Author's Note: Now with "Hunted" and "Victoria Primus" done, I can finally focus on "Pathfinder", so updates of this story will be more regular.
Remember that Saim-Hann is very different compared to other Craftworlds; its clans are known to fight amongst themselves, honour duels are quite common (though not necessarily lethal), they even have fought other Craftworld eldar in the past. This is all lore, it has been for many years, for as long as I know Warhammer (which means over a decade) and is nothing I made up. I simply included these aspects into my story, as Saim-Hann will be a main focus.
Hope you enjoy, and I'd like to point out that English is not my first language, so especially to you reviewers: please have mercy.
Path 1
Poet
It has been centuries since I've walked among my people, believing my life would play out solely on the craftworld that was my home. Several roads were taken, but I have escaped the Paths of my kin to travel among the stars, go wherever I wish and see this galaxy, with all its wonders and horrors alike. In the current solitude aboard my ship I feel the need to write down my own story, the part of me that was once the poet, calling me once more and I admit a certain nostalgia as I recall my life, which now lasts for over a thousand years; or maybe it is because I might not return from my next expedition. If even the Harlequin try to stop you.
Saim-Hann was my home, the place where I was born and grew up. It was a safe haven and I knew so little of the outside; back then I believed I would always live there. And why not? The craftworlds are places of great beauty and culture, even the wild and sometimes savage considered Saim-Hann, with her Wild Rider families. Some say we learn to ride the Jetbike, before we know how to walk.
My first decades were peaceful, so I had little to no hate within me and was not called by the bloody-handed god as so many other of the clans'; no, the first Path I walked was that of the poet, inspired by the stories of my childhood. I wrote hundreds of verses, so many never to be heard by an audience, but solely for me. However this Path proved shorter than I had estimated.
…...
Evening came over the craftworld, the artificial light dimming in the gardens of Saim-Hann. Even to eldar eyes this place would have seemed natural, had it not been for the white, skeletal structure of wraitbone of which almost everything on the continent-sized vessel consisted. Green grass bend as wind brushed over them, colourful birds sung from trees, with almost white bark and blood-red leaves. With closed eyes Yaidev listened to them and the thunderous sound of a waterfall not too far away, as she sat at one of the trees, cross-legged, her dark-green Spirit Stone pulsating peacefully, as it hung around her neck on a silver necklace.
She was dressed in a red robe, white pants, which were tucked into brown boots, and a white cloth was wrapped tightly around her waist. She liked coming here to gather her thoughts and search for inspiration; the Path of the Poet was the first she had chosen, as Yaidev was still young for her people, not even a hundred years old. Now she created works of art, most for herself to indulge, some for an audience, while the latter in general were epic tales of long passed battles or myth that had been told even before the Fall. This garden was almost exclusively used by those, travelling the Paths of the Artisan and Poet and so only few eldar wandered among its lush groves.
Yaidev opened her eyes for the first time in three hours; their irises were almost as black as her pupils. Over the grass walked an eldar, a young man with black hair and hawk-like eyes, and a fellow poet Yaidev knew well. "Derahnim, it has been long since you walked among these trees. Does solitude no longer favour your works?" She welcomed him with a warm and friendly sounding voice, removing strands of her crimson red hair from her face, the strands shimmering like fire in the dimming light of dusk.
A smile formed on his lips. "I did accomplish many works in my absence and I was under the impression you might like to hear them."
"You give me the honour of the first recital? I fear I do not walk the Poet's Path long enough to judge your works adequately."
"I'd welcome the input of a fresh mind, not yet striving to meet a certain style."
An amused chuckled escaped her; that was certainly his only intention. "Then I will gladly listen to your poetry." She said nonetheless. He bowed to express his gratitude, as she stood up. "Would you mind if we ate first? I seem to have spent my entire day in the gardens."
Derahnim smiled. "So lost in thought? Then we shall leave for the terraces at once." They began to walk in a slow pace, as he continued. "Have you dreamed of Maiden Worlds again? The Exodites? Or glorious battles maybe?" He looked at her, curious for an answer.
"Neither." She admitted. "I mused about an alien world; a few days ago I overheard a ranger, who told stories of a human world, covered with dark spires and drowned in poisons air, where the very rain eats away the very stone the city was once built with…and yet, despite such horrid tales, a part of me wishes to see such things myself."
"And leave the beauty of Saim-Hann? You'd miss her comforts before the first day had passed. I trust it inspired you at least?"
Yaidev nodded, as her eyes wandered over the clear blue water of the river, running side by side with the path the two poets had taken. Colourful fishes swam there, fleeing when the eldars' shadows reached them, a heron going after them in fear of losing his next meal. The sharp teeth in its beak blinked, as it went for one of the six-finned fishes. Yaidev wondered how they lived on their home planet, what happened to them when their environment suddenly changed. Like them, she'd never experiences something like a storm: on a craftworld there were changes of seasons, but they were subtle, no extreme climate, no storms. What would real lightning look like?
Yaidev dismissed her line of thoughts, and directed her attention back to Derahnim, who was just telling her about the subject of his poem; an epic about the making of Anaris, the Dawnlight, the final sword that the smith god Vaul had failed to finish in time for Khaine, as part of their bargain. Vaul had instead finished it during the War in Heaven and had used it to fight Khaine. The smith had been defeated, maimed and was later bound to his own anvil by the victor, while Anaris had been brought by the falcon to the mortal hero Eldanesh, who had then faced Khaine in single combat. But once more, the war god had been victorious, killing the Eldar and from that moment forward his hand dripped blood, giving him his new name: Khaela Mensha Khaine.
Many times had Yaidev heard this story; the final battle that had moved Asuryan to proclaim the War in Heaven over. To this day, Alaitoc's rune was that of Eldanesh's sigil, the moon, pierced by Khaine's blade. She imagined there were many stories and poems, written about this myth, like it was with any other. In the few years Yaidev had walked her Path, she'd become more interested in recent battles, like the defence of a Maiden World against human explorers, who had brought with them the Imperial Army, though only a small number. The so-called Hammer of the Emperor had been utterly destroyed by the swift attacks of Saim-Hann's Wild Riders and Exodites' Dragon Warriors. Sometimes it baffled the young eldar how such a clumsy species could control so much of the galaxy.
With the gardens left behind they entered the Avenue of Stars, which almost went along the entirety of Saim-Hann. Many eldar wandered along the avenue, while above gliders transported passengers wherever they wished to go. The ceiling itself was transparent, giving view to the starts and a blue nebular in the distance. Further to the left, Yaidev looked upon the Tower of Travellers, where slender and elegant ships docked upon arrival. Almost as often as she ventured to the gardens, Yaidev visited the tower to mingle with the merchants, sailors and outcasts. More than once she'd gone to bars, in hopes of catching a story worth writing about.
Through an archway they reached the terraces, three stages that led down to an artificial lake, each lined with stores, bars and restaurants. As it was early evening the promenades were bustling with eldar. In the crowd, Yaidev spotted a man who walked as if he were in trance or intoxicated and saw how Derahnim raised a dismissive eyebrow. "I will never understand how someone could get lost on the Path of Dreaming."
"Maybe, when one has seen the universe outside the craftworld, one finds solace in a world of make-believe?"
"Then it might be for the best to stay."
Yaidev pursed her lips briefly, without giving a reply. One stairway down, the poets sat down for dinner, with a beautiful view at the clear and shimmering waters of the lake. Fountains shot it in great arches through the air, light breaking in the drops, creating a colourful display. It was difficult to admit, but perhaps staying on Saim-Hann could be fulfilling. What could an alien world provide, which the eldar hadn't perfected? And yet it seemed it was this imperfection, which was so enticing. A cold presence woke her from her thoughts. Any other eldar around her felt it too, as four women in bone coloured robes walked by. The rune of the Banshee was upon the cloth, their faces cold and stern as was their psychic presence; Khaine's embrace, so uncomfortable to those at peace.
"Aspect Warriors." Derahnim muttered unnecessarily.
There was bitterness in his voice and she remembered something. "Has not your brother recently been called to them?"
Saddened he nodded. "Yes, a warrior brought him to a shrine of the Shining Spears." His expression showed worry, even a hint of fear.
Yaidev smiled at him warmly. "I'm sure he will not lose himself." Her words sounded confident, covering her worries, to comfort her friend.
Unmoved, he turned his gaze once more to the lake. "Have you ever wondered on what Path you're going to remain?" Derahnim asked, almost in a whisper.
His choice of words was troubling to the young poet. "Remain? You speak as if we had no choice in the matter."
"If not taken in battle, we all get lost eventually. At least I cannot recall a case that would have convince me otherwise."
For a few minutes, Yaidev considered his words. "I don't know, but I pray it won't be the Path of the Warrior. I do not wish to spend a life dominated by war and bloodshed." She was a Saim-Hannian, a Wild Rider; one day she would have to fight, one day she would want to, but to have no choice, to never know peace again. It was a frightening prospect.
Eventually he turned back to her, his tension eased, a ghost of a smile on his lips. "Tranquil words for a Wild Rider."
"I travel upon a tranquil Path."
It was night, but activity never ceased on Saim-Hann, the Boulevards of Merchants and the Traveller's Alley were as busy as during the day. While the Boulevards were lit, lined by trees and bordered by stores of eldar that had come from distant craftworlds, the Alley was gloomier, the light mostly in shades of blue, purple and red, and music echoed in the air. Only recently Yaidev had left Derahnim's apartment, earlier than he would have liked and was now heading for a bar, popular with many Rangers. The sound of flutes, drums and string instruments reached her ears, while the sweet smell of alcoholic drinks hung light in the air. She passed a silky curtain and looked around in the twilight of the bar, until she saw a familiar face. It also saw her. A woman with snow-white hair smiled and waved, dressed in shades of green and brown. The table at which she sat barely reached up to Yaidev knees and she sat down on another cushion opposite to her friend.
The eldar gave her one of the drinks she'd ordered beforehand. "Yaidev, I had hoped you've received my message."
"Welcome back to Saim-Hann, Nizerah. I was honestly surprised when you contacted me. What brings you back so soon?"
"A friend wishes to meet me here; he's a Ranger of my party." She drank her green liquor and winked. "My offer from last time still stands, should you have changed your mind."
Yaidev lifted her hand and shook her head. "Thank you, but yet again I must decline. As fascinated as I am by the worlds you've told me about, I fear them almost as much. My place is here, at least for now."
Clearly disappointed Nizerah nodded, but then smiled. "Maybe you reconsider in a century or two. In the meantime, I thought you might like to meet this friend mine; he's coming from a trip to Ulthwé, after he returned Spirit Stones we've recovered and he's bringing a new Ranger."
This news was rather exiting. Nizerah herself was from Biel-Tan, other Rangers that came here were mostly of Saim-Hann or Aliatoc; never had she met an eldar of Ulthwé, or a Ranger new to the Path of the Outcast. "When will your friends arrive?"
"They have about an hour ago; I expect them shortly." It was obvious that the ranger was delighted about Yaidev's reaction.
"So." The poet began, taking her first sip of her amber drink. "Where have you gone to, since last time? It has been barely more than a fortnight."
"A close by world, uninhabited but lush, covered with endless forests. The only downside were the vicious predators, some big enough to dare consider an eldar their prey."
"A lovely thought to be sure." They drank, until two minutes later Nizerah nodded her head towards the entry. Yaidev turned her head to see two men enter, both similar dressed to Nizerah. One of them had his hair dyed dark blue, almost matching his eyes, the other wore his white hair in a high ponytail, though other than Nizerah, his eyes were silver; he also seemed more insecure. They approached the table and the two women stood up to welcome them. Nizerah hugged the one with blue hair, a strangely intimate gesture for eldar, before turning to the poet. "Yaidev, may I introduce Lithandril, a long time Ranger and friend of Aliatoc."
He bowed politely. "Ah, the poet I've heard about. Maybe I too have a worthwhile story for your…collection?"
"I only wish to create works of art, and so few concern the efforts of the outcasts."
"Sadly yes, not many care for what some of us do for the craftworlds. Nizerah, have you ever told her of the times we went to a Crone World?" For a moment, Yaidev held her breath; the Crone Worlds, former center of the eldar Empire, now within the Immaterium and the only source of Waystones, as Spirit Stones were sometimes called as well. Visiting those worlds was necessary, but it meant entering the realm of She-Who-Thirsts. The thought alone was terrifying and the Rangers clearly saw her distress. Lithandril chuckled. "I see you have not. But first let me introduce Ronahn of Ulthwé."
The other eldar bowed as Lithandril had and they sat down at the table. "Is this the first time you visit another craftworld?" Yaidev asked curiously.
He nodded. "Yes, we come straight from Ulthwé."
"They say your craftworld is home to many seers, more than any other."
"But less Aspect Warrior's as a result." Ronahn explained. "In times of war we must heavily rely on Guardian troops. We are also less visited by travellers and merchants, as far as I can tell; it would seem Ulthwé is not popular with them."
"The Mealstrom's fault to be sure. Well, unless maybe one is travelling to the Crone Worlds." Lithandril reminded him.
"I'm grateful you left me behind for that particular venture." Ronahn admitted honestly.
Almost offended Nizerah looked at old friend. "You've gone there without me, or our crew?"
He smiled at her, regret in his eyes. "Apologies, but another party asked for my assistance while I was away and I simply could not refuse. Besides, when I returned to Ulthwé I picked up Ronahn to join our merry band."
"Still, I'd like to know next time you embark on such an expedition. After all, you are one of our leaders."
"I thought there were no ranks among the outcasts?" Yaidev remarked.
Nizerah nodded in agreement. "No, usually not, not among Rangers anyway, but we usually still respect experience and seniority." She gave a taunting glare to her friend.
"I promise Nizerah, next time I'll let you know." With a dazzling smile, Lithandril turned to Yaidev. "Now, as we are on the subject, the Crone Worlds as you know, lie within the Immaterium and were deformed by its powers. Our once great cities are now home to the ghost of the dead and daemons alike and though it's grand and beauty is still evident, much of what you see is meant to lure you, to trap you in Her realm. The first time I went there, I ventured with corsairs and Harlequins. We'd split up to cover more ground and one of the pirates was confronted with a maiden's ghost, his purpose or the dangers were quickly forgotten. Soon the first demons arrived, most of which were daemonettes. All we could do was flee, with barely a stone secured. We escaped, but the pirate was lost, his soul a plaything for sardonic demons. This is what happens if you don't listen to the Harlequins."
The other woman rolled her eyes. "I fear you do little to convince our friend here to join us one day."
"In my five hundred years as a Ranger, I've been to the Crone Worlds only four times and as an outcast, one has always the choice not to go, or to join with another crew, maybe travel alone, to state it plainly; stay may stay wherever she wishes. Besides, many one day return to their craftworld and return to the Paths; despite our name, we're not banished after all."
Silently Yaidev listened to them, trying to imagine what the Crone World looked like. There were only few writings at her disposal, describing what happened to those worlds, or what it was like there now, but what Lithandril told matched them. She admired both Rangers, for going to those places and in Nizerah's case, eagerly so. As she turned to the third, Yaidev wondered what had moved Ronahn to join them. He seemed curious and uncomfortable at the same time, his whole attention fixed on his new companions, who were discussing where they should travel next. Maiden Worlds came up, rumours of ancient eldar ruins long forgotten after the Fall and somehow asking Ronahn for his reasons became gratuitous.
Two cycles later the Rangers left Saim-Hann and Yaidev returned to her art. Her apartment was small, consisting of only a single room, with a round bed on the far side, shelves carved into the white wraithbone filled with writings and gems, similar to the Waystones, but storing memories instead of souls, transmitting their information to those who connected with them. Only few eldar still used ink and paper, but for Yaidev it felt essential, at least when creating her works and she liked the rough feeling of paper when she wrote. Her table was covered with pages, the runes on them arranged at random to a casual beholder; they weren't finished just yet. Writer's block happens even to eldar.
It was afternoon, when suddenly she felt a psychic presence reaching out for her, so she touched the wraithbone and opened her mind. "Yaidev, your presence is required by your clan. A gathering has been called."
She frowned at her cousin's message. Usually the families only came together in times of war, dispute between clans, or great celebrations. The Infinity Circuit was calm and peaceful, making one of the latter two more probable. As it was expected from her, she donned the red and green robe of her clan, two golden snakes intertwined printed on her back and wrapped a black cloth around her waist. She tied her hair into a top-knot and put on her rarely used make-up, blood red along her eyes, and a single line from her bottom lip over her chin.
Quickly Yaidev left her home and headed for the nearest avenue, walking through wide hallways of forest green wraithbone, countless leaves having been formed from it at the ceiling. In mere ten minutes she had reached her destination and put a hand on the white skeleton structure of which the avenue was constructed of and stretched throughout the entire craftworld like arteries and veins through her own body. Once she touched the lightly glowing wraithbone, Yaidev called a glider with her mind.
One landed mere minutes later, with two other eldar already on board, one of them like her of the Stormrider clan. He respectfully bowed his head, same as her and she sat down, once the vehicle took to the air again. Yaidev felt nervous: she was not as pugnacious as her family, not since she'd become a poet and she hardly expected a warm welcome of her father, their clan's chief. Over the last years she's gotten the impression that he saw in her a disgrace and it pained her deeply.
It took the glider fifteen minutes to reach Stormriders' dome, a small section on Saim-Hann reserved for the clan alone to live and train. Essentially it was a great plaza, the only buildings lining the wall of the dome. Most were towers, tall and white, while others were wide halls with only two or three stories, housing the clan's vehicles, trees and other plants having been planted in front of them. Around fifty eldar lived there at the time, some of those who had taken Paths not requiring them to seek outside stimulation, as the artists, or remain in one of Khaine's Shrines, like the warriors.
As Yaidev and her relative exited the glider, she saw many of her clan was already assembled, the eldar gathering close to the center, all wearing the same colours, but unlike her they were armed. Around two decades ago, Yaidev had left her weapons behind, when she'd moved out. It had been months since her last visit, still she headed straight for her old home, the greatest, most masterfully crafted of the towers. Her mother stood outside in the shadow of a green leaved, deciduous tree, despite centuries still looking so much like her daughter, though her hair was dark brown and braided into several strands. Each put a hand on the other's shoulder as a welcome. "Yaidev, my daughter; welcome home." Alandis said with a smile, though it lacked warmth.
"Thank you, mother. Why has the clan been called?"
"A dispute with the Wrathbringer Riders. It appears Shadira has picked a fight with one of them. He's called Karaideth and claims that instead of repairs she has sabotaged his bike during our last battle against the orks a month ago. Today it will be settled by duel to first blood."
At least this duel would not be lethal then. Yaidev had not been with her clan, when Saim-Hann had assisted a Maiden World last month; only Aspect Warriors and a few Wild Rider clans had been called to war. She knew well that her absence was just another insult to her parenty, since families usually rode side by side in times of war. Until she had not proven herself in battle, she could not perform the final ritual to become a full member of her clan and so remained little more than an outsider. That a cousin and not her parents had called her here made it all the more evident to her, how cool their relationship had become.
Her mother's eyes caught something else in the distance and Yaidev turned her head. Jetbikes approached, about seventy as it looked. "While our 'guests' are here, you will stay with me." She told the poet, who only nodded compliantly. "And I suggest if you do not wish to lose the last bit of respect you hold in the clan, you should try standing up for yourself." At this Yaidev narrowed her eyes, angered and for the first time her mother looked somewhat contented.
As they headed to join their clan, they walked along the trees. At the council hall, they came across Shadira herself, standing in front of the great, richly decorated portal, who was waiting for their chief. While she had walked the Path of the Warrior many years ago, she was now a talented bonesinger, likely the reason why the Wrathbringer had allowed her to make repairs on his Jetbike. She smiled, when she saw her niece. "It is good to see you again, young Yaidev."
"And you, Shadira, though I wish it would have happened under different circumstances."
"Do not be troubled; I have survived worse than a blade's cut. As for you, my niece, you have been dearly missed in battle."
Slowly Yaidev felt herself getting annoyed at this notion. "Apologies, but my Path is a far too peaceful one, as that I could join you. However, once I leave the poet behind, I certainly will ride with you into battle."
Shadira nodded acceptingly. "Good news indeed, I can hardly await the day. But now excuse me, for I must finish the final preparations for the duel." With a bow to her aunt, Yaidev re-joined her mother, who had been waiting a few steps further and left Shadira behind.
The two clans gathered around the dome's center, mostly used for the Riders' training, forming an almost closed circle. Yaidev felt the tension in the air, finding it ridiculous, how such a small argument could turn so many against one another and she cursed the Saim-Hannian pride in her mind. From her clan, Shadira stepped into the ring, along with Yaidev's father Thalduin. Even for an Eldar he began to look old, silver lines showing in his otherwise blood-red hair. Still, he was probably the most capable warrior of the Stormriders and to this point had defeated every challenger, who thought to take his place.
Shadira herself was dressed in red Guardian armour, her slender face painted not with make-up, but her own blood. She looked stern and confident, her body however was tense. From the other side her adversary appeared, a man about a head taller than her, dressed and painted same as Shadira. With him came, who Yaidev assumed to be the Wrathbringer's chief. It was uncanny how similar they looked, same size and same black hair as well. Brothers, maybe, the poet mused. No wonder this petty dispute had gone so far.
Both pairs met at the center, where they curtly bowed before one another. Shadira gave her sword to the Wrathbringer's chief, Karaideth his to Thalduin. They checked the blades and handed them back to their owners. Then the Wrathbringer's chief spoke, his voice audible to everyone in the dome. "This is a duel to first blood between Karaideth of the Wrathbringers and Shadira of the Stormriders. Their swords are the only weapons allowed in this fight, no psychic ability may be used and the first injury that draws blood, no matter how small or sever will count. Do you accept these rules?"
"Yes." The two said in union and the chiefs stepped aside, remaining close enough to judge the duel.
Within the next heartbeat, their blades clashed. He opened with a feint, his blade going for her throat and hers went up to meet it. Shadira was forced into the defensive, right at the beginning. Karaideth's sword started a series of attacks, however was always stopped briefly before touching his opponent. If this wasn't by the Stormrider's design, the outcome of this battle became quickly clear to everyone watching.
Shadira managed to knock his blade further up above their heads, going quickly for his leg. He dropped to kneel, blocking her strike. The hilt hit her against the wrist and her blade went passed him. Suddenly, like a maelstrom, Karaideth circled around her, his blade slashing through the air. The tip of her blade just managed to touch his, as she turned swiftly, but to no avail. The sword cut through flesh and bone. Shadira's body collapsed to the side due to the momentum, hitting the white wraithbone floor, a pool of blood quickly forming around her. It was absolutely silent when her head hit the ground, separated from her neck.
Yaidev fought herself not to gasp, eyes widening, her fists merely clenching, as the shock came over her. No. This was only supposed to last until the first drop of blood. "The first injury that draws blood, no matter how small or sever will count ". Damn them, she cursed, hot anger boiling inside her, seeing this pointless death, witnessing this lack of reaction of the Riders. Her heart was pounding in her chest. Damn them all.
Thalduin finally broke the silence. "Karaideth of the Wrathbringers is victorious." He announced calmly, is expression unmoved by what had occurred, though this outcome would be seen by other clans as a proclamation of the Wrathbringers' predominance.
Both Wrathbringers bowed respectfully. "Then our quarry is over and may our sister's soul find peace among our ancestors." Their chief proclaimed. "Next time our clans meet shall be against a common enemy again, Lord Thalduin." Yaidev's father bowed as well, giving his farewell.
Slowly the crowd dispersed, with only a Seer joining Thalduin next to Shadira's corps to collect her Spirit Stone. Yaidev had not moved an inch staring at the scene before her. "Don't be upset." Her mother's words, though not sounding dismissive, stabbed her like daggers. "This has been our way for millennia; she died honourably. Alive her defeat would have shamed both her and us."
"We both now she would have never sabotaged a fellow Rider's bike." Yadiev replied coldly.
"That is of no consequence; Karaideth's victory today proves him right. This matter is over, child." Her eyes narrowed at her daughter. "You may return to your home, before you do anything foolish."
Yaidev didn't listen and went straight for her father. "Yaidev!" She was a Stormrider, daughter of the chief Thalduin; she had every right to speak with him. Her mother didn't call out again, or tried to stop her; Yaidev doubted she cared enough, but that wasn't her concern now. If Thalduin noticed her approaching, he didn't show it until his daughter stood right behind him.
"If you are appalled by our traditions, it would be wiser to keep your thoughts to yourself, poet."
With a deep breath she calmed herself down before speaking. "It is less our traditions, then your indifference. Shadira was my aunt and your sister."
"Grief is pointless; her soul is safe and shall rest within the Infinity Circuit." Only now did he turn around and faced her, his expression stern and unmoved. "After centuries of war and countless battles, a death, however tragic does no longer move me like you young ones…especially those, who turned their back on our traditions."
"It is merely one Path of many I shall take throughout my life, but you speak as if I were lost already."
"Even if you are not, it will shape you; you look upon us like an outsider, you see us as savages, or at the very least some of our practices." Sadness took to his gaze. "How could I trust you to uphold such traditions?" He sighed. "What do you know of the hardships of warriors? You have never fought amongst them."
Her teeth brushed her lower lip. For millennia now, her family was leading the Stormriders into battle and as it was, Yaidev was Thalduin's only child. Should he now fall in battle, her mother would succeed him, but since she wasn't a born Stormrider, the other families of the clan would certainly challenge her and Yaidev, with little experience as a fighter, was no real obstacle either. She knew this; she knew this but had chosen to ignore it.
Why should her entire life revolve around her family and clan? Was her life not restricted enough by the Paths? Yaidev felt she had reached a point where she no longer cared, who the Rider's chief was, as long as he led them wisely in peace and to victory on the battlefield. Her father would never see it that way. "There will always be someone to uphold them, Thalduin, it does not need to be me. Our family has led this clan in countless battles, but as eldar we ought to know better than anyone else that nothing lasts forever. I am not someone to rally behind, or lead others into the heat of battle and I will not be forced into such a position. Seek someone of our clan you deem worthy that he or she may succeed you, before they tear each other apart."
"Have you no pride, poet? You dismiss your rights so easily it is an insult to all of us. Perhaps I'd do you a favour, if I was to cast you out." His eyes closed, as he shook his head slightly. "You have gone soft; as a child you could hardly await the day that you would ride with us into battle and now you only return to us when called; don't get lost to us."
If anything she was lost for words, her emotions in turmoil. Despite everything, Yaidev was proud to be a Wild Rider of Saim-Hann, anticipating the first time she would fight alongside her brothers and sisters, instead of simply writing about them. Had being a poet change her so much? "You won't lose me and you won't cast me out." She decided coldly. "This is still about Shadira; I don't mind the duels, but to kill our own. Don't we have enough enemies, are we no better than our fallen brethren?" Her voice was getting louder as she spoke.
"Do not dare such comparison, or to speak with me in such a tone. If you leave now I will forget your discourtesy, Yaidev. I must attend to my sister's amalgamation with the Eternal Matrix." Without giving her another glance, he went past her, after the seer, who had taken off during their conversation. Yaidev didn't look after him, her anger fresh as ever. He had just forbidden her to pay her last respect to her aunt. Had anything she'd said even reached him? She couldn't stay here, or she would do something foolish. With swift steps, she crossed the plaza, heading out, ignoring the few who seemed to have watch from afar. Had they heard them, even from such distance? It didn't really matter; let them think whatever they want.
…
Yaidev's feet seemingly moved on their own. She wandered through mostly empty alleys, not even noticing the other eldar, evading her, when she passed them. Her anger had not diminished over time and it frightened her. Of course she'd been angry before, naturally only temporary, but not today. Her fury was consistent for what appeared to be hours and as Yaidev contemplated everything that had happened she suddenly noticed that she no longer knew where she was.
This part of Saim-Hann seemed gloomier, the ceiling closed up and no gliders flew above her. Few eldar walked here and it was unnaturally silent, still this didn't frighten Yaidev, which confused her. She moved on, certain that there was a reason for her to be here. Eventually she reached a plaza, from which at least a dozen roads led away and over each, carved into the wraithbone arches, runes. Suddenly it became obvious where she'd gone. Most of those runes represented the Shrines of Khaine and this was his temple, home to all Aspect Warriors. No wonder, civilians didn't wander here.
At the plaza's center was a garden, trees encircling it, shielding everything within from her eyes. Yaidev walked along the circle, until she reached an entry. She stepped on the grass and looked around. Shrubs and knee-high trees grew here and there, probably in some kind of shape she couldn't recognize from her perspective and behind them a group of eldar was conversing with one another. They all wore different vestments, the dark blue of the Dire Avengers, another in the green of the Striking Scorpion, two in the red and black of the Warp-Spiders and so on. As Yaidev came closer, they quieted down, their attention turning to her. Their cool presence no longer bothered her, instead it was almost soothing, like cool rain, biting but welcomed.
The Dire Avenger approached her, his blonde hair braided and his dark eyes, carefully studying her. "What is your name, neophyte?"
Neophyte? She was no neophyte. "I am Yaidev of the Stormriders and poet."
A cool smile briefly appeared on the warrior's lips. "No longer; we can sense Khaine's touch upon you and he is calling you to a new Path. You are to be a warrior and so the Infinity Circuit has guided you here. Tell us, Yaidev of the Stormriders, what is the nature of your anger and what do you fear?"
Yaidev wasn't sure where he was going with this. The Path of the Warrior: honestly she'd hoped not to walk on it so soon; she had always been so calm. "I was a poet and yet I lack the words to describe it." She confessed slowly. "With every fibre I wish to destroy, to vent this hatred running havoc in my veins…and yet I do not desire the fray, as if I wanted to stay aloof."
"Not a Banshee then." A woman remarked.
The man in green folded his arms. "And neither a Scorpion."
"Tell us more." The Dire Avenger encouraged her. "If you can; remember nothing you say here will reach another's ears. Tell us your thoughts, no matter how dark or awkward they may seem to you."
Yaidev swallowed. "I repulse at the risk of battle and its suffering."
A sigh came from one of the Warp Spider. "Then you lack the recklessness for our ways and some others'."
"And yet for some reason I do not fear death, I feel willing to stand my ground and I want those who stand against me to respect, if needed to fear me." She concluded, looking expectantly at the Avenger, awaiting his answer.
Instead the eldar, who so far had remained sitting quietly in the back, spoke. "Then I shall take her with me." His voice was deep for an eldar, his black hair short, eyes stern and dark green. The warrior wore a black robe, a bone coloured band around his waist. A Dark Reaper.
The Aspect Warriors considered his words and one by one they slowly nodded. "It shall be so." The Dire Avenger agreed and the Reaper stood up.
"Come, Yaidev of the Stormrider clan. It is time you walk with new siblings into battle."