Board Thread:Warhammer 40k Roleplay/@comment-7232811-20130913205549/@comment-14745711-20130919213404

OOC: that was, brutal.

IC: despite the fact that it can no longer maintain its form a number of shadowy vapours pour out from the ground behind the Astrates who remain unawares. Instead of attacking them however it simply fades away again. In a form of dark cell many systems away a figure sits rusted too a great iron chair. Suddenly a few shadow vapours pour into the cell and lash out towards him moving into his helmet through a single slot which marks where the eyes should be. The figure suddenly does something it has not done for almost ten thousand years; it moves, and it speaks. "Fear."

Meanwhile on the craftworld the Angels are moving forwards with caution; they have left the lower levels and have moved up into the streets. Smashed structures can be seen everywhere to left and right but there are still no signs of life. Then suddenly there is a faint cracking sound and the Angels spin round. From amongst the rubble of some unknown structures emerges an old battered Eldar warlock. The marines are about to blast him down when Avatus call them to wait. He moves forwards and stares down at the crippled form. "They came, from the webway. We were...too lax..they came through!" With these last words the warlock dies and falls to the ground his body and armour cracking on impact.

"What did the xeno mean by 'they'?" Asks Sammuel. Before anyone can reply a roar can be heard far off perhaps but loud enough so that everyone on the craftworld can hear it. "That answer your question?" Says Avatus.