She points at one of the men that has survived thus far and speaks in Low Gothic, her face showing the disgust that she has felt with such foul words on her pure tongue. "Dance fool.  Dance to prove your obedience to the Druchii."

Her speech makes clear that she views this interruption as an annoyance.  A Wych of the Cult of Strife (and a trueborn Wych at that!) is too far above these pathetic slave wardens to grant them much politeness.

The haggard crewman stares terrified and begins to to do a little shuffle. One of the slave wardens gives off a snide Dark Eldar chuckle.

"Certainly, esteemed Wych. We will not further offend you. Let us be off wardens." He snaps his fingers and they leave the party alone.

Once the Wardens leave Desilco whispers under his breath to Lae'Orenar who he knows can hear him "Nice job getting rid of them, but was it such a good idea showing exactly who you were?"

Lae'orenar glances around, terrified that someone, even a slave, may have heard a human speaking to her in such a cavalier manner. "Silence slave!" She barks, before leading the party further into Commorragh. She is currently trying to get them to Low Commorragh, into the abandoned alleyways of the Sprawl. Hidden amongst the Parched (Dark Eldar who have lost their soul to She Who Thirsts) they should be able to rest without worry of being turned in by any unscrupulous passerby. Of course, they will have to worry instead about being set upon by a ravenous Parched Eldar, but that problem seems simpler than any politics.

Lae'Orenar takes the group through the slave pens towards one of the side exits used to move the lesser xenos in and out of the coliseum without exposing their ugliness to the dark eldar accessway into the arena. As she nears the exit she sees a crowd of guardsmen standing at gateway facing inwards. She turns around to look for other ways out and notices the area has suddenly been vacated of all but a few slaves. Furthermore, a gang of ten dark eldar and one dressed with wild feathers on his mantle come from deeper down the hall. The feathered one calls out and speaks while maintaining a smug look: "Greetings esteemed and anonymous Wych. I have made it a priority to introduce myself, Lord Memdar Yval of house Yval, to our very important visitor! Please, come with us to enjoy a proper meal while we trade stories and names. I am so curious to learn more about the Wych who lets her mon-keigh roam unshackled and dressed beyond their status. His face shifts to neutral position and he commands the guards: "Strip the mon-keigh, if any bear arms escort them to separate prison blocks.

"What's the point of dressing like an Incubus if every damned Eldar from here to the Wintervoid can tell I'm a Wych!" Lae'orenar mutters to herself. She then nods to Memdar Yval.

"Why Lord Yval, I didn't notice you there! I would be honored to accept your invitation. I certainly appreciate your aid in corraling these mon-keigh. We are returning from a training expedition and the slave responsible for keeping their shackles failed in his duty. He has been suitably punished of course." She laughs for a moment, then continues. "I must make a simple request. These three slaves here," she indicates Desilco, Karitoss, and Tristan, "are of particular value. I would hope that your men will not cause them any unnecessary damage. It is so difficult to get well-trained slaves these days. Now, enough of my impositions, let us go forth for a proper meal. It's been quite a while since I last entered the Unending City!"

Memdar gives the group a wry smile, snaps his fingers, and the guards apprehend all of the slaves. An escort of three guards follow Lae'Orenar and Memdar up to a reception room decorated with violet cushioned furniture and birds perched silently in golden cages. A two headed eagle of sorts is set front and center in the room like a prized treasure. Memdar remarks "Truly a lovely specimen is it not? Breaking him was a difficult task, but like all lesser things they eventually cave." Memdar takes a seat in an armchair and motions for Lae'Orenar to do the same. "What refreshments do you thirst for?"

Meanwhile the humans crew are taken down to a slave admission chamber. Dark and harsh metal spikes jut out of the walls and the Dark Eldar in this room wield long metal whips that crackle with electricity. At the moment only Desilco, Karitoss, Sky and two other grunts are in the room. One of the guards steps forwards and barks out "Remove your garb filthy mon-keigh!"

"Why you have one of the most elegant collections I have ever seen!" Lae'orenar moves slowly around the room, avoiding eye contact and definitely not sitting down as she examines the different birds on display. "Perhaps we could break our fast with entertainment as well? I don't believe I've ever eaten a human while they are being devoured by something as magnificent as that" she suggests, indicating the double-headed aquila. "It seems a shame not to share with something so magnificent," she adds, turning to face Memdar.

(New side objective, rescue the double headed eagle)

Desilco, not wanting to cause any trouble at this moment, removes his armor and weapons without saying a word.

Plans race through Tristan's head, but all dreams of launching a daring maneuver vanish as the Lord-Captain surrenders his arms. "As you wish, graceful captors." Tristan says this quietly but clearly as he follows the Lord-Captain's lead. "If I'm going to be whipped anyway, I may as well find out whether these bastards speak Low Gothic" he thinks. Then he adds "Emperor save us" in the Equinox's Rogue Trader dialect, signaling that he's used the last few weeks of waiting to teach himself the tongue.

[Desilco and friends] Without warning the Dark Eldar whips one of the grunts and his whip flashes menacingly on impact. The grunt shrieks out in pain and falls to the floor in a short seizure. Only after letting the image sink into everyone's eyes does the guard say: "Strip yourselves of everything degenerates. And do not speak unless ordered to!"

[Lae'Orenar] Upon closer inspection of Memdar's avian collection she finds a twisted surprise. Each creature bears human eyes. Naturally the majority of the birds cannot contain full size human eyes, but instead have small human-like retinas sculpted and surgically inserted. "You must have a keen vision, perhaps like a Dark Eldar (Memdar chuckles at his joke), to notice the augmentations made to these creatures. It would be impossible for any to know by sight alone but all of these feathered creatures were once mon-keigh and other lesser xenos warriors from the pits. I thought their forms did not befit their warrior spirits and so I commissioned the work of the haemonculi to change them into these far prettier things. Do you like them?"

Karitoss had already stripped naked the first time the Dark Eldar demanded it.
When the grunt is whipped he too shrieks "EYAHH!" and drops to the floor, still quivering with fear on his hands and knees.

The dark eldar are utterly repulsed by Karitoss' fleshmetal form. So horrifying is the sight of metal bolted and shredding through flesh that Desilco and Tristan buckle in fear [perform fear tests]. The alien barking out orders averts his gaze and yells: "CLOTHE IT! TOSS THAT DUSTY RUST RED SYNTHETIC SILK RAG UPON IT'S FORM. QUICKLY!" A second guard hurries with eldar agility to toss the mechanicus robe over Karitoss.

Karitoss' eyes roll back in his head as he grabs his robe, swirling it around him as he crawls the floor.
"EYAAHHHH!!" he shrieks again in a high pitched voice. "ORE WA~!!!!"

Any semblance of cool Tristan had disintegrates as he involuntarily vomits in horror. Without a word, he strips stark naked.

Far from the horror, Lae'orenar is tickled by the work of the haemonculi. She almost lets her guard down in the fascination, but remembers herself and remains facing Memdar, instead of turning to examine the eyes in more detail.

"I am most impressed!" She exclaims. "You must have some of the most skilled haemunculi in Upper Commorragh! Now I really must see how fierce these transformed warriors are. Do you have a favorite opponent for them to face? I would love to see them soar against a set of Scourges. There is nothing like an aerial bloodbath to fill my wizened soul." She stares intently at Memdar Yval, trying to read his intentions towards her.

Unfortunately not far from the horror, Desilco begins to vomit uncontrollably at the sight of Karitoss (I rolled my own fear result cause I was bored; got a 86 and I believe that's what happens with three degrees of failure). Between voiding his bowls more times than there is reasonably content he tries to remove his armor and clothing doing his best not to ruin them with stomach acid.

[In the slave prisons] The Dark Eldar regain their composure and one retrieves the clothes tossed to the floor and begins searching them. The other guards simply stare the party as they wait to discover whether or not there are weapons hidden away in the clothes. A minute passes but to the party's woe the stooped over guard pulls out a pistol from Lord Desilco's robes and utters a sentence in his xenos tongue. The xenos interrogator standing nearest to you all smirks and addresses the group in the most perfect low gothic they have ever heard: "We are most pleased to see you have training in the barbaric ways of mon-keigh brawling. You will be permitted to enjoy fighting in the rings. Once you have all been shackled to each other follow my comrade out the do-" one of the grunts interrupts the smug eldar "NO YOU!". Just as quickly as the grunt speaks out loud the guardsmen at the exit to the cells dart forth and barrage him with electric whips. The grunt screams out loud and the second crewman jumps into to defend his fellow crewmate with his own body. Both drop down quickly convulsing and foaming at the mouth, clearly there is more to the whips than meets the eye. The interrogator, still standing peacefully in front of the group, continues to speak: "Assume a position that lends itself to being shackled. Resistance is not tolerated." he finishes his sentence with a wide smile and turns his head on an angle.

-----
[In Memdar's lounge] Until Lae'Orenar tries to scrutinize the words of this enigmatic man she cannot pierce through the mystery surrounding him. He idly replies to her: "They are beloved possessions now! I had the haemonculi strip their muscles down to fit perfectly to these more elegant forms. Now they need only perch themselves and stew in the rage and horror of their new existences. Of course if you wish to continue our conversation from the observers box above the pits I will only be happy to oblige you." A female figured servant of inhumanly thin form delicately walks into the room with an old victorian style trolley. Memdar takes a beverage from the trolley and sets it before him on the table. The servant begins to make her way towards Lae'Orenar but Memdar holds up his hand to stop her. "It is only customary I discover my guests name before I offer her a refreshment, you do not mind do you?"

Lae'orenar squints behind her helmet, before realizing that she must have forgot her contacts. She takes off the helmet with a flourish, her brilliant hair cascading into the room. At some point during the past few days she has dyed her hair rainbow, a beautiful shimmering stream. Her tattoos are prominently displayed; she has angled her hair to frame her face and show them off to greatest effect.

"I have teased you with my mystery long enough, Lord Memdar! You deserve to know the truth." She clears her throat, and speaks. "You stand in the presence of Lae'orenar, sole trueborn daughter of the Archon Vanitar. The rumors you have almost certainly heard are true. As you see, I bear the garb of the Incubi, that sacred secretive sect of bodyguards and proud warriors. I claimed this for myself, proving myself against their champions. Unfortunately, the Incubi did not see my victory as legitimate and they enlisted my father's aid in hunting me down. No Dark Eldar parent would pass up such a perfect chance to test their heir. He almost caught me before I fled the city. I have now returned, with a small but robust core of slaves, to claim my throne. I had planned to approach many families, and in a more ... imposing ... manner, but I seek your allegiance. Join me, and we shall overturn Archon Vanitar, and you shall earn the undying alliance of my new Kabal."

She smiles widely at Memdar, then turns to the servant. "Do you have anything younger my dear? I do believe a spot of child's blood would do me quite well for the moment."

(First thing, are our men retarded? Who the hell thinks it's a good idea to interrupt slavers? Second, I see the plan fell apart immediately. Not too surprising that one)

Desilco, unarmed, naked, and continuing this spiral of damnation, gets into a position to have his freedom likely stripped from him forever

[In Memdar's Lounge] Memdar appears unfazed by the new information brought to light (of course, no proper Dark Eldar would reveal such a reaction). Memdar beings to chuckle. Slowly the chuckle turns into snickering and then into hearty laughter. Memdar spits out a sentence as he gathers his breath to continue his berating laughter: "Alliances go both ways. In a deluded fantasy where I have committed the incomprehensible resources and wealth of my lineage to your cause what am I standing to gain?"

The servant slowly bends over to pull out a grail of a dark and viscous red liquid and presents it to Lae'Orenar. "Ap0l0gies M-'lAdy. 0nly tHe l1f3 3ss3nc3 0F an Ad0L3S3nT HaS b33n PR3Pared."
-----
[In the slave pens] The guardsmen shackle the three standing humans together (after beating Karitoss into position). They lead them out into the expansive halls lined with slave cells. Cages stuffed full of men and xenos hang from the ceiling and there are three stories of confinement rooms running down the unending prison hall. Along the central pathway of the corridor Tristan, Karitoss and Desilco see humans hooked into horrifying contraptions that slowly peel the flesh from their bodies. The acoustic design of the halls is such that the screams resonate through the halls and assault the party's senses like the death throes of a million souls. "Luck" has it the previous barrage of horrors has temporarily numbed the group to insanity and fear. So they continue on to a bottom floor cell where a single massive purple humanoid xenos is sitting in darkness. The entity must be at least ten feet tall when it stands upright and and has two muscular arms. It's face has black orbs for eyes and a crooked line that stretches from side to side, likely it's mouth. Lastly, the creature has tail that has been severed in half and two feet that look like a hybrid between a hoof and three fleshy toes. Desilco and company are prodded into the cell and locked in. All but one of the guards leave to attend to their other duties and the remaining taunts the group before leaving as well: "Revel in your luck mon-keigh, once lord Yval finishes his business with your "master" we will have the pleasure of relocating you to general holding." He points up towards the spiked cages dangling in the air and takes his leave.

Desilco, after the guards leave, takes a moment to listen to the wails of pain and terror around him. He now knows for sure that this is the worst place to be in the entire galaxy and then some. He kicks at the bars to test their sturdiness and after receiving a solid thud when he hits it realizes there's not much hope of getting them open by force.

"Shit... Well Karitoss I don't suppose you have something of use in that cloak of yours? Damn Lae'orenar, I don't know if I should think this was a setup or if we're just royally scrwed."

Lae'orenar takes the glass absently, watching Memdar Yval as he laughs. Her face is calm and smooth, unworried by the crass laughter filling the room. When he eventually quiets, she speaks. "Perhaps you misheard me, Lord Yval. If you were to commit the 'incomprehensible resources and wealth of your lineage' to my cause, you would earn an alliance with my house. We can work out the small details once I have risen to power. Right now, you could simply turn me in, it is true. But once you have given me in you lose your leverage. What is more profitable? A single one time payment, or a lifetime of allegiance with a great and powerful Kabal? I trust you are an Eldar capable of making the most advantageous decision for us both in this instance."

She sits back, satisfied with her speech. Without looking at the glass, she takes a sip. As soon as the liquid hits her mouth, her face twitches minutely in disgust, much as if one took a sip of Pepsi while expecting Coke. Disgusting.

Memdar winces at Lae'Orenar's comment about working out the details later. He snaps his fingers twice and sparks fly forth from the tips of them. "Your suggestion is crude. You ask us to shoulder the heavy burden of conquering Vanitar's holdings only to yield them to you. If you have nothing else of value save this mere genetic connection to the archon of the Vanitar I shall find far more pleasure seeing you perform your Wychly feats of terror in the pits." As Memdar spoke six guardsmen enter the room armed and ready to escort Lae'Orenar to a holding room. There are two large windows on the wall behind Memdar but curtains prevent the curious Wych from knowing what lies beyond. The guards appear to be waiting for Lae to come quietly and gracefully with them.

Memdar winces at Lae'Orenar's comment about working out the details later. He snaps his fingers twice and sparks fly forth from the tips of them. "Your suggestion is crude. You ask us to shoulder the heavy burden of conquering Vanitar's holdings only to yield them to you. If you have nothing else of value save this mere genetic connection to the archon of the Vanitar I shall find far more pleasure seeing you perform your Wychly feats of terror in the pits." As Memdar spoke six guardsmen enter the room armed and ready to escort Lae'Orenar to a holding room. There are two large windows on the wall behind Memdar but curtains prevent the curious Wych from knowing what lies beyond. The guards appear to be waiting for Lae to come quietly and gracefully with them.

Lae'orenar disregards the guards for a moment, choosing to try one last ditch pitch at Memdar.  She lifts her eyebrow wryly and sips her drink before speaking.  

"I meant nothing so crude as an all out assault on the Vanitar territories.  I am sorry that you misconstrued my words.  Let me be more clear.  All we need to do is remove the Archon from power.  After all, a full turf war would attract the attention of the Tyrant, and no one wants Asdrubael Vect paying them undue attention.  Instead, a simple assassination, surely child's play to one of your stature, would result in a leaderless Kabal, where I could sweep in and pledge my support to your cause."  

She leans forward, intent on her words.  "Together we could create games that would be sung for generations and launch raids that would depopulate planets.  Would you give up so much so quickly?  What do you have to lose on a failed assassination attempt?  You can always trot me out as scapegoat.  I'm sure my father would be happy enough at my capture to forgive any attempts on his life.  You could even send me to head the attempt, giving yourself plausible deniability.  No one would believe me, a renegade, if I accused you, the leader of a major house, of masterminding the scheme. And finally, who better to get past all the traps and guards of the fortress than one born there. I was raised to lead that house. I know its secret passages and weaknesses better than anyone else."

Having finally reached a moment of peace, Tristan collects himself and starts speaking in Rogue Trader. "Lord-captain, we need to calm down. Remember, we're in control here. We chose to walk in to the slave pits because we will get our ship back. Lae'orenar risked life and limb to leave her planet and we are her one chance for making it out of here for good. Despite appearances, she won't give up on us so easily. The plan remains the same: do what we can in the ring to get closer and closer to someone who knows where our ship is. Then we coordinate with Lae'orenar to leave this place in a heap of ash as we sail happily away on The Equinox."

"Come on, that's introduce ourselves to our friend Mr. Purple here." [Rolls forbidden lore (xenos) to find out what he can about the creature.]

[unable to access roll20 at the moment so we proceed under the assumption that you succeded]

Tristan conjures heretical knowledge from the recesses of his mind to understand more about his cell mate. The creature is a Valwar. They were once a minor space faring society that existed on the inner fringe of the Koronus expanse. A rogue trader discovered the sector and pointed the Inquisition purgation ships at the young culture and had them utterly decimated. The remaining tenth escaped by their few massive transports and thanks to the sudden and ominous appearance of a warp storm the Imperium was unable to pursue. It isn't too hard to imagine dark eldar pillaged one of these ships and brought back some as slaves.

Meanwhile in Yval's lounge: Lord Yval leaps up and grabs Lae'Orenar's hand and exposes her inner arm. She shows a moment of resistance but she sees the guards begin to approach and she immediately stops. Yval produces a syringe from inside his clothing and holds the point to Lae's arm. "We could come to an agreement. This draught will be the symbol of our loyalty to one another. I insist that you accept."

"Why I am nothing if not loyal," she teases. "May I ask that you tell me what exactly is contained in that draught? Although my Cult tends to shun the use of battle drugs, it's always important to note any unfortunate chemical interactions. Simply a precaution of course."

Her voice is light, as if what she is saying is almost inconsequential. Her eyes however, remained locked on the syringe.

Yval grins with a twisted look in his eyes. Veins grow dark and visible just beneath his skin as he answers. "The haemunculi I do business with pride themselves on the unique qualities of this draught. All you need know in this moment is that your continued being depends on receiving this chemical." His hand quivers with excitement and his eyes widen in anticipation of Lae'Orenar's acquiescence.

Lae'orenar is disturbed by his face and darkening veins. She worries that accepting this proposition is foolish at best. However, with his hand firmly grasping her arm and a plethora of armed guards, she sees no other option.

"I acquiesce to your request, Lord Yval. I hope our arrangement will prove fruitful."

She gives as much of a curtsy as she is able while being held, and then stands still, waiting for the foul concoction to fill her veins.

Yval gleefully thrusts the syringe into Lae's veins. He presses down and the metallic navy fluid poured forth into her body. She feels no pain and no difference in her body. Yval's veins fade away and he regains his composure. He motions for Lae'Orenar to take a seat and then lies back down on his sofa. "The concoction is a masterpiece toxin. In one months time and every month after that you will need to return to me like a pet to retrieve a dose of restorative or suffer a most degrading end. Your frame will waste away and every emotionally sustaining memory you've had will leave you. If you fail to return she will come for your mortal soul. But now, be on your way to do this sabotage. If something comes of it then we can discuss a next phase."

Lae'orenar shudders. She is not surprised by this turn of events. Before she leaves, she makes one last request.

"A brilliant stratagem. Now if you could have one of your guards direct me to your slave quarters. I would like to take my slaves with me on this venture."

"Let three of these fine guards show you the way. As a sign of goodwill you may have three of your 'slaves' back. The rest are tribute for trespassing uninvited"

The guards begin leading Lae'Orenar down to the pens.

Tristan eyes the Lord-Captain incessantly, trying to encourage him to spark some form of conversation with the xenos. Seeing his proud Lord-Captain not willing to start though, Tristan steps forward.

"Echem, Sir. Valwar, sir. Do you speak low-gothic?"

Seeing the creature not respond after an eternity Desilco speaks up

"Now Tristan why don't you leave the thing alone and come play a game to pass the time."

Sitting down Desilco pulls out pieces of paper and dices from nowhere and passes them out. "We will be playing a game called Godhammer 40M. In the ultra grimdark future where venture capitalists ply the void to make money. Naturally, the born leader that I am, I will run the campaign while you all will play characters in this ultra dark setting. Now you'll all need to pick what to be.........

Lae'orenar arrives outside the cell just in time to hear Desilco's invitation.

"An excellent plan, O Captain Of Men. I've personally always wondered what it was like to be one of those metal men, who sleep for eons. Their hearts must be so cold and small. With your permission, I would place myself in their shoes, and try and live a life unconstrained by She Who Thirsts."

"Playing a game? At a time like this! Lord-captain, you've had some crazy plans before, but this is... this is... actually, this is great! In this game your describing, it sounds like we'll each have a role to play. We could call it a 'Play Role Game,' or even just a PRG!

You know, sometimes I get so caught up in this bad-ass image I try to project, I feel like I loose myself a little bit, you know? I've always wanted to get a little more in touch with my feminine side. Haven't you always thought it would be nice to be pretty? I could be a beautiful, kind, compassionate captain, leading my crew to fight the good fight. What do you think?"

Lae'orenar sits down outside under the beautiful webway "skies" and pulls out a sheet of paper, miraculously already covered in many scratches and scribbles.  She smooths the sheet, takes a deep breath, and then launches into a speech.

"You see before you, encoded on this small, yet encompassing, piece of paper lies the great Nacronian champion, Aten-nefru.  Before the Nacronians were Nacronians, before the War in Heaven, he was a great armorer.  His days were filled with the study of technology, learning how to dominate the natural world without bowing to filthy warp presences.  He watched as the Nacrontyr attacked the Ancient Ones, and observed the War In Heaven with tears in his eyes.  He welcomed the loss of his flesh, his heart too broken by the billions lost in the war.  Despite his great contributions to the ancient weapons of the Nacronians, the Nacronians were pushed back by the Ancient Ones and their many slave races.  He entered the cryo hibernation chambers with a heavy heart, sure that he was seeing the last of the Nacronians.  60 million years later, he was shocked when he arose.  Somehow the technology he had built was still functioning, and even with large gaps in his memory he was able to recall himself.  His soul hardened when he saw what had become of his fellow Nacronians however.  Bereft of their individuality, little more than slaves to the God-Pharoahs who ruled them now, Aten-nefru swore to find a way to remake the glory of the Nacronian empire.  This time however, they would not declare war upon the entire galaxy at once.  He is attempting to use diplomatic means to gain allies necessary to establish an era of intergalactic peace, where he can use his talents for innovation, instead of destruction..."

"While you play your cranky, old rust-bucket, I'll be playing Firsa Illunivar, daughter of Maelan Illunivar, whose father was Athanwe Illunivar, Scourge of Serator Prime and Bane of Rogue Traders. Not only is Firsa compassionate, beautiful, and of impeccable lineage, she is proud to number among the last of a dwindling race who once dominated the galaxy millennia ago, and so are called Elder by the humans."

"Only a few centuries old, Firsa is young by Elder standards and has much to prove if she is to show herself worthy of inheriting control of the mighty pirate dynasty of the Illunivar family. It was clear from Firsa's schooling that she would make an excellent leader, but her kin show promise in other ways. Her older brother is a warrior prodigy, while her younger sister is developing into a formidable psycher, not to mention a handful of other talented relatives. To choose the best successor, Athanwe has gifted a vessel from his fleet to each eligible Illunivar who has demonstrated sufficient skill and interest and declared that he will name whoever recovers the most spirit stones over the course of a century as the true heir."

"63 years into her quest, Firsa has launched pirate attacks, handled tense negotiations, and fought many a life-threatening battle, all in the name of collecting spirit stones . As captain of Tanurom, The Star-lit Spirit Dragon, Firsa has until recently performed admirably in her quest. Unfortunately, fortune has frowned upon her as of late and left her without any leads, scrambling for any new resource or morsel of information that might lead her to the next cache of spirit stones. All she can do now is wait and count the days. Surely something will happen soon..."

"AND INDEED SOMETHING SHALL!!!" said the voice in the sky.

The Tanorum, a majestic Eldar cruiser capable of sailing the solar winds of the galaxy with the grace a Harlequin dances, suddenly shakes with reverberance as she exits from the Webway. It has been four months travel time since her captain Firsa learned the supposed location of the lost craftworld of Miel Carn. Upon this remnant of Eldar glory rests thousands of lost soulstones and ancient artifacts dating back tens of thousands of years. Ordinarily any Eldar would leap at the opportunity to reclaim such priceless souls and relics for such objects could secure the survival of an entire craftworld for thousands of years. It is, however, the nature by which this information was discovered that most concerns the fair Captain Firsa.

Six months ago while plying the stars for riches and glory, the Tanorum became suddenly caught in the violent explosion of a star going supernova. By all accounts, the star was still very young and had no reason to undergo such a dramatic change as hours before the event the star was still stable and the winds fair. As the ship weathered the terrible storm a sudden head splitting scream came into being. Through it could be heard the dying wails of thousands of Eldar screaming out in unison as their lives were extinguished. When the ships crew came to there was a distinct impression on the psyche of Firsa and (insert name of Seer here). It detailed the stellar location of what appeared to be the craftworld of Miel Carn, lost ages ago to reasons unbeknownst. What troubled the captain and her seer more than the nature of this information was the location itself. For the psychic impression detailed the craftworlds location to be off in the Halo Stars, far out in the galactic rim.

Thus, we now find the Tanorum sailing the solar winds of the halo stars. Far from the nearest Eldar civilization heading toward unknown prospects and perhaps death. What awaits the Tanorum can only be speculated, as she heads to the planet of Solemnance.

"Firsa paces vigorously around Tanorum's deserted bridge, dramatically drawing and undrawing her elegant sword at regular intervals. The bridge, and indeed almost all of the ship echos with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, for Tanorum has no corporeal crew, but rather a collection of thousands of Elder spirit stones that use their psychic energy to collectively handle the ship far better than any living team could.

'What's the status report on super novae anomaly research!?' she demands with her sword pointed intensely at no particular point on the wall.

'Internal database query has come up negative madame-capitan!' Firsa barks in a low voice, impersonating an imaginary Elder comrade as she steps one pace forward and turns toward where she was originally standing. 'Report from science still pending and channels to home are still hush!'

Firsa twirls around to her original facing, her bright-red, knee-high battle-skirt swirling to match her exuberant dance. 'That simply won't do Officer Rehsa. Send my regards to Major Sethin down at intel and have them redouble our near-vicinity augur scans. Get comms in hear so we can start recording our omni-directional broadcast signal. Today, we're finding Miel Carn!'

'But you said that yesterday madame-capitan. And the day before that too.'

'Seargent Yearasil, you know I appreciate your input... WHEN I ASK FOR IT! Sit tight and do you job. We've all got to pull our weight around here if we want any hope of meeting this year's quota. Recite to the bridge the Firsa Illunivar moto!'

'Through failure we learn. Through learning we triumph. Through triumph we are eternal!'

'Excellent! It's time we remind this sector that Tanurom is not to be trifled with!'

And so on, and so on Firsa continues."

As Firsa continues with her deranged, and probably justified, rantings. She hears the footsteps approaching her bridge and she adopts a much more noble posture. After a minute the figure of her assault craft squadrons arrives, Helgrant Zuensyr. He bows seeing he's been noticed and says "Captain, I see we have exited the Webway. Is there anything you require of me before we continue with our journey? I must admit the prospects of the success this operation could bring has the pilots antsy"

"'Echem! Commander! Please remember you are to announce through my personal vox caster all appearances on the bridge with at least a five minute's notice. I was in the middle of something...' she blushes, pulling her wayward bangs back into order among her noble assembly of scarlet locks.

'In any case, I appreciate the information. It's time we have an assembly and discuss the matters at hand: what dangers are we likely to encounter in this sector? How is Tanurom behaving? what preparations must be made to handle the next leg of our journey? I want an augur scan on the immediate vicinity. If no threats are detected, summon the crew to the assembly chamber and we'll begin our meeting. Oh, and get the seer to the bridge as quick as you can, I have some private matters to discuss. Any questions?'

"Captain, the halo stars are a perilous area. I myself question whether the risks are worth the gains but so many souls recovered could secure riches worthy of entire craftworlds. The area is home to renegades and vagabonds where the Imperium itself only maintains the most minute of fleets. There isn't a single craftworld that would dare make home amongst these stars as they are in the control of Chaos as much as any other faction vying for control. As to the next leg of our journey I do believe we are a days travel away from the planet of Solemnance, unfortunately there are no documents or any such things beyond the planets name and that a Mon Keigh settlement of the tribal like was there. I actually came to ask whether you would like the fighter squadrons to establish a perimeter around the ship or if we should save the energy?"

"'I value every Elder voice on this vessel, so we can attend to that matter in the assembly. Given your warnings however, have the crew draw lots to see who will stay behind and establish a perimeter. Welcome everyone else to the chamber. I expect to see all the smiling faces of my vessel in front of me in 30 minutes. You have your orders, dismissed.'"

Commander Zuensyr bows and says "I shall assemble the men. I'll send word to the seer, however, when he arrives only Asuryan knows."

With that the commander takes his leave of the Captain leaving her to possibly more deranged rants with herself. After a number of minutes she makes her way to the briefing room. As the wraith one doors open she is treated by the decorative lights and hollo-table as the pilots all stand about speaking amongst themselves. Once entering you hear the commander say "Captain on deck!" And everyone turns to give you their full and undivided attention. Before speaking you notice that your seer is not present yet and the planet of Solemnence is on the holo-table

"Firsa struts into the room with the kind of elegant swagger only an Elder can muster.

'Do not go gentle into that goodnight.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I'll never forget the tales my father told of Prince Yriel and his courageous gambit to save an entire craftworld from a tyrathid invasion.

Do not go gentle into that goodnight.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Loyal crew of Tanurom, heed my words. The void crawls with horrors innumerable, emptiness beckons like a siren to our noble vessel, and cowardice lies in wait to silence even the bravest heroes. I know this, and I say, 'we shall overcome!' A star shimmers with a dwindling light in the blackness, but it will only extinguish if we give up hope, for this star burns with the fury of a thousand Elder. It cries out into nothing: 'take me home...' And so it shall for time eternal, unless we accept our sacred duty. There is nothing in this world more precious than an Elder life, and no duty more noble than to honor one's end.

And honor them we shall. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. When these Elder fell, did they feel fear? No! Fear keeps us distant from death's grasp, but they embraced it. They felt only duty, and an unending love for their people. But if fear keeps death at bay, should we not oblige it? No! Just as our kin did before us, we will embrace death's grasp, but we will not succumb to it. We will look at it straight on, take back what is ours, and give these heroes the homecoming they deserve!

Through failure we learn. Through learning we triumph. Through triumph we are eternal!

Now, esteemed Elder of Tanurom, it is time to discuss the matter at hand. What do we know about Solemnence?'"

Post coming today, unless people wish to continue their meta rpg conversation.