Not that there was a particularly long time to count those blessings, as the quick creeping tendrils snapped about me like the ropes and spears of feral man trying to bring down a behemoth. Had my hands been anything more than raw slabs of torn and shredded fat, muscle, and bone, any resistance I could have put up might have been worth something. Unfortunately, they couldn't have sewn themselves back together fast enough if they had been nearly as eager to not die as their owner. Now doing all he could to not do so. The fleshy vines and folds slowly tugged me into their strange bosom, pulling me into a cold moist embrace. My final action, before I was pulled under, was to curse the name of my captor as I fell into an inky darkness.
The darkness' existence still frightens me, for it was not the flesh or ichor. I could see the faces in the abyss, the very foundation of the Dark Prince's realm, the endless souls that had been consumed by the monsters that swore allegiance to She Who Thirsts. In escaping my chains I threw myself into the abyss. A thought I did not take lightly as I began to sink into an oily darkness, a billion-billion souls crying out to me as a spark of life they had forgotten, unsure of what was about to become of me. I had made a gamble, one that even Jack Kent would have doubted the devil's hand for. Now, whether I wished to comprehend the end or not, I had little choice but to see it through. It felt like I was sinking at first, into a mire thicker than the worst heaps of grease and gunk that would form on the Mechanicum's transcendent engines. I simply let myself sink to the silence of this xenological sea of pneuma.
In that moment of inanimateness, I was trapped, nothing seemed real in the blackness. It was strange to know oneself as I did at that moment. I could feel each and every individual molecule of my body having the souls endless dead passing over them. In the horror frozen faces, I could see their lives reflected in their eyes. Endless lifetimes playing out before me from the view of those who witnessed them each ending in this realm of the subconscious. I floated farther into the darkness with each and every moment, wondering if I am how long until I was just another screaming face in the darkness.
A flicker of a halcyon light soon cut through the darkness. If I had not been in this realm, I might have likely ignored it as an optical phenomenon. With a brief renewal of effort, I attempted to swim through the oil and mire of the world about me. It was slow and prodding, but the light grew closer with each and every swing of my arms. If I was to describe it though, it was like floating through the void of space as if all but a single star had gone out, no matter how hard one struggled you would only move so fast and you only had so much control of yourself, which amounted to near nothing.
My hand barely graced the light when I find myself once again in my cell, floating just off the floor. I looked down at the sown flesh floor and the sinew which could not seem to grab me. I tried to set my hands against it and found my twisting fleshy hands upon a barrier which I could not see and felt like nothing and yet it was there, "by The Throne of Terra." The words came like a whisper, I thought none would hear them. I was not sure if I was actually dead or not, given that I would be in this same hell I was unsure how much it might have actually mattered.
"The throne of man shines bright, but its light shines not here," the words were ethereal and almost ghostly at first but there was a strength behind it. I pushed my head up to look at a figure most odd.. The man was dressed in a skin-tight leotard with a diamond pattern adorned in colors of a black as obsidian, a purple most authoritative, and a gold as if the metal had been heated till it was molten. "Welcome wanderer child. My master sends his regards," as if to accent his words the man gave a full body wave of the hand. The figure's face was obscured by a mask that showed extreme happiness in the greatest of exaggerations. The mask was made of porcelain with gold painted lips. The eyes were surrounded by decorative plates of a reddish purple and onyx black. It's eyes we an ever-changing kaleidoscope rift of color. His long purple dyed hair was pulled into a horsetail, though it spread out like a peacock at the top of his head. He was not this dissimilar to the jesters that once entertained the courts of now long dead nobility in Terran antiquity if not for the greatly armored duster that hung upon his shoulders. A cloud of crystal shards slowly danced and swirled around him with the same vigor as his movement, as he stood they were slow even unmoving but as he waved a hand they spun about and interweaving between his fingers.
Starring up to the figure dressed in onyx and gold, standing so tall above me, I watched as he kept in constant motion from subtle shifts of weight which at first might have seemed like balance keeping, but the keener eye could see the dance beneath it all. "You're a clown?" That was all the great Machiavellian skill I could muster to pose my question. To be honest it was all I could manage in my stupor and confusion. To my credit at the time though, he did appear as a clown.
The harlequin only shook his head, its face never wavering from its joyous smile. The clown choosing to wag a finger in my direction, "I am one who dances, the dance of the Great Jester. One who laughs with the God of Grins" The figure gave the most verbose of bows one could give, though he moved with such an unnatural grace that it looked like nothing.
"You don't say, good for you then," I muttered, rolling my eyes, as I began to push myself up from the nonexistent floor. Trust in me when I say it is better to not think of such oddities for long. After a few moments, I found myself face to face with the harlequin. The Great Jester, the term was familiar, something screaming in the back of my head, trying to tell me something and yet the more I tried to grasp at it, the quicker it faded from me. I attempted to brush my armor only to have forgotten that long ago most had been lost to me, the Aquila ring upon my finger was the only metal that still touched my flesh, how I managed to stay on I couldn't say. "I have personally had more than enough interaction with beings that claim that they are servants of god's if it is all the same to you, " I would stop bushing myself before continuing, "no offense." My eyes though stopped I took him in, and the pointed ears slipping free from his mask, "that is unless you're the cavalry for me?" It had not been exactly what I had been expecting. An Eldar dressed in such a way that his every movement gave one an eyesore from the endless stream of colors and flashing lights had not been the knight in shining armor that I have come to think of might save me. Not that I was opposed to the idea. No in all truth my heart began to flutter, Emperor bless the bastard if I was to be free.
The harlequin gave an audible sigh, "The blood of the Mon-keigh flows like a fire most strong in your veins," I thought for a moment to raise an argument to this statement as it sounded more than vaguely as in insult. It was not a wrong statement it was just the tone. The masked face seemed to look upon me and while it did not move, the smile seemed to grow smaller and the joy seemed to fade. I knew something was wrong even before the golden harlequin began to speak again, "Your's is a wandering soul, neither Aledari nor Mon-keigh. To this your soul belongs to many players and yet none hold sole claim so must you dance to their tunes. From this realm though, I can free you no…" I swung at the jester before the pansy git could speak another word. While I had no idea what I had been expecting much at that time, that moment I felt as if I had been sentenced again to the damnation about me. I didn't even see the Eldar move before he stood at my side, my fist impacting on air, I swung at him again with similar results. My third punch the harlequin did not attempt to evade and I felt his silken hand's holding my fist as one might have stopped a child. "Are you done?"
Ignoring his question I stared into those eyes ever changing in color and asked, "if I can not leave this place then why come for me it all, could have left me in the darkness for all the help you are gonna be." Blood was boiling as I looked at him.
The harlequin twisted my arm, till my arm was about to pop out of its socket, swearing at me, "Ceiba-ny-shak", which proper sensibilities and limitations of language forbid me from explaining.
"Speak Gothic you pansy git," I spat with a grin to ignore the pain, "or I'll make you."
If my words got any rise out of him it did not show, his breathing slowed after a few moments and the calm returning, "slavhreenur is not beyond you. By acts and rites now ancient, by the grace of a deathless raven, a bulwark rests about your soul to preserve it from the darkness of this other realm. If you wish to see you home again," I stopped my struggling as I heard those words, there was a chance that I could see Vulk again it seemed like a lie, a lie I wanted to believe, "travel this sunless sea to find a land where the twin worlds touch if you ever to break the bounds of the boundless world. While I may not create the inferno I can help, the first of the kindling I can provide."
The words did not seem real even as the passed from my lips,"you mean I could get out of the warp." As jumbled as most eldar speech was when they were trying to bestow knowledge upon others that much was certainly clear enough, there was an unmistakable smugness in words that made it clear to a good ear. The nameless figure twisting my arm was not doing much to actually improve my mood, but blessed was an apt feeling. The news sparked a small kindle of hope in my chest, my word came with a hunger "how?"
The harlequin only nodded in response, the grin on his mask seeming to grow ever wider without actually moving, "your souls holds true in a land where nothing is true. It is one of the many gifts of flesh and yet is also a curse in this ocean of our universe's base instincts and rawest emotions. The creatures of the shroud are limited only by the choice and the nightmares of their baleful Promethei. If you are willing to dance the Dance of Death and walk the thousand twisting paths of fate. You may see the freedom that you wish. "
I could not help myself a small chuckle, by the Emperor, there's a chance, even if it were a gamble that no sane man would ever take, there was one."If it's all the same to you that dancing has never been my strong suit, and at the moment I don't exactly have a partner, unless your volunteering, I prefer something a bit less alive." I figured that the Harlequin would understand his kind always seem to, I did not know how I would survive ten minutes in this realm out of this cell let alone without a weapon.
My words did not even see to phase, he simply shook his head, "slavhreenur is closer than you believe, tied to your blood. May its light guide the way to your in it, it will find its way to you as it did before, as the hound returns to its master and guards his hearth heart. So it shall be. May its light guide the way to your enemies." The harlequin set out his hands as one might if they were to receive something and nodded at me, instructing me to follow suit. "If I may," I watched as the silken hands drew back and their master sat them upon my head. They were the softest touch and yet they were so familiar. The Eldar let his two fingers fall down upon my eyes. His voice seemed different now it sounded like an old man who was reliving memories and wishing for a better day, "Two hands I may offer you on this pack waywalker. First, look for the shadow lost in darkness. There is a silence which wishes only to scream for its freedom, lost in this archive of our great enemy. You will find one who might share in your burden. You must ask without speaking the name true to its soul and with that bind it. Know that your song is not alone, many play its tune, you must simply find them. In my second hand, Cailingloic'shelwe"
The harlequin pulled away his hands a moment later, and as my eyes begin to open, I called out, "who are you?" The question was meaningless as I found that he had since vanished, and a familiar weight was set in my hands. Looking down I saw the emerald green metal with a mix of golden runecraft and finely written in the flowing script of High Gothic. It read a single name, Yorke. If I was to tell you that I understood how my blade got to me then I would have been lying, it would have been many mortal years before I ever truly understood the events that just transpired.
A single silent thanks passed from my lips to the nameless harlequin, that took me from that black cerulean flame of the blade roaring to life ever brighter as my hands wrapped around the hilt. With a prayer on my lips, the blade was plunged into the fleshy mass, which withered and writhed. A bloody ooze poured from the fresh scar. The blood of a dozen species pouring down into a collective pool that looked more like a collective oily sludge than a dozen metallic bloods as I pushed myself into the wall.
Wow, I managed two in two weeks... I just wanted to get this out before focusing on some midterms. Thanks for the favorite fixerbacta.
Why not check out my other stories on my FF or FP of the same name.m
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