Originally Posted by C'nor
A black-haired mage, dressed in robes of grey, sat in the air above an intricate design of glowing lines, some a bright, clear, white, others a malevolent-seeming purple, with a few of verdant emerald.
For now, he remains silent, simply watching the soon-to-be-battlefield.
The mage grinned, the veins of white light in the pattern beneath him flaring as he tapped into one of his power sources, though save for cutting through a tendril of mist that had strayed into it, there was little effect save that.
The golden Myr suddenly blazed with light, rays reaching out from the pattern to meld into its corona as it did, though the light quickly focused into an orb, its surface roiling with strange colors, from which sprang another Myr, this one a dull grey, with prismatic bands shifting over it as it moved, as though there was an oil slick covering it.
The prismatic Myr reached out a clawed hand, forefinger extended, and slashed downwards, tearing a rent in the air before it, from which stepped a pale woman with a strange harness on her back, and a cup of blood in one hand, with which she traced a rune onto each of the machines.
As soon as she was done, the golden Myr dashed across the battlefield, swinging a razored arm at the Fey as it went.
Meanwhile, one of the bands of green below the Planeswalker flared to life...
The mage grimaces as the blade sinks into him, though the chaotic maelstrom of energy seething beneath him absorbs enough of the force to prevent it from being a lethal blow.
The Alloy Myr reaches out again, opening another rent, through which a man who could be the woman's twin walks, marking each of his fellow combatants, and receiving her mark in turn.
The ceremony done, the woman laughs, and sets down her cup, summoning a pair of translucent blades from the air, and dances nimbly towards the fog bank.
The Planeswalker hissed in pain as the Champion's blow struck him, though once it had escaped and he could work without having to ward it off, the white lines flared harshly, once more opening a portal to a field of razorgrass, with a Gold Myr waiting on the other side to step through.
Meanwhile, the Alloy Myr swiftly began to grow, sprouting a barbed tail, thick armor plates, and forming an extra pair of arms from its chest as it did, shortly followed by it chittering sharp commands in some odd language to the others.
One of the purple lines twisted and writhed to life, springing out to meld with the Alloy Myr, even as both Gold Myr began to glow, and emerald light flared into the webwork that was forming high above the field of war.
Through nexus of energy that formed above the planeswalker, which opened on a beautiful, but bleak, hall of jet and howlite, hung with faded tapestries, an angel flew, pointing her blade at the strange structure that had formed from the ruins, and speaking a single word, which seemed to cast a pall over the battleground, shortly followed by a column of divine flame lancing down to destroy it...
The Gold Myr leapt into the fray, sacrificing themselves to wound the fairies, and keep their master safe. Though their Alpha, it seemed, had a more important task; that of stopping the Champion, which it did with alacrity, quickly crippling, though not killing, her and hanging the fae from one of the many barbs adorning it.
The Angel also swooped down to fight, easily lopping the head off of one of the faeries, though the battle delayed her enough that the rest got through unhindered.
Lilium is, for anyone, rather tall, coming in at around 6'3", even when their shoes don't boost that by a few inches, and relatively thin, though not unhealthily so, and reasonably muscular. Their eyes, though naturally a silvery-grey, appear dark red most of the time, due to the fact that they normally wear a pair of colored contacts. Their face is pretty, but sharp, and almost feral, with little to lessen its intensity, though something about it tends to draw people in, rather than, perhaps more logically, driving them away. Their hair, which is cut short, barely coming to the middle of their ears, and relatively straight, has been dyed metallic violet.
Lilium is almost never seen without her jacket, which is made of white leather, and has a expertly done phoenix on the back. They also usually tend to wear jeans, primarily in dark colors, often with elaborate designs stitched into them. While comfortable in most types of shirt, so long as they're easy to wear, they tend to prefer ones that are somewhere between loose and form-fitting, and they almost always add some type of decoration, generally a mythological creature of some kind.
At the shout, Yrybelh leapt to her feet, a snarl rumbling up between lips pulled back to reveal her fangs, and a tendril of baelfire writhing hungrily towards Leo's chest, though a moment later, once she had time to see who it was who had awoken her, only having registered that it wasn't Tora in her surprise, it paused, shuddering as though struggling to continue, then snapped back towards her, burrowing into her swiftly, occasioning a howl of pain from her.
Kiran walked slowly through the shop, examining the many mutants caged around him, some healthy, interested, some apathetic and dejected, with no real physical difference, for either could be well-treated, or dirty and starved...
Stopping in front of one of the cages deep in the back of the store, where the ones deemed less-than-desirable were kept, hidden away so that they would never need to be dealt with by those seeking pets, not servants, he smiled gently at the occupant, a wolf-girl in a tattered black dress, and crouched next to her cage to look into her eyes.
"Hello."
[The Void]
Kansheri had, since her birth, watched the world, sensing the changes in it, though, until now, making none of her own, preferring to simply wait. But with the birth of the Elves, she had, at last, found something that sparked her interest enough to draw her into the world. So, laughing softly, she stepped through reality, appearing before a pretty young Elf...
[Elven Lands]
...Understandably enough, the girl was rather startled by this. Nor did she calm at all when she was drawn closer to the goddess, one of Kansheri's claws gently resting on her neck, though that, of course, was to be expected, given the circumstances, and that no-one besides her mother yet knew of Kansheri's existence.
"Calm, little one," the goddess murmured, painlessly slipping a thin tendril of crystal into the mortal's flesh, pumping her quickgold blood into her, and using that as a conduit for the changes she planned as she spoke. "I have a gift for you, of a sort. Nothing to hurt you, I promise."
And, soon enough, that was revealed to be the truth, for as she slipped the crystal from the flesh of her new creation, the only changes to be felt were that she was far more powerful than she had ever been, twisting and leaping fast enough that eye could not follow her, strong enough to shatter bones easily, hearing everything, seeing shade never known before. And, too, a strange thirst, undefined, but everpresent, along with memories that had no place in her mind, but she knew no change, for the 'she' who had been changed no longer existed...
[The Nymphs]
Perhaps a month after Kansheri remade them, the first of the new race were seen once again, this time by the Nymphs, riding a strange craft, though as of yet, they seemed to be unaware of the distant observers...
Take offense? Doubtful. The Dark Eldar have always been willing to enjoy themselves, and, especially having been born of a Goddess of Life, they have little objection to people showing interest in them; indeed, it's only once the Nymph's advances end that they seem to be angered, though that is, to some extent, restrained, and the gifts are still accepted.
"We have done nothing to harm you," Iaelia, the first to have been made, and the leader of the group, points out quietly, frowning somewhat. "Nor have we made threats. So why do you fear us now, so suddenly? It is not as though we had any problem with your conduct earlier... In any case, though, what is it you wish to know of us? And do you wish to know of us, or what we rebuild, from the memories granted us by Kansheri?"
The others, meanwhile, appear to be setting up some sort of bone gate, though why is not entirely clear, seeing as there are no doors in it, and, indeed, no wall that it's attached to, making it rather easy to bypass.
"I'm sure something could be arranged, yes," Iaelia replied, laughing brightly, and starting to spin quickly, but no faster than any dancer the Nymphs had in their number, only to end up behind Pan, with an arm around one of those who had been following him, in the span of time it took to realize she was no longer in front of him. "Especially since you gave us such delightful gifts already. Though sadly, we seem to be dreadfully short of things to trade in return, so we'll have to find some other method of repaying you...
And yes, Kansheri is our goddess, the one who remade us from the Last World. As for a meeting with Sytri, well... You give us very little to go on, save that he warned you against us due to our abilities - which, I admit, was not entirely without reason. What is he like? And why would he come when called, unless he already wishes to, in which case, why would calling him or not doing so matter at all?"
She paused for a moment, mulling over her next words carefully, not wishing to reveal the Dark Eldar's ignorance of the mechanism by which all of their technology worked, or make it obvious she was trying not to show something. Nor, of course, would it do to give them the impression it posed a risk, save in a very controlled way, and that, of course, happened to be the eminently desirable path to take.
"That is a means of transport. It allows us and our craft, of all kinds, to come here with ease, and also grants your people access to our city. Or at least, it does once it is complete."