Basic hostel accommodations in any universe were largely the same, plain of decor and essentially guided by functionality. The greatest advantage, in this case, was that it was quiet and not besieged by masses of Dark Eldar lurking in the corners.
Tarna certainly noticed the stiffened rigidity of her 'slave' at the suggestion made by the proprietor, but he remained silently aloof as the door closed behind them. After making sure the door was locked, she went over and let out a ragged sigh, burying her face in her hands.
The Eldar's eyes narrowed as the door locked, but he did nothing for the moment as she moved away, still mindful of the collar even though his hands might now be bound. A choice would have to be made, but he was uncertain just at this moment what game his 'owner' was playing, if she was playing one at all. He could trust nothing at the moment, beyond the certainty he would not return alive and whole to his Craftworld again.
Tarna went to take a seat somewhere, trying to force some of the tension out. "Hate this place so much..." she mumbled. "I'll be more than happy to be gone from here once I'm done here..."
The Eldar sunk into a crouch, studying her thoughtfully, searching for any sign of deception. He was no Farseer to look into the soul of another, but it would seem that she was being truthful, but...
"I do not understand," he said quietly, watchful, "You say you loathe this land and yet it is kith and kin to you. Why? Unless it is simply ruse and shadow."
Tarna snorted softly, gesturing at her attire. "It's not. I'd never in a thousand years choose to wear something like this. And I've never been here before in my life, and never hope to come here again, either."
He frowned lightly. "Then why are you here, if not from another Warp-tainted den of the dark kin? Surely no Craftworld would be so mad as to send one of its own to seek to infiltrate here." He pauses and shook his head. "At least Iyanden would not, in certainty."
"I was sent here on a, erm, 'quest', by a certain deity with a strange sense of humor," Tarna murmured quietly. "And I'd very much like to do what I came here to do and leave."
"Quest? Deity with a strange..." he replied with confusion, then winced suddenly at the implication. "That One has tasked you with something here? Legion are the tales of the Harlequins' devotion and madness, but I would have believed even they would not be so lost to reason as to attempt something as this!"
"Every bloody second I'm here I think somebody's going to catch on and start shooting at me," Tarna muttered. "It's taken all my discipline and self-control to make it this far, and I don't even know where to go next. I barely even know what I'm looking for!"
"I fear I may aid you little in that," he replied with a sigh.
He motioned to the tattered remnants of the shipsuit his captors had left him with as a typically sadistic ploy that it might be used as a psychological scourge later.
"I am obviously no more familiar with this land than you are, other than having faced its denizens upon varied fields of battle," he said. "Would that it were within my power to do so, I do not envy your plight."
"No, I don't expect you could, really," Tarna murmured. "But I couldn't just leave you to the hands of these... these... disgusting..." She cut off a string of expletives and rubbed her head a bit.
"You have my gratitude in that," he said softly, "What I may do I certainly shall, I swear it. Such a place is anathema to the Eldar, yet still may I find some measure of redemption by assisting in some manner upon the mad quest set before you. Better by far, than death in distant lands without purpose."
He finishes on a note that is strangely mixed of melancholy resignation and a soldier's simple and irrefutable determination.
Tarna mused pensively. "Maybe if I could find a map or something, I should be able to... hmmm..." She broke off her train of thought and glanced up at him. "What's your name?"
"Melaran Sadron," he replied with considerable poise, his rise and formal bow seeming wholly out of place in the setting and yet perfectly natural for him. "And I would be glad of the name of she who served to deliver me from the most recent of my misfortunes..." he prompted, straightening and arching a single elegant brow in query.
"Tarna Tanson," she replied, looking over at him and giving him a nod.
"Tarna Tanson," he mused, the name seeming odd on his tongue, but shuttered the idle thought aside for the moment as he crosses to settle onto the edge of a sea. "What, then, is the object of your quest? What intelligence were you given prior to its undertaking?" If any at all, considering the source of quest and presumed origin. "Perhaps in this might be found some glimmer of the path which may be pursued."
Tarna summarized what he'd told her about this part of it.
Mulling the recollection, Melaran replied thoughtfully, "Finding this temple should be no great feat, in truth. I suspect that they are not so far from some very basic tenets of design from their origins and would construct such a facility within the very heart of their land. It would likely not-" he smirked faintly, "-be quite such a simple task to gain entry to the halls within which might hold what you seek."
"Well, I've done plenty of stupider things in my lifetime," Tarna said dryly, but didn't bother to elaborate on that. "At least in this case nobody's shooting at me yet. So far so good, right?"
"A sufficient definition of a successful exercise in infiltration, yes," Melaran agreed with a faint chuckle. "And now you must only find that path, continue your charade, and gain access to the heart of this tainted land. A simple enough task for a follower of that One, I'm sure," he finished with a bemused shake of his head.
"I'm not..." She shook her head a bit. "Oh, Abyss with it. Now, what about you? Hmm..."
"You're not... what, Tarna Tanson?" Melaran prodded lightly, "I know full well that I am a Guardian of Craftworld Iyanden, warrior and defender of the Eldar race, and no matter that I am lost to that home of the soul for now as it shall always be here." He touched his chest. "What, then, are you or are you not certain of or claiming affiliation to? Hesitation in even small things may bring death when Chaos walks."
"I'm not precisely a follower of that particular deity," Tarna muttered reluctantly. "In fact, I'm not exactly an Eldar at all. Erm. Regardless of what I might look like at the moment. This might sound a bit absurd, but I'm not even from this universe at all."
"Why does this bring hesitation, then?" Melaran asked bluntly.
The revelation was perhaps odd, but not beyond the bounds of the bizarre that the Laughing God was known to be capable of from time to time, and actually clarified some curiosity as to her unfamiliar mannerisms.
"The Prankster is always an element of the random," Melaran said, "and thus in ill favor with the greater part of the Eldar, yet never has he stood against the soul of what we are. I am inclined to believe that such a jest would be his subtle hand at work in some even grander one, but I am also of the belief that he has chosen someone of merit to pursue it. You need not have acted in my regard, Tarna Tanson, and yet you did. That speaks well of your soul, particularly in this universe of madness and unending war."
"This universe is crazy, I'll give you that," Tarna muttered. "And Chaos has come and invaded my universe now. And my home was always, well, crazy in a different manner." She smirked. "But it was comparatively peaceful. There were even actually periods of time in which large quantities of people weren't actively attempting to kill one another."
"Are we mad for wishing to survive, or surviving simply because we are mad?" Melaran chuckled lightly, his demeanor gradually easing. "If you are only now seeing the effects which the Foul Gods inflict, then you are fortunate indeed as we have suffered their vile touch for longer than I remember, and my youth is centuries past. Does not the concept of their evil bring a desire to combat it in the interest of simply being the 'right' thing?"
"That we did not know that particular evil does not mean we did not have our own evils, of course," Tarna murmured. "And I think I've put up with one or another for far too long. Right? Hmm..."
Tarna pondered for a moment, and realized for how long those concepts had been alien to her. And realized that at some point, she somehow had ended up no longer being a demon. She blinked for a moment in startlement at that realization.
"Someone once told me that even a soldier must know the right of things, to seek within his own heart to answer questions that could otherwise lead to the grip of Chaos," Melaran said quietly. "Fight for nothing save the pleasure of it, or the blind obedience of orders, and inevitably shall you fall prey to the Blood God or worse."
He offered a palm-up 'shrug', memories still fresh of recent events.
"Even the Gods of this world, while acting in ways which are often beyond our ken, show some inclination to one side of that question or the other," Melaran said.
"It's been so long since I ever even had a moment to really think about it without being pulled along to one thing or another against my will." Tarna's voice sounded oddly distant and thoughtful.
Settling back in the seat with languid ease, Melaran looked at her quietly for a long moment before speaking again, "And what of this, then, has you so suddenly lost to thought, Tarna Tanson? Musing upon distant places and times, or something of more immediate concern? We are, at present, in as peaceful a location as might be obtained in this dark place, it may aid your spirit to ponder what concerns you."
Tarna replied quietly, with some reluctance, "I can't say that I have always walked the path of what you might call good and right. I once fell into the trap of Chaos myself against my will. I can only be glad that there are those of my people who discovered a way to cleanse that taint." She stared at the floor.
Melaran mulled that over, the immediate innate response at declaration of Chaos taint blunted by his own recent experience and debt to her. Never had he heard of such a thing being possible, and yet he could not immediately dismiss it out of hand. Instead, he turned away from the thornier side of reaction with some difficulty to focus on the more 'practical' side of the matter.
"If true, then a decision obviously was made which provided and escape from the labyrinthine maze of darkness which the soul may find itself trapped within. That is... something in which you may hold pride, Tarna Tanson, and indeed that which must be admired. I might only wish that greater numbers might find it within themselves to turn aside from those blacker paths."
"Well, I can't claim it was entirely my decision at the time, as I wasn't really in much of a state to be thinking clearly," Tarna commented. "Though I must say I much prefer my thoughts to be my own. No, I went along with it willingly enough, but I figured if I didn't I'd get shot at. By one of your folks, I believe he was."
"Not wholly surprising," Melaran replied evenly enough, without apology. "We Eldar are, for the greater part and certainly within Iyanden, at a considerable disadvantage against those owing allegiance to the Foul Gods. With millennia of such conflict behind us, is it truly any wonder that our reactions are stringent and often violent when faced with that which would gladly destroy us with a moment's hesitation?"
He nods to indicate her, smiling thinly.
"Were it not for the circumstances of our meeting," Melaran went on, "I too would have found myself constrained by those same reflexes. We live in a dangerous universe, Tarna Tanson, as you have glimpsed in this place."
"Yes, I could hardly blame him, under the circumstances," Tarna chuckled softly. "Hmm, what was his name? Dolen, I think it was..." She looked off thoughtfully.
Melaran just looked at her blankly for a moment, then asked simply, "Dolen Ista?"
"Yes, that's it."
"Hmm," Melaran snorted lightly, shaking his head. "Then it would appear that I was not the sole member of that ill-fated expedition to be misplaced beyond all reason. I am not displeased to hear of it."
He inclined his head to her formally, a quiet smile emerging.
"It would seem I am indebted to you for bringing a moment of gladness to the heart as well, Tarna Tanson."
"You know him?" Tarna said. "Well, last I saw him he was alive and well, if a bit far from home." She chuckled softly.
"Yes, I know him," Melaran replied, "It was he who commanded the unit which I found myself separated from some time past and led through a series of misfortune to bring me here. It would seem that his occasional homage to the Prankster did not go wholly unnoticed, and I cannot say whether that is reassuring or ill-favored indeed." He chuckled softly.
Tarna grinned a bit. "Well. I can't say I'm sorry for having complied at any rate. And now... I'll rather choose to do what's right."
"I have found it much simpler to do so," Melaran replied, "Better by far than following the opposite path and finding the ghosts which haunt you to be aided by your own conscience."
He fell thoughtfully silent for a moment.
"The Prankster may not find full favor amongst the Eldar, yet in this gamble of chance will I readily thank him. To find paths crossed in such a manner, while the road behind may have been less than pleasant, is indeed something to be grateful of, Tarna Tanson," he finished softly.
Tarna smiled for a moment, and said, "I don't think I could have forgiven myself if I hadn't intervened." She sighed. "So, now, how do you suppose we're gonna get you home?"
"I am less concerned with that," Melaran replied, leaving his already-spoken gratitude unsaid further for now, "than that which has brought our paths together, Tarna Tanson. I would suspect that the Prankster has done nothing without forethought, and the pursuit of your quest may well lead to the other."
Survival assuming, he mused wryly, not something he could ever take for granted.
"Regardless, I feel compelled to do what I may to further your own stated destination that your own path might diverge from the quixotic whims of that One. I might..." he paused, looking at her with deliberate care and sparing no detail. "To continue as your slave might serve, yet where a slave might not pass a servant of that blood may. To add another facet to the charade may prove of value."
"I don't want to take you into greater danger than you are already in, but I would welcome the assistance if you're willing to help me..." Tarna said slowly.
"If you will allow it," Melaran replied, "then so shall it be until no longer wished for or fate decrees else. Danger..." He chuckled softly, "That is not something unknown or readily-avoided for anyone who steps upon the Guardian's Path. It would, in truth, be my honor and pleasure to serve."
He might not be able to accurately predict all actions of his dark kin, but at least there was some distant blood which might serve well.
Tarna bowed her head to him and said, "I'd be happy to have you along, then."
Melaran answered the nod with formal grace, then asked with a quirked grin, "What part would you of me then, Tarna Tanson? That of beaten and broken Eldar thrall? Or perhaps one of their own subservient males? I have observed enough of them that I might likely play the part, either way. I leave it to you to decide which might better serve your purpose."
"If you think you can manage the latter," Tarna murmured. "But how?"
"The only difficulty remains in that regard as to attire and..." Melaran indicated the collar with a faint grimace of distaste, "This. Our dark cousins are not so long removed from the Eldar that I would not readily pass for them in appearance, the similarity of grace and elegance evident in the form which you yourself bear. A challenge it shall be to overcome and restrain reflex, but I believe it to be possible."
Tarna gave a short nod. "Hmm, that part should be readily dealt with, I think, but where to find the 'clothes'? Meh, I wish I were as good as Azale at scrying and teleportation..."
She looked about the room on the off chance something might present itself. The room itself didn't present much in the way of options, save the comm unit sparking the memory of the smarmy hostel proprietor below.
It would likely not be difficult at all to arrange for appropriate attire from that venue, with the proper approach. Considering their attitude, the clothing acquired would likely be of a sort that would blend in seamlessly here, if no more concealing than her own. Tarna had no idea how she might manage that without sounding suspicious. She did, however, mull over the possibility.
Melaran idly tapped his fingers on his knee, pondering the problem, then offered the familiar hand-shrug.
"They are beneath your apparent status, it would seem, or they would likely have been greater difficulty in arranging accommodations here," Melaran said. "To delve into their process of thought is distasteful, yet useful in this, merely communicate your wishes without explanation. Rank and social status often attain the same unquestioning results."
Tarna sighed and silently prayed to whoever might care, and proceeded to call up the request. It was a little disturbing how quickly her voice changed from one moment to the next as she slipped back into her role.
The proprietor didn't answer the comm, having likely gone off for the night or headed to another pursuit, Tarna instead finding a male servitor at her disposal. This actually simplified matters quite a bit, as there was not the faintest hint of condescension or challenge in the male's attitude, quite servile and helpful in fact and arrangements are readily made in short order.
Melaran watches the transaction from off-screen, frowning faintly in distaste but said nothing until the connection is severed.
"This shall certainly be an exercise in playing a role, Tarna Tanson," he remarked blandly, "No part of our society would ever subvert their own personality so merely for 'status'. As it must be done, however, so shall it be done."
"I don't understand it in the slightest and don't really want to," Tarna said, restraining the urge to spit. "Even if some parts of it are similar to the way the Elkandu do some things, they're for very different reasons and others are vastly different."
"Society and the manner which you interact with it are significant factors for us all, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied in subdued fashion, "Just as I may have reacted differently in other settings, it would take a great deal to shake the foundations of what that one has likely endured through his existence. I find the ideal repugnant, but cannot blame such a one wholly when there are equally-repressive regimes elsewhere."
Tarna nodded absently, and murmured, "I suppose it's not a wonder, really, that Torn Elkandu fell so readily to Chaos. And in their case, it was a strict hierarchy based around magical power."
"Such strict delineations and power-hoarding structures are ever the tools and means of Chaos," Melaran replied grimly, "Were it not for the lifelong regime of self-discipline and meditation instilled in the Eldar, we too would fall readily to them as so long ago."
Tarna sighed and rubbed her head. "Things seem so hopeless sometimes, you know. There's few enough of the Elkandu, and fewer still who aren't invariably corrupted..."
Melaran smiled faintly, both melancholy and sadly wistful. "We of Iyanden know of failing numbers and dwindling population, Tarna Tanson," he said softly, "Some do indeed fall into the dark despair which inevitably leads to inaction and retreat into memories of the past, and yet..."
He shook the melancholy off with visible effort, his voice firm.
"Where there is yet life," Melaran continued, "there is reason to fight and continue to preserve what remains. Never surrender hope, in that direction you find only the damnation of the Warp waiting eagerly to devour your very soul. Strange to hear from a soldier? Merely obeying orders and flying from battle to battle? Even in this, is hope born, for activity in the path of what must be done for the greater 'right' will ultimately bring greater peace to the soul even should it prove to be for aught in your time."
Tarna shook her head a bit. "They're no different. They're no different! Why did I not see this before? Everyone's a lackey to somebody else. The strong ones sit around in their basements and get drunk and get whatever they want. The weak ones end up constantly running errands for one person or another who happens to be stronger than them. They sit around and are constantly making things and doing things for those stronger than them. In Torn Elkandu they listen to loud terrible music constantly and have orgies in the streets!"
Tarna buried her face in her hands. Melaran frowns deeply and rises, crossing to crouch beside Tarna.
"Be at ease, Tarna Tanson," he said gently, touching her hands with a light brush of fingertips. "This too shall pass, as it always must with the ages. You speak of horrors which are intimately familiar to me, and I say that the Foul Gods cannot, in the end, prevail. So long as ones such as you are willing to stand against them, their tide shall ebb once more."
Tarna sighed softly and lowered her hand, giving a bit of a nod. "I'll... yeah... alright..."
Melaran studied her in silence for a moment, then went on with a quiet smile, "From your own words, your universe has been largely peaceful, and that shall aid your cause greatly. At the least you do not possess races which will only deign to communicate with each other when faced by a common foe, elsewise at each others' throats and allowing the dark evil to slither unchecked in the Warp around them."
It was a brutal, but honest assessment, and one that could readily lead to a retreat into melancholy of his own, but he firmly dismisses the inclination.
"Even here," Melaran went on, "Chaos cannot stand against the combined or even individual wrath of those willing to fight it for long. Imagine what might happen in your own world, to see Chaos soundly defeated when such as you unite readily to achieve greater works!"
"No, not such as that," Tarna said. "There's different races, yes, but an Elkandu is still an Elkandu regardless of what species they happen to be. Since an Elkandu can get reborn as any race, they tend to learn fairly quickly to ignore that. But they abuse the mensch, the ones who aren't Elkandu and don't have their mental powers..."
"More the fools they, then," Melaran replied quietly, unmoving, "It is the heart of the people that cuts out the heart of Chaos, not simply its greatest champions. When Chaos finds no meat to add to its unholy engine, where then is their power? Such lessons may only be learned with time, yet they must be inevitably learned to stem the never-ending destructive cycle. One soul at a time, Tarna Tanson, that is all that each my save."
Tarna closed her eyes and said quietly, "'To save one soul is to save the entire world.' ... Where have I heard that before?"
Melaran chuckled softly. "I have heard philosophic variants upon the theme in many times and places, it is quite often an answer that even the greatest among us has reached. This simple truth matters more than grand schemes ever may, in the end, for it is truly the soul which matters. What power may rise from it? May it indeed be the one which shakes aside the ashes of death and bursts into flame to scour the blight fully at last? Of such questions do even simple soldier ponder in the darkest depths of night, when despair might else be their only companion."
He finished quietly, humor faded and yet not transformed to the melancholy which might be expected.
Tarna stared off thoughtfully. "The Elkandu fought a war over me. Over who would control me. Because I had some interesting abilities they wanted to use, and I wasn't strong enough to resist them. It wasn't really a pleasant situation to end up in."
"No, I would suppose that would not be," Melaran replied with a look of puzzlement. "Why would they battle each other for this, when allegiance and willful aid are ever more powerful bonds in the end than anything which might be forced upon you? Have they not learned the simplest truth that there is nothing so dangerous as 'controlling' against their will something which might one day turn against them?"
"Brainwashing. Mind control. Mental blocks against doing anything to harm them," Tarna said. "The higher-up Elkandu telepaths are quite good at what they do. If they wanted, they could completely rewrite your mind to make you think you were something else entirely..."
Melaran frowned disdainfully. "Just so do the priests of the Empire of Man believe, thinking to control the vast masses of the humans beneath them by whatever means they consider expedient. They too have failed to learn, despite seeing the consequences... from those masses come the greater part of the reinforcements for Chaos in this universe. Hubris, beyond mention."
"Being an inborn dreamwalker, they wanted to control me... And being a telepath myself, only a stronger telepath could hope to do so reliably. Dreamwalking is, I think, a lot more reliable of an ability back home than it is here, sadly..."
"And what is this dreamwalking," Melaran asked curiously. "Beyond perhaps its obvious meaning, at any rate, that they might wish to go to such foolish lengths to control it?"
"Well, in my universe, there's a thing we call the Dreamworld, or the Ethereal Plane. It's roughly equivalent to the Warp in this universe, but from as far as I can tell, a good deal calmer and easier to control. A dreamwalker has the innate ability to walk through this place and go to any world they want, observe reality without chance of detection, hide deep within it so that nobody can find them, stronger ones can even alter the features of the Dreamworld itself and the worlds contained within it..."
"I am not certain I would wish such an ability here, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied with an involuntary shudder and rose slowly. "Though the power might indeed be great, the dangers are beyond comprehension to traverse the Warp without exceeding caution. I pray you not use this ability, or have need of it here, else even the Prankster might be long and long in finding what remained of your soul and sanity."
"Hence why I have thus far limited my use of it to short-distance teleportation when absolutely necessary. That alone was enough to give me a hint that the 'Warp' here is not a friendly place. Although as the alternative at the time was being ripped apart by Tyranids, well..."
"Err yes, well," Melaran agreed, "One might see the usefulness of it in such an instance. They are not the most pleasant of foes in this place, though perhaps not truly on the same scale of 'evil' which Chaos might be considered. The Warp Spiders are examples of a Path which uses technology to produce a similar short-range effect, though, and their losses to the Warp are not all that uncommon."
"Yeah..." She sighed. "Back at home, the Dreamworld was like a pleasant pool, calm and quiet, and pretty unpopulated. At any given moment, there were probably no more than a hundred beings in the Dreamworld itself, though there'd probably be a good deal more on the worlds in the Deep Ethereal. I kind of miss the place..."
"You shall see it again, Tarna Tanson," Melaran replied with quiet certitude. "The Prankster will tire of his play eventually and return you from whence you came, and will surely watch over you in the meantime." He chuckled lightly, "I would only worry upon the idea of proving too entertaining to that One, lest he never tire and let you escape."
Tarna snickered softly. "You know, we've got one just like him back at home. That one took an overly bit of interest in me, too."
"It would seem the concept is designed integrally into the cosmic balance," Melaran replied with a small grin. "Perhaps a cosmic joke of sorts upon us lesser beings, that we might be glad of the peace and tranquility otherwise enjoyed. In truth, though, it would seem the very nature of such beings to turn to other pursuits in time. You need only survive the jest until then!"
"I'll not complain too overly much, at any rate," Tarna said, rubbing her eyes a bit and wondering where those clothes were.