More Eldar Fiction
Tall, elegant spires with walls of shining indigo dominated the view from the balcony. They seemed to shimmer in the light of the nearby star, absorbing its powerful rays and reflecting penultimate shadow. Reflective orbs dotted the lower levels, sparkling in alternating red and gold hues. Soft colors bled from other balconies too, highlighting the occupants of the rooms beyond them. Blues, teals, jades, and ambers; the colors reflected the paths of the occupants. It was not unusual to see one soft color yield to another with the passage of time. Such was the life of the Eldar.
Kilq'rae stood at the edge of the balcony contemplating the beauty of the Craftworld Dras'kerun - The Shadowed Moon. Even after three millennia aboard the great ship it still wielded a calming, ephemeral power over his warrior soul. He took a deep breath, savoring the honeyed scent of xini petals in the air before turning back to his quarters. Sky-blue tendrils of psychically impregnated light lazily meandered from power source to power source bathing his quarters in their glow. The soft light revealed the many stacks of scroll that adorned his table on the left, coaxing their ink to glow in response to his gaze. Beyond the table lay his bed and the corridor to a reception area. Power danced there too, gliding along runes embedded in the corridor wall. To the right of his table lay a soft, plush carpet. A mosaic of colorful lights played across its surface forming beautiful images of dancing eldar younglings in bright livery. The children danced in hypnotic patterns, subtly coaxing the viewer into tranquility.
A ripple of pride curved Kilq'rae's lips into a smile. The carpet had been a gift. It was his daughter's first creation on the Path of the Artisan. In the four centuries since, she'd mastered the Path and honed her skill to a barely believable degree. Kilq'rae's fingers unconsciously sought out his daughter's latest gift, strapped to his waist. Wraithbone rune stones sang softly in the silky black pouch as his touch met them. His mind filled with their ethereal countenance, heightening the pleasurable pride already wafting through him. At the apex of their song, however, he slowly began to lull them to sleep. Minutes passed as he savored the after taste of their caresses and he considered again, just how proud he was. The new rune stones were mighty indeed. Finally, as his smile faded and he drew himself out of the indulgence of reverie, a tiny twinge of nostalgic sorrow replaced it. When would he have a quiet moment like this again? It was then that he noticed the corridor throbbed an insistent purple. It was the summons.
In contrast to perhaps all but the banshee temples, the Tower of Warpsight stood bone-white against the shimmering indigo background. Colossal Wraithlord sentinels, draped in ceremonial armor guarded the tower's enormous gates. They dipped their elegantly curved helms in silent welcome as guests began to arrive. Long striding steps, punctuated by the hiss of gravitational stabilizers heralded the arrival of the Fire Dragons. Six exarchs walked in unison to the sound of some faintly echoing drum beat of Khaine's fiery heart. They and their chosen champions passed through the gate leaving a trail of warmed cobblestones. Next, the daughters of Morai-Heg sauntered through in midnight-purple armor, topped by bone colored helmets and colorful hair plumes. Their exaggerated gait belied the deadliness of their rhythm but the Mirror Blades on their backs told all. Ten exarchs, in all, they sent through the gates. Winking suddenly into existence, a quartet of Warp Spider exarchs brandished their powerblades and hollered a chattering yammer in salute. They were slightly hunched over and bore the weights of millennia-old warp pack generators glazed in the craftworld's colors. After a slight pause their essences slipped out of reality and their images, a moment after. The Dire Avenger, Dark Reaper and Striking Scorpion exarchs appeared one after another, with as much flourish and pomp as the first. Finally, the Young King arrived. Flanked by the craftworld's heavily armored Autarchs, the Young King and Exarch of the Shadow Scorpions strode into the tower.
From inside the Tower of Warpsight, Kilq'rae watched the procession with interest. Such displays were performed for the benefit of the Seers. With each exarch commanding twenty to thirty warriors, they now had a good estimate of their preparedness to mobilize for war. As the Warp Spiders cut the air with their blades, Kilq'rae was caught up in a moment of violent recollection. Enshrouded as a Shadow Spider of a previous Young King's court, his deathspinner had opened a path between mon'keigh cultists in a shower of crimson and silvery death. Through it, the Avatar had rushed to impale the chaos sorcerer and end the battle. His soul had quivered and hummed as their shredding flesh paid high honor to the Eldar war machine. Their vaporized blood, hanging thick in the air belonged to Kaela Mensha Khaine. Shuddering in nostalgic ecstasy, Kilq'rae turned back to see the last of the Autarchs enter.
The Crescent Wound greets thee, Warseer, an enchanting voice whispered. Though startled, he bowed politely to the ancient banshee exarch seating herself on his right.
May the favor of Khaine embrace thee sister. How doth The Temple fare of late? He replied.
The spirits have guided many to our gates. This council is well overdue, she said.
Kilq'rae nodded slowly. It is the way of Dras'kerun to remain in the shadows overly long.
Indeed, the exarch answered, but now our souls call for war. She turned to face him directly.
Even without her terrifying helmet, her silver gaze sent a shiver of fear and revulsion through him. He felt his hands trapped beneath robes twitch in response. Nevertheless, he smiled lightly.
And we shall surely answer, he finished discreetly.
She nodded once, temporarily placated.
The tower was awash with psychic chatter as warriors and seers alike exchanged pleasantries. It was a meaningful guise, a deep breath before the real discussions started. An undercurrent of craving had already begun to push against the heavily warded tower; the result of concentrated warrior blood-lust. Kilq'rae felt the skein strain against the psychic influence awash within it. As he looked around, he could see each Farseer strategically placed to offset the mingling of emotions. As a Warseer, particularly of arachnoid affiliation, he was seated amongst the Spiders' militaristic opposites - the Banshees. To his left sat the Dragons and to his right, the Scorpions. The central enclave was taken up by a ring of warlocks in highly ornamental dress, signifying the encompassing shadow of the moon. In their center sat the Scorpion Young King. Flanking his great throne, the Autarchs, masters of warfare and strategy, sat stiff and unyielding.
A small chime sounded. An ancient crystalline seer slowly rose from his perch. With attention so thoroughly captured, the council seemed to tense.
The Gifted bring before the Council dire warning. The eye of Change has fallen on the Ever-eclipsed, the Crystal Seer's voice boomed, and the Ancient Enemy has guided it towards us.
Deathly silence reigned. The Crystal Seer slowly sat down, bones creaking audibly.
The Council acknowledges the warning and wisdom of the Seers, a powerful voice carried out, as Autarch Barlanthanas rose, as always we would hear the full measure of your prophecy and the paths available to us.
There is only one path before us lord, a slim Farseer announced.
We must flee.
Several exarchs hissed their displeasure at this, and the Young King noticeably bared his teeth in revolt.
Lords, this is our council, she continued, the forces of the Changer arrayed against us are vast. The minions of chaos know what we seek in this corner of space. And...
Reveal all, Keraccia, an older Farseer encouraged.
My lords, the skeins of fate have been compromised. The Changer of Ways has significantly hampered our Sight.
The Council audibly gasped. The sour expressions, only now noticeable on the faces of the other Farseers were taken as confirmation.
What little we have gleaned has come at considerable cost. Farseer Taeon has joined the Ancestors. May her soul be forever shielded in Isha's embrace.
Kilq'rae bowed his head in respect. The ancient farseer had always been kind to him even with his calling in the art of war, rather than the purer one of Sight.
After the moment of silence he stood. Attention fell upon him.
If the portents of doom are clear, it is likely our foes will attack while our vision is limited. After the clash with the Imperials not a fortnight ago, we know they are being used as pawns against us. Our enemies will come in force.
We cannot abandon our quest Warseer, an Avenger spat contemptuously, with the weapon in our hands, even this foe would be hard pressed to overcome us.
The artifact has not been found, however, another Farseer cut in.
Indeed, said a Spiritseer on the periphery, and its mastery would require study before invocation.
A deep bass rumble came softly from the Young King as he spoke, a moment of patience, Gifted ones, but could the corrupt sorcerers utilize the...artifact?
The Council visibly trembled. Seers looked at one another questioningly.
Yes, the Crystal Seer spoke.
Autarch Barlanthanas stood once more.
Then it must be recovered, He said, raising his hand to halt the rising protests, but the life of the Eldar aboard this world is of greater worth still. We must still convene, it is true. But my council is this: let us heed the advice of Seers and flee, drawing our foes away from the goal. In our stead, let a small group remain to locate and extract it.
The success of such a group cannot be ascertained, Mighty One, a young seer chimed in, how can we not know that we bargain the precious lives of those chosen on a futile quest? Or worse, that we do not play into the hands of Change?
To simply surrender our prey is worse, young one, a grizzled Spider exarch replied, eliciting several nods from the assembly, Dras'kerun must have her prize. The loss of Sight does not forgive the loss of purpose.
At this slight, the whole Council stiffened. Runes under robes were clenched tighter and fingers inched their way closer to blades.
It was the Young King again who broke the stalemate.
Calm yourselves, masters. We would never see our foes from behind the shadows in which we are enshrined, without the Gifted. And we could never strike them down from the very same shadows without the Children of Khaine.
The Warp Spider bowed fractionally towards the Young King and then towards the farseer. The Council relaxed a fraction, but the silence continued. It was a moment of barbarity for the politics of the ruling council were completely transparent, and the members were ill at ease with such.
High One, Kilq'rae said again as he faced Autarch Barlanthanas, If the Council assented, I would remain to continue our search.
The Autarch paused and looked around the chamber. Every face reflected calculated understanding. Every face reflected sorrow.
What sayeth the Council? A Battle-seer has stepped forward. One of the least of the Gifted but a formidable warrior, he said, nodding respectfully.
Silent and private communion occurred for a few minutes between exarchs. The seers remained silent. A few moments later, the Howling Banshee Exarch of the Crescent Wound stood up, laying fingertips lightly upon Kilq'rae shoulder in an extremely intimate gesture.
The Exarchs of Dras'kerun, she announced in multiple voices, extend to thee full measure of the blessings of The Bloody-Handed.
With her hand still upon his shoulder, she turned to face the crystal seer.
He shall carry our might, we the Children of Khaine.
She turned once more to the central enclave.
And as we seek safe haven our forces shall deploy to repel any Change. We have spoken.
She sat down.
Without a single word, the Young King rose, bowed slightly and walked out with Autarchs in tow. The seers rose as one to leave only a moment afterwards.
Two hours later, Kilq'rae, Warseer of Dras'kerun sat within the Midnight Orchid. Rows of trees of varying shades of blue ran parallel to a silvery stream of water. Boles within numerous trees provided natural seating for the young, care-free and enamored of the craftworld. The Warseer watched them carefully, chuckling softly at the fumbling of young love. Saravenna was due to meet with him in a few minutes. His lovely daughter could be trusted to be a few minutes late, especially with how much work she put into her projects. She would not like his decision to volunteer, but she would love him for it nonetheless. She was so beautiful. His jovial countenance faded, however, when he felt the skein shudder. A second later, a Warp Spider exarch appeared next to him and bowed low.
Warseer, he hissed softly.
Vorousissiel, the seer replied as he returned the bow.
Do you know why I am here? The Spider asked.
Kilq'rae took a deep breath and sighed.
I do not apologize for my part in the dance. I want our weapon back as much as the exarchs do. With...unnamed...seers holding the King by the waystone, it seemed the only way to achieve what we want. Sight is not everything, as you said.
The exarch tittered in amusement.
You seers, he cackled, always knee deep in intrigue. The Exarchs are not so ignorant of the lobbying and coercion afoot in your Tower. We care not for it. We are pleased that one so powerful has taken on what was always our quest. I am here to invite you to The Temple.
He sniffed the air suspiciously.
Once you are done here, of course.
Kilq'rae could also sense his daughter approaching.
You could have simply sent a message, he replied.
The Spider cackled wickedly once again.
No, Warseer...come to The Temple. Make haste. We are not known for our patience, he said as he whispered out of existence.
Only one place on the entire craftworld had clouds above it. They were dark and ominous. Flashes of red lightning occasionally drew across them in tight arcs, revealing the scorched landscape below. Like a hand reaching up from the ground, the temple rose from a thick base to crest the clouds in a five-fingered crown. Its tall frame was encased in a dark tinged wraithbone exoskeleton that climbed up the 'arm' in a double helix. It was the Temple of the Avatar of Kaela Mensha Khaine.
Kilq'rae stared at the frightening construct with trepidation. The tempting call of the mighty war god of the eldar notwithstanding, he was loathe to enter a place so enamored of death. Khaine's wrath spelled doom-be it runic, in the manner of worship of seers or wholly corporeal, in the manner expounded by eldar weaponry. The problem however, lay in the treachery of Khaine's nature. Would the doom be his own? Or would Khaine's gaze linger on his foes? The options were equally terrifying. Kilq'rae shuddered. Nevertheless, his shoulders squared and he started forward to meet his god's wrath.
Thoughts of his daughter intruded as he walked. She had been much more upset than he had anticipated. Apparently news of the humans' search for the eldar had reached the public and anxiety had already been taking hold. Hearing they were leaving the sector had set her heart at ease but for a moment. She'd heard his inflection, however, and the sadness and worry that crashed over her had nearly turned his heart. Nearly. He cupped his chest lightly, where her favorite charm lay. It was a moon, skillfully crafted to glow on whim as if a miniature solar eclipse were occurring near one's heart. The maximum light it could provide was enough to pierce the darkest corners of the eclipse-enshrouded craftworld. She had insisted he take it, to remind him that she awaited his return. Even tear-stained and struggling to be brave, she was so beautiful.
The gateway eased open with a deathly sigh. A red glow emanated from the end of a long hallway, crisscrossed with columns. Statues of the Phoenix Lords jutted up from the floor like stalagmites interspersed amongst the columns in random design. They each took up a sinister pose, as if striking out against intruders. When Kilq'rae stepped through, his senses were blinded by the stench of sulfur in the air. His eyes stung, his tongue swelled and his ears began to ring. For all intents and purpose, he may have been inhaling fire. Drawing runestones from his pouch, he weaved a complex pattern in the air, easing as much psychic power as he dared in such a place, into the ward. Instantly, his senses cleared but a hazy dust settled on his invisible shield, as if to remind him of his vulnerability this close to the Avatar. He shivered and slowly dared to open his eyes. Through the permanent sulfurous stench, visions of carnage assailed him. Enemies were torn apart in fountains of red, green, blue and black blood by an armored gauntlet. Each color shone bright before flesh melted into sickeningly grey ichor. Yet the bloody hand always remained bright and terrifying. Demons of unfathomable power suddenly stepped into the vision. Their warp tainted presence stripped bare Kilq'rae's soul, threatening to consume his essence as he gasped in horror. The blood drenched thing descended on them too. The demons fought with titanic might against the bloody scepter. Mad laughter filled the chamber and bolts of sha'iel struck down the grasping hand many times, cooking the blood on its surface. Yet every time the blood flowed anew, the hand would rise to strike down another demon. The vision accelerated, as demon and gauntlet fought. The ground trembled and the waves of snapping, roaring, anguished screams all but ripped apart the skein. The demons were losing! Their numbers were ebbing, their attacks desperate. Claws and fangs bristled frantically until only one remained. It was a grotesque creature, possessed of a thousand eyes and mouths of sawing canines wherever an eye failed to protrude. It seemed to change its focus then, sensing external scrutiny. Its many eyes came to rest on the warseer.
YOU!!! It screeched in foul rage.
It charged. The walls shook and dust flew up in huge plumes as the demonic thing drew nigh. He was paralyzed with fear. His soulstone blazed with life as his terror reached fever pitch. The demons mouths reached for him. They sucked and sawed at his ward, digesting it as more mouths descended to feed. Howling in fear, he fell to the ground and scrambled backwards as quickly as he could. Time slowed as a single tooth sliced open the warseer's muscled arm. Blood bubbled up from the wound to drench his robe. The demon temporarily forgotten, he watched the blood pool in abject horror and...something else. Fear? Lust? Indignation. Yes, indignation. Then annoyance. Anger. Rage. Power. How dare the foul abomination sully his greatest oblation to Kaela Mensha Khaine! How dare it desecrate the temple of the eldar god of war! Reaching into his well of power he simply stopped the demon's advance. It faltered, writhing in confusion and anger. For Kilq'rae, it mattered not that the power bleeding off him ate away his garments as he stood up. Cold blue irises met flickering yellow orbs and the writhing mouths smiled wickedly. The demon began to push him back and pull more of itself through the fabric of reality. Kilq'rae fought with his all his strength against the demon's power. Sha'iel leapt and crackled as the psychic war progressed. A thousand attacks and debilitating parries were exchanged in a heartbeat. Miniature storms battered the combatants, roasting flesh on their forms wherever the raw warp found them. Kilq'rae could feel his doom descending. The demon was not tiring, and he could not sustain the pace of mind war being raged for much longer. Rage was giving way to whimpering despair. His gauntleted arm supported his form as he dropped to one knee. Gauntleted arm? He looked down to see his whole forearm and hand encased in a heavily armored glove of near-molten iron. Steam rose up from its surface where oozing wounds deposited his lifeblood. The gauntlet was throbbing. Distracted, once again from the demon's presence, Kilq'rae stared deep into its blood drenched rubies and sensed...something. His concentration was faltering, and the demon redoubling its attacks but all the warseer noticed was the armored piece. A deep, strumming heartbeat accompanied the rasping voice that sang of the red rage of un-making. Violent deaths and the doom of a billion billion foes reverberated through Kilq'rae's shredded soul. Blood. Murder. Fury. Dominion. And death, always death. The Hand of Khaine called the warrior soul of the eldar to battle! Doom; choking, crushing doom served to their foes. The call of the Bloody-Handed needed sating.
Growling, Kilq'rae thrust his armored hand through the competing miasma of power to grab hold of the demon. The energies of the warp reacted instantly to the gauntlet's presence, fleeing back into the immaterium. Bulbous eye stalks and grinding teeth cooked as he speared them and held fast. The demons pain could only have been divine, because it wholly abandoned its attack and thrashed around trying to free itself. It spat blood and effluent everywhere. Kilq'rae was roared in ecstasy. Chunks of the demon blew off. His left hand lengthened in a blade of white-hot sha'iel which he used to stab the demon repeatedly. The demon's essence was bleeding back into the warp, but the warseer wrenched it from escape. It moaned in despair. The judgment of Khaine was upon it, yet it refused to accept fate. Foolish! A hundred scorched wounds later, the demon ceased its struggle and melted pitifully before his eyes. The warseer swung round seeking new enemies in the light of the sha'iel. His right arm, encased in the mighty gauntlet gripped and crackled unconsciously in the air. Ragged, steamy breaths tore from his throat, billowing out into the cold, dark chamber. Another minute of dark rage fueled his strength but with the end of combat it ebbed. The warp energies dissolved around him and his painful wounds finally registered. He slumped to his knees, eyes closed and chest heaving. Darkness mercifully descended.
Rise Kilq'rae of Dras'kerun, a voice called out.
Rise, Son of Khaine, another called.
His eyes flicked open, unseeing. Then shut again.
Arise, warseer, a gruff voice called. Whomever it belonged to stood right over him. With quivering arms he raised his torso. Then his hip. Scrapped knees found purchase. Pushing upright, carefully, he found the cloudy haze of exhaustion fading quickly. He snapped his eyes open. Spots of light and shadow coalesced into the forms of the exarchs. All the exarchs! The aspects seemed to mingle casually amongst themselves as they observed him. Ferinzar, Exarch of the Fire Dragons stood a pace away, also watching. Still wide eyed, Kilq'rae turned to study his surroundings. He was still in Khaine's temple and the red glowing corridor still waited menacingly. All was still. The statues were unharmed and no detritus remained.
A vision, he said.
The exarchs did not react.
Or perhaps a prophesy, he finished and looked down at his tingling hands.
Does it matter, Warseer? Vorousissiel called out.
The Hand of Khaine is the ultimate bane of the warp spawn, Ferinzar rumbled, Do you comprehend its importance now, seer? Do you understand the foolishness of the Farseers now?
He trudged right up to Kilq'rae, bloodshot eyes meeting worn blue ones.
The survival of the craftworld, reclamation of the webway, defense of the exodite worlds; we could ensure them all with this weapon. And you must find it.
The exarch turned away.
We cannot leave our temples for long. Nor without permission.
A collective shudder passed through the exarchs.
You will go in our stead.
He turned to face the others.
And you will go armed in our stead.
With an elegant flourish he stripped off his gravitational belt and the fusion pistol strapped to his waist.
The raiment of Narathanar, the Dragon's Eclipse, he said as he presented them to the warseer.
No explosion will ever lift you from soil unless you will it, and no armor will resist the breath of your fury. Take them and return our treasure to us.
Yerusaad, Exarch of the Striking Scorpions stepped forward. He silently depressurized his master-crafted Scorpion's Claw and placed it reverently at Kilq'rae's feet. Stepping away, he nodded and the other scorpions followed suit. With heads bowed, they sullenly departed. Next, Anthahan, Exarch of the Dire Avengers presented herself. To the shuriken catapult mounted atop the Scorpion's Claw, she attached her own extra weapon feeds which fitted snugly into the claw's elbow compartment. She and the other Avengers bowed and left. Hyri'tejk of the Howling Banshees surrendered his syn-skin, the durable cover that exaggerated the banshees’ suppleness. Tenjin of the Dark Reapers offered his enhanced shoulder braces. They magnified physical strength tenfold, allowing the Reaper to carry his enormous cannon. The one and only Swooping Hawk Exarch, Erilian placed a dozen clusters of grenades, strapped to belts at his feet. Finally, the warp spiders walked forward. Between them, they hauled the armor of a Shadow Spider. It was his. He could feel it. Yet it was changed.
We...modified...your armor for this special task, a deep bass voice announced from the shadows. A heavily armored figure detached itself from perfect concealment. Kilq'rae could not even sense him through the skein.
Young King, he bowed respectfully.
Vorousissiel's humorless laugh cracked the air.
You knew, my King? Kilq'rae inquired.
The seers are not nearly as clever as they lead themselves to believe. And they bow to the call of Khaine too, answered the Young King mysteriously.
Come, don your armor. War is coming for at least one of the blood of shadow.
Every aspect had special armor in the Vaults of Khaine for the bodyguards of the Young King. In the age of the Spider Young King, Kilq'rae had served as one of his death dealers. Later, with the manifestation of the Avatar, he had been part of the honor guard in the cleansing of the planet Ragar. The end of the war signaled the end of the Path and his armor and war mask had been abandoned. Now, looking at the mighty armor renewed, the memories of bloodletting and terror flitted across his vision.
They began by freeing him of his lose robes. Warm cloths, bathed in pure water washed his sallow skin and freed him from the remaining feverish flashes of his vision. When the Fire Dragon exarchs began a mantra to ease his mind into calm readiness, the Warp Spider exarchs slipped the black syn-skin over his own. It covered every inch of his body except his head, and at a psychic command, drew comfortably taut. The Shadow Spider armor came next. Other than the shoulder guards and left forearm brace, the armor was fitted and consecrated to Khaine. It was shimmering indigo, like the energy spires of the craftworld, or the night sky on a moonless night. His arachnoid helm was heavily modified to accommodate a seer's plume, and five stylized thorns rising from its surface. Next, the Scorpion's Claw, Reaper shoulder guards and gravitational belt were attached. The fusion pistol went into a holster on his right, runestones into a pocket and the grenade belts were crisscrossed across his chest plate. A scabbard containing his witch blade was belted under his clawed left arm. Exarch Vorousissiel produced a small bundle and held it up for Kilq'rae to see.
One of your daughter's gifts to The Temple, he rasped.
It is a warp-pack generator that amplifies the speed of warp transition, but with a much shorter jump range.
The Exarch moved behind him to slot it into the armor's back brace.
You are complete, he whispered.
Not quite, the Young King countered. He drew his cloak from his back and draped it over the warseer's. The material sunk into the essence of his shadow armor, covering him from shoulder to shoulder and all the way to his shins. At once, the Young King's signature appeared on the skein and Kilq'rae marveled at the cloak's properties.
Now you are complete.
Truly, Kilq'rae felt that way. He was arrayed for war with mightier tools than perhaps all but Autarch wielded. He was set in his purpose. He knew his prize and if the vision was accurate, he knew his enemies too. The mantra stopped suddenly and in the silence, Ferinzar clasped the warseer's arm in a warrior's embrace. Turning, he bowed once to the esteemed assembly and departed with his brothers. The Warp Spiders bowed very low and winked out of existence.
One has offered the gift of knowledge, said the Young King.
After that you must practice diligently with your new weapons. We are two weeks away from transition into the webway. A transport is being prepared for you and a modified Nightwing will be at your disposal. In the meantime remain here. Your mentor will arrive shortly.
Kilq'rae bowed low in obeisance.
Oh, and warseer, the King called as he strolled away, avoid awakening the Avatar.
Warhammer 40,000 story and races (c) Games Workshop
Thank you also David Donachie for the eldar lexicon :http://www.teuton.org/~stranger/inde...tion=cms.Eldar
Last edited by Lhykosidae; 31-12-2011 at 03:06 AM.