Pride of the Aisonian Eldar
Chapter One- The Young Mind
There was only fire, it flailed and twisted across the room with a savage intensity. Whips of flame swung violently at nothing, their movement being rage incarnate. At the centre of the tumult sat a child, its arms wrapped tightly around itself. The child's mind was wracked with pain, searing pain that ate away at its soul. A single hulking form stepped forward, more bold than its comrades who stood at the edge of the living inferno. It raised its weapon, hoping to strike down the supposed cause of the fire. The child snapped its face to the attacker, eyes of burning orange opening wide with command. The tendrils of flame reacted instantly, crashing down on the threat with brutality. The enemy screamed, its arms singed to stumps and its face melting as it wailed. Now nothing but a melting metal husk, the hulking form fell to the ground with a crash, it was dead within seconds of its initial transgression. The child rose from its seated position on the floor, the burning whips coalescing behind its back. The other forms in the room raised their weapons, preparing themselves for combat. Incinerating the closest enemy, the child began its onslaught. It boiled the guts of another, easily melting through the armour encasing the enemy. Again and again the child struck out. It crippled one of the foes by slashing its left arm clean off, but it could not kill the attacker. Using the last portion of strength it had, the attacker fired a couple of shots at the child. With no armour to protect itself, the child stood no chance of survival. Pain of the body ripped its mental pain asunder, the orange in its eyes cooling to a soft yellow. Collapsing into the fresh pool of blood that was made by its wounds, the child slowly died. The fire around the room weakened, the burning whips and tendrils sagging to the floor. Unable to hold on any longer, the child took its last breath.
I awoke with a start, my nightmare fresh in my mind. I slowly twisted my body onto its side, gazing across the small expanse of my room. The dais I was lying on adjusted itself to the change in pressure, allowing fro maximum comfort. I shuffled off of it and slid on the robe that lay gently at its end. The robe was pale lavender, a signature colour of my family. House Aison was reasonably well known in this area of Ulthwe, mostly because our mother had four children in quick succession, quite a rarity. But we were also well known because of my father, may Morai-Heg guide his soul. My father had been a Bonesinger, a master among them in fact, who fell using his skills to block off a choke point during a battle. It was a surprise attack by the Orks, my father being in the town to expand it. That was over nine passes ago though; I had stopped grieving for that loss. I fastened a belt to the robe, its only adornment a knife that was I was given as a present by my eldest brother, Asadon. When I was finished dressing I walked to the edge of my room, the balcony I had extending out of the slender tower that we called home. A small area of trees surrounded the tower, no more than 10 metres or so in radius out from the tower. At its edge was a road that wrapped around it, letting it connect to another tower, linking them from circle garden to circle garden. The Towers of Myriad Honours they were called and many wealthy and honoured families lived here. Just as my thoughts ended, I heard a soft noise in my room. Having not entirely returned from my reverie, I acted instinctually. Sweeping around into a crouching pose with one leg outstretched to my right, I drew the knife on my belt. I soon recognised the intruder and stood again, but she spoke before I could apologise for assuming she was an enemy.
"Master Critus, your mother has requested that you be up." She informed me with a calm look on her face, undisturbed by my actions.
"Thank you Inayara, my apologies for threatening you." I replied. Inayara walked the Path of Service, so she was humbled and obedient. I could not understand how an Eldar could consider such a path, but I suppose we all have our ways of coping with our minds.
"It is quite alright, I did disturb you suddenly" She answered before bowing and leaving the room.
I found my mother seated serenely on a cushion in the main living area. A small ghost stone floated in front of her, pulsing with energy as she manipulated its form. Her hands twisted and weaved around the sculpting object, curves becoming lines and smooth became jagged. A lot of what my mother sculpted was violent in nature or had some rooting in fear; at least that was what she sculpted now. She took his father's death quite hard, but recovered save for the lightness in her artistic expression. I approached her slowly, still on edge from both my nightmare and the 'confrontation' I had had with Inayara in my room.
"Yes?" She asked when I came close to her, hands not stopping their work.
"You requested that I be awake, I was wondering if there was a particular reason for it." A touch of indignation crept into my voice, my calm façade failing for a second. my mother caught on immediately, raising an eyebrow at me.
"Did you have another nightmare?"
"Yes…It was rather violent"
"All of your nightmares are violent Critus; I fear that you already thirst for blood. 18 passes old and already Khaine has ensnared you."
"I'm sorry mother"
"You know sometimes I'm glad I had Quinque." I'm a little taken aback by my mother's words, she and Quinque do not get along, which is why he is often away from home.
"Why is that?"
"Because for all of his faults, at least he didn't put himself in danger with the path he chose." She had a point; Quinque had chosen the Path of the Musician, choosing the Dream Sitar rather than the Banshee mask that my Sister Xyleria chose. Nor did he choose the Path of the Ranger that my brother Asadon had chosen after his sojourn in the shrines of the aspect warriors. I have chosen to follow my eldest siblings into the aspect shrines after I celebrate my nineteenth pass. I do not yet know which aspect I will join, but there is a rage in me that I must cleanse from my body, lest it consume me. I turn away from my mother, moving to the main door of our household.
It is still quite early in the day cycle of the Craftworld, the fake dawn tinting the rose coloured grass and even pinker shade. As soon as I exit the tower, a small wingbreezer flies down from its nest in a nearby corant tree. It tweets at me excitedly, completely tamed by its life on the Craftworld. I raise a hand to the bird and it lands deftly on it, singing its morning song. After I've walked a few paces more the bird leaves, the distance from its nest uncomfortably great.
"For a bunch of warriors, you and your family seem to enjoy the company of animals quite a bit" A lilting voice says behind me. I turn to face its source and find nothing, only another corant tree.
"Up here" the voice says again, to which I look up into the tree. There sat a young man dressed in a veritable rainbow of colours. His boots were aquamarine; the trousers tucked into them a deep maroon. Sashes of lime green weaved over his canary yellow jacket. A cap of the most fluorescent pink sat askew upon his head, a long feather made from alternating red and blue fibres jutted out from the side.
"Persevrin, must you always try and break every fashion law in existence." Persevrin was a Harlequin, or at least he liked to think so. He deftly flipped from the branch he sat on, landing with barely a sound in the grass at its base.
"Perhaps, but must you always make comment on my latest vibrant attire." He responded with an extravagant twirl, displaying his garishness in one swift movement.
"Yes, as long as you continue to hurt my eyes with it." I quipped back at him. Persevrin flicked his fingers at me, a gesture of mock indignation and annoyance. I turned to head further along the road, beckoning for Persevrin to follow.
"And where are we off to on this fine artificial day?" He jests, sweeping his arm in a gesture of surveying the landscape.
"Nowhere in particular, I simply wanted to go for a walk."
"Nonsense and all that is false! You just want go practice somewhere so your mother doesn't reprimand you for your violent nature." He announces with a cartwheel, his hands keeping in step with my feet.
"So what if I do want to practice? It is not against tradition or anything." I snap, his unnecessarily silly behaviour getting on my nerves.
"Well if you want to spar with me I'd be more than happy to trounce you." He suggests with a smirk, twirling a knife in his hand once it fell from his boot in mid-cartwheel.
"I think I'll take you up on that challenge."
We reach a deserted grove at the edge of the Towers, Persevrin sitting gleefully on a rock, juggling his knife. I remove the robe I was wearing, leaving me in a slender bodysuit, thin and flexible armour that most aspect warriors wear underneath their armour. I play with the knife in my hand, quite eager for a test of my skill. We face each other in a ceremonial position of repose, before bowing and going into fighting stances. Persevrin immediately runs at me, his knife ready to swipe at my torso. I make a defensive manoeuvre, stepping forward and ducking underneath to stab at his leg. He flips over me though, spinning when he lands to cut at my lowered body. I spy the angle of his knife and move my own to deflect it, the ring of blades resounding in the grove. He does another cartwheel, moving around to strike at my side. I manage to parry the blow at the last second. We go through another couple of passes, Persevrin dancing around me with his blade narrowly missing my skin each time. I do a sweeping kick at the ground as he tries to flip over me again, catching one of his legs as he lands. He stumbles a little from the blow, but soon recovers with a darting thrust at my chest. I lean back just in time to avoid the blow, but my actions have caused me to over-extend my body. With a clean kick at my feet, Persevrin knocks me to the ground, his knife soon finding my throat.
"And that's a cut" He says with triumph, getting off me and extending a hand to help me up. I grab it reluctantly and brush the back of my bodysuit clean of dirt.
Made sullen by my defeat at Persevrin's hands, I soon head back home to put something a bit more elaborate on, as well as to remove my bodysuit, wearing armour underneath an elaborate outfit isn't exactly comfortable. My mother is still in the main room as I return, her sculpture having taken on a little more form. My sister sits in a meditative position opposite her, a bone white leather bodysuit covering her from. She opens her eyes as I get closer, standing and moving towards me. Her emerald green eyes look me over disapprovingly; she can tell that I've been sparring. However, much to my surprise, she chooses to make no comment but instead chooses to brush past me and out the door. I ignore her temper and head back to my room. I mull over what I'm going to wear, taking into account the fact that this will be last 15 cycles of enjoyment for a while. In 15 cycles time, I'll be 19 passes old, and I'll become a warrior.