A/N: Time for more of the Tou'Her, everyone!
Book Two: Corruption's End
Chapter 47: The Destiny of the Tou'Her
"Il-Kaithe is, and forever shall be, a bulwark against the whims of the Dark Gods. And we, the Tou'Her, are its vanguard, our souls resplendent." - Mirodir, Patriarch of the Tou'Her.
Maion sat on the steps of the Shadowed Sword Shrine, basking in the serenity of its surroundings, of the warming blood-red sun that sank into the horizon. Even though her exterior was calm and subdued, her blood roiled with childish excitement. And although her war-mask remained dormant, the Autarch's promise of such an exclusive mission sang to it, calling it to the surface of her mind.
I will don you soon enough. Uncle Obsidian was leading the expedition as well, a thought that stretched a smile across her face. Outside of the occasional coordinated raid, she hadn't seen him in twenty passes. He belonged to the Plummeting Strike Shrine in mind, body and soul.
Running her fingers through her ruddy hair, she tied it behind her head, binding it tight against her scalp. Just minutes ago, Elladar had sounded out through the Infinity Circuit, calling her to readiness. Looking at her helm, she grinned. Once more, I join the hunt.
The eyes were red as rubies, gleaming sanguine in the dying light. A thumb caressed their scowled edge, relishing its polish. Flanking the base of the helmet were the hidden weapon of the Striking Scorpion: her mandiblasters. Setting down the precious piece of armor, she examined the chainsword that lay across her knees. Her chainsword.
Holding it up to the sun, she whispered a brief prayer to Kaela Mensha Khaine, Bloody-Handed god of War. The sword's monomolecular teeth were sharpened and ready to kill, to prowl across the galaxy with her.
"Maion."
Her exarch. She turned to face him. Outside of his armor, he was little more than a withered warrior, old wounds stretching across his limbs like brambles across a forest. His eyes bored into her, their disapproval blatant and unshielded. Maion sneered, shifting to face the setting sun instead.
"Exarch Nellaphar," she replied, "I hope you are not here to forbid my participation in the coming hunt."
His broad shoulders heaved as he stepped forward. "Just like the spawn of Mon'Keigh to blindly accuse and redirect," he said, spitting his words like an insect spits venom.
"Then what are you here for? To wish me good fortune?" Maion laughed at that, the notion too ridiculous to consider seriously. "No, I suppose you have another agenda."
"I merely wish to warn you, Maion," Nellaphar said, brow twitching, a brief glimpse at the mask of hatred he'd buried under a veneer of toleration. "Do not shame the Shadowed Sword during this mission."
Maion chuckled, a sound muddied with contempt. "Me, Exarch? Shame the shrine?" Even this bilious relic couldn't crush her good spirits. "When the time eventually comes for another to wear the mantle of Nellaphar, I will still be here. This place is my life. My Path is forever chosen."
"You cannot mean-" he started, stepping forward.
"I have not been swallowed by my war-mask, no." My aura would never allow it. She let her soul billow and roil within her, soft black clouds caressing her, reassuring her. "I am Tou'Her. I choose my Path. I choose to be here, even while all of your faces are forever twisted in contempt and disgust. I am stronger than all of them." A grin split her face, and she met his drilling, boring gaze. "I will not shame the shrine, Exarch. But you are the embodiment of a thousand lives, countless passes of wisdom, experience, and martial prowess. Do not debase yourself by harassing me."
That elicited a snarl from Nellaphar, his weathered features twisting, contorting. "Your arrogance will be the death of you."
A tree's shadow stretched across the steps, reaching out to Maion, calling her to her duty. Looking up, she saw Elladar waiting for her, dressed in a simple green and purple stola.
"Farewell, Exarch," she said. "The hunting horn has sounded, and Il-Kaithe needs me. The spawn of Mon'keigh." Touching the shadow, she vanished, reappearing in the misted air near Elladar. She landed deftly before securing her weapons with several magnetic clasps. Bowing at the distant, slack-jawed Nellaphar, she turned on her heel.
"You are unwise to taunt your Exarch so," Elladar said as they neared the mustering grounds. Maion glanced at him. The travel here was spent in amicable silence. Why does he speak now?
"It is not the first such exchange we have shared. Nor will it be the last. Mother always told us to be as kind and genial as possible, to invite no hatred upon ourselves or our household."
Elladar said nothing at first, and for a moment, only the sound of the lift filled the air. "That did not strike me as a genial conversation."
"I have been under Nellaphar's thumb for many passes. At long last, my patience for his needling is waning." She sighed. "Still, I should keep Mother in mind."
"She sounds... wise," Elladar offered, still looking down the swelling hall instead of meeting Maion's gaze.
"She was," Maion replied, recalling the halcyon passes spent under her tutelage. "But sadly, she is lost to me and the Tou'Her. Before conferring leadership onto my elder brother, she left on the Path of the Outcast, and lost herself upon it."
Elladar considered that, his robes hissing softly, rippling with the speed of their passage.
Coming upon the gate to the mustering fields, Elladar sighed, holding up his hand. Heeding the signal, Maion stopped, the echoing calls of their footsteps crashing against the towering wraithbone before dying away.
"I go no further," he said. "Lossamdir will inform you of your mission's specifics. Obey him in all things."
"I shall."
"And Maion?"
"Yes, Autarch?"
"I have staked much of my reputation and what I suspect to be the fate of Il-Kaithe on you and your family," he said, resignation weighing down his purple-fringed shoulders.
"Why?" Maion asked. Elladar had done her and the Tou'Her a great service, but in her excitement to begin the hunt, never questioned his motives. Grandmother would've chided me for that one. "Why me? Why us?"
"I heard the Soul-Wielder speak, just before her disappearance. Her presence on Il-Kaithe was always controversial, but the council of Autarchs once entertained her request for an audience. It is my shame to admit that I was younger then, and did not want to allow her even that." His head hung at the words, his lips pursed in blatant, genuine regret. "Her words moved me, when I was old enough to appreciate them. She saw the galaxy for what it truly is, and the Eldar for what we are. You said it best, Maion: the Tou'Her are not circuitous."
She smiled, resting a hand on the arm of her Lord. But he was not finished.
"I've lost so many to the decay of our kind," he said, his teeth baring for a single salt-stained moment. "Friends. Family. My life-companion. Hundreds of passes, thousands of passes, millions of passes, and nothing has changed. Today, this cycle, it ends. Do Il-Kaithe proud. Bring yet more honor to the Tou'Her, and perhaps one day the rest of our benighted kind will open their eyes."
"I pray for that upon every cycle," Maion said. "For myself, and for the eldar."
"Go, and Khaine be with you."
Maion entered the mustering hall, craning her neck to take in the tall ceiling. She always preferred large, open spaces. Settling her grinning gaze on the rest of the Hall, it was abuzz with activity. On the flanking wall, bonesingers and runesmiths prepared the colossal wraithknights, showering the titanic war machines in pulsing runes and reinforcing its ancient hull with war-song. Against the plain metal floor rang hundreds of feet, poets, artisans and performers in the midst of Guardian training. Their huffing, red-stained faces brought a satisfied smirk to Maion's face. Though Nellaphar was an ass, she agreed with him in that Il-Kaithe needed to prepare itself for total war. Judging by the countless panting voices that rang out towards the distant ceiling, she knew that today was the day Elladar and the other Autarchs gave the order.
It is no mystery why he looked so fatigued.
"Maion!"
"Uncle?" She turned to face the voice but found only a squad of Howling Banshees enjoying a preparatory meal. Impossible. Her senses were sharp and acute, honed by passes of training in the Shadowed Sword. Nothing escaped her.
An arm fell across her shoulders, and she almost flattened in surprise, ready to strike out at her attacker. Instead, she found the toothy trickster's grin of Uncle Garnet.
"Really, Uncle?" She tried her best to sound exasperated, but his waggling, expectant eyebrows made such a task impossible. She giggled instead, pulling him into an embrace. The dark, glossy violet of his Warlock armor met the dulled matte-green of the Shadowed Sword.
"It's barely been three cycles since we last spoke," he teased, gunmetal eyes glinting underneath a carefully mussed head of short onyx hair. "Tell it true, Maion- have I become your most favored Uncle?"
Shaking her head, she broke apart from him, punching him in the shoulder. He rubbed at the strike, his face twisted as though she had wrought upon him the most grievous of blows. The Banshees behind him tsk'd, wagging their tongues at their behavior. Maion ignored them.
"Hardly," she said. "But Elladar said nothing of your involvement! I never dreamed I'd get to fight alongside you."
He waved his hand, his fingertips glowing gold with the light of his soul. "Such is as fate designs, a million threads with a billion outcomes."
"Elladar asked you, your Farseer master said no, and you ignored him."
"Ah," he said, clasping at his heart. "Your accusations wound me."
"They're not accusations if they're true," a new voice said. Maion's grin grew even wider.
"Truly, the two of you conspire against me," Garnet wailed, burying his face into the newcomer's ample, armored cleavage. "Lyllawyth," he asked, reaching forward to caress his paramour's sultry, angular face, "why must you betray me? Does our love mean so little to you?"
Lyllawyth laughed, a clean and spritely sound. Her voice was like a white-frothed river, honed by the many passes spent as one of Il-Kaithe's most popular operatic performers. "I think your time upon the Path of the Actor has done you much wrong, my Love," she said, filling her hands with Garnet's ebony-red hair.
"It is good to see you, Lyllawyth of the Gardens," Maion said, bestowing a polite nod upon her Uncle's lover.
"I am of the Gardens no longer," she replied, resting her hands on her hips. "As you can see," she said, looking down at her slender, armored figure, "Il-Kaithe needs me in the ranks of the Guardians for now."
"War is here," Maion said, smiling.
"And it is fitting that we say our farewells upon the Mustering Grounds," Garnet said, buckling an elegant cameleoline cape to his shoulder. "One last tear-stained farewell."
Lyllawyth chucked, gracing him with a chaste kiss upon his cheek. "You said your goodbye adequately enough last night, my Love."
Garnet flushed, rubbing the back of his head. Maion rolled her eyes.
"For such a barbarous lot, you make excellent lovers," Lyllawyth whispered, running a finger across Garnet's chin. "Quite energetic," she added, smirking playfully.
"Lyllawyth, please," Garnet hissed in embarrassment, attempting to retreat within his cameleoline hood. "My niece is right there."
Maion could only laugh.
"Come on Uncle, we must not be late. Obsidian is waiting for us, no doubt."
Garnet sighed, red-tinged mirth seeping away from his cheeks. "He was always the dour one," he grumbled. "Very well," he said, straightening with a dramatic flourish, "we must away on our quest!" He announced, with a stately turn towards Lyllawyth, who giggled at the display. "Farewell, my love!" He pulled her into a passionate kiss, in utter contempt of the Hall's somber atmosphere. Maion looked away, along with several others observing the display. Unlike the others, she grinned.
Surfacing for air, Garnet turned abruptly and departed, waving after Maion. "Come, scion of the Shadowed Sword, the threads of fate await."
Shaking her head, Maion went to follow him, when a tug on her wrist halted her.
"Lyllawyth?" She asked, turning to the new guardian.
"Maion, your uncle..." she paused, a hint of trepidation surfacing in her sapphire eyes. "We are to be bonded upon his return."
"Truly?" Maion asked, inhaling sharply. "I know you've been together for many passes, but-"
"Keep him safe. His warlock training has just begun. I... I fear for him."
Maion hugged her soon-to-be aunt. "I shall. We are Tou'Her, and we will persevere."
"Thank you," she whispered, returning the embrace. "He is arrogant and foolish without me to mind him."
Maion smiled once more. "He'll be safe."
With that, she left, jogging to catch her Uncle's loping strides.
"You are a fool," she said when she reached him.
"She told you, then?" He asked, his lips upturned in a knowing smirk. "What a shame. It was to be a surprise."
"You are a fool to have made her love you," Maion said. "You will be naught but trouble for her."
"Then things shall not be so different as they are now," he replied, dancing around a squad of marching Reapers. "Alas, but I am impossible to resist."
"Just don't be so flippant with-" She was too late, as they had arrived at the rallying spot, a docking terminal with a mismatched war-party loitering at its gates.
"Brother!" Garnet exclaimed, launching himself forward to smother Obsidian's smaller frame. Beauteous wings stretched from her other Uncle's back, and they flapped in confusion. Maion's hand met her face.
"I am no longer your brother... Garnet," Obsidian said, almost snarling his brother's name. "I am Lossamdir - Exarch of the Plummeting Strike Shrine."
"Mother would be so disappointed to hear that," Garnet said, totally unfazed. "Oh, how her human blood would boil!"
The gathered warriors cringed at Garnet's careless jesting, but Lossamdir could only summon a derisive snort.
"Woe upon the day I was forced to occupy this accursed body," he added, shifting his weight in an attempt to dismiss his former brother.
"Exarch," Maion said, dipping her head in respect.
"At least this one has her manners," the Exarch grumbled. "Though if I am to be saddled with more of Obsidian's kin, I am pleased this one is of the Shadowed Sword."
"Nellaphar sends his... warmest regards," Maion offered.
"Very well," Lossamdir said, turning to face the assembled war party. "These are the warriors selected by the Autarch to participate in this highly atypical endeavour."
Maion bowed gracefully, appraising each of her new comrades. There were ten in all, outside of the Exarch, Garnet, and herself. Three of them were her uncle's charges, Swooping Hawks with their majestic and puissant winged armor. Two were Dark Reapers, their artifice armor devouring the light, their red Reaper Launchers thrumming with murderous intent. Three were Howling Banshees, their long swords hanging across their cream-colored backs. The final two were Dire Avengers, stout and resolute in their blue carapaces.
"It is an honor to meet your acquaintance," Maion said. Most nodded in rueful acceptance. One of the Swooping Hawks did not, however, meeting her stare with unyielding crimson eyes.
"Hmph," he said, crossing his arms. "This mission is rank with Mon'keigh spawn. It's unfortunate that my Exarch must suffer their kind as a host, but now I must fight alongside even more of them."
Garnet stepped forward, a mocking jest burning in his throat. Maion stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"So kind of you to share your wisdom with us...?" She asked, not allowing a petulant pretty-boy like this ruin her mood. The Hawk scoffed once more, leaning his lasblaster into his shoulder.
"Asillar," he said.
"Asillar," Maion replied, smiling sweetly. "And how long have you tread upon the Path of the Warrior?"
"Seven passes," he answered proudly.
"Well, I have walked it for forty," Maion answered, "and have known but two others. I have been a Warrior before my former Uncle even considered the Swooping Hawks," she added. "Do not cast aspersions on a family as powerful as we."
Asillar paled, and the Dire Avengers tittered. They knew too well of Mirodir's prowess.
"I am sorry you are consumed by such baleful rage," he countered, "Do your best to direct it at the enemy, and take care not to strike out at us with an errant blow."
"Enough," Lossamdir rumbled. "If we are fortunate, we will not encounter the enemy." His words sent a current of curiosity pulsing through the gathered warriors. "Since the last member of our band has arrived, along with our... guide."
Garnet winked at them.
"Then," the Exarch continued, "I will explain our mission." Retrieving a smooth wraithbone disk from within his belt, he activated it. A map of the galaxy blossomed into existence, swirling blue planets and nebulae spinning into existence, each labeled with a host of runes. A rustle of armor from the war party hissed into the hall, its members intrigued by the display.
"As some of you know," the Exarch continued, "the mon'keigh Abaddon has launched his thirteenth expedition into realspace." The map zoomed into the Eye of Terror, with the addition of a large red rune attempting to bash its way through the Cadian gate. "Some of you have been involved in raids against one of his lieutenants - a monster by the name of Josephus."
Maion, the Banshees, and the Dire Avengers nodded.
"Farseer Sylvis," he said, voice barely hitching over the name, "has foreseen that among all the dangers presented to us, Josephus is the most threatening."
Asillar looked puzzled. "But Lossamdir, how is that possible?" He asked. "The forces mustered by Abaddon are... staggering. I know sheer numbers do not a fearsome foe make, but the warlord cannot simply be discounted."
"True," the exarch replied, "but far be it from me to question a farseer's wisdom. Or an Autarch's," he added. "From what our war parties have been able to gather, Josephus seeks a terrible artifact. One that could not only tip the scales in his Master's war upon Cadia, but spell doom to anyone that opposes the forces of Chaos."
"Surely a single artifact cannot be so powerful," a Howling Banshee said, leaning forward. "Servants of the Dark Gods are known to be devious and overly boastful. What makes this one different?"
"The difference, Ysdraea, is that a farseer is not dismissing his claims. And certain allies know what he seeks."
"Allies?" Garnet asked, glancing at his brother.
"The mon'keigh Inquisition has discovered the identity of Josephus' artifact, and requests our aid in locating it."
Even Maion and Garnet joined in the murmurings of discontent.
"The Inquisition?" Maion demanded. "Surely Uncle Sylvis cannot be so deluded as to trust them!" To her mild surprise, Asillar sneered in agreement.
"Il-Kaithe has," Lossamdir interjected, "in its wondrous history, often allied with the mon'keigh in order to best continue its crusade against Chaos. In this matter, it is no different."
"It most certainly is, brother mine," Garnet rumbled. "Helping their lumbering armies cleanse planets and hunting down their corrupted kin is one matter. The Inquisition?" He laughed a mirthless laugh. "It is another matter entirely."
"Then," Obsidian growled, wings flapping indignantly, "we are blessed to have my idiot brother along, so that his Foresight might protect us," he snapped. For a moment, none of the warriors spoke. Collecting himself, the Exarch continued. "This mission is entirely Elladar and Sylvis' doing. Though I have little faith in the spawn of mon'keigh, his Foresight and the Autarch commands respect. We will do our duty."
The warriors bowed their heads, acknowledging the Exarch's authority.
"Collect your weapons and supplies," Lossamdir said, deactivating the map and slipping it away. "We will board our craft shortly."
A/N: This chapter might be a bit confusing for those who don't know too much about the Eldar, and while I tried to convey everything in the chapter, I realize not everyone may have gotten it, so here's a quick run-down of the relevant bits.
Exarchs: Exarchs are eldar that lead their Aspect Warrior shrines (shrines that honor different aspects of Kaela Mensha Khaine, the eldar war god, like the Striking Scorpions, Dire Avengers, etc.). When they become Exarchs, they lose most of their individual identity, as their soul binds to their ancient armor, joining with the souls of every previous Exarch who previously wore that set of armor. This is what Maion means when she says "when another wears the mantle of Nellaphar." That is to say, Nellaphar is the name of the first Shadowed Sword Exarch, and when he died, his successor joined with his armor and his soul, becoming Nellaphar in his place. This is also why Lossamdir voices disgust at his current form, as he is a collective identity - thousands of eldar souls and identities that are now occupying the body of a half-human hybrid.
War-Masks: Another important aspect of eldar culture is the war-mask. The Path of the Warrior is not, like some would assume, the Path that Eldar take when they want to defend their Craft-World or improve their combat prowess. Instead, eldar called to the Path of the Warrior are often consumed by hatred and rage, filled with the desire to murder and kill. That's not to say they're all crazed khornate berzerkers - in order to divide their personal selves from their warrior-selves, eldar use something called the War-Mask. It's the eldar equivalent of a 'war face', where they suppress the majority of their personality and emotions, all except the desire to kill in the name of their Craftworld and Kaela Mensha Khaine. This is why Maion is more subdued in her earlier appearances - she's donned her war-mask, and isn't processing things as she normally would.
Exarchs and War-Masks: Another important fact about the above topics - Exarchs become Exarchs when they discover that they can no longer remove their war-masks. They shortly become outcasts, unable to function in regular society, unable to find joy in anything except their duties to their Shrine. This is why many of the Tou'Her were so shocked and bereaved by Obsidian becoming an Exarch - since many of them choose to walk the Path of the Warrior out of a sense of civic duty rather than rage and hatred, many of the family are uncomfortable with what Obsidian became, and thought their auras should protect them from such a tragic fate.
Review Replies:
Telron: Thanks!
reality deviant: Wow, I'm blushing! You're too kind. Seriously, I really appreciate all the support you've shown me with this fic!
robyork1690: Nah, she was killed by Salem back on Remnant. As for the Imperium...
redcollecter: I don't make the SoB cool... they're already awesome.
blaiseingfire: I've heard "Yamat" getting thrown around on Spacebattles!
tankbuster626: Glad you're enjoying their interactions! I really enjoy writing them too.
Heitomos: True, but I feel like writing in stuff after the fact just feels wrong and cheap. IMO, it stands better as an AU.
Kiyoushu: Careful! XD
Absolute Configuration: Vindicares in general are crazy OP.
Jack Inqu: Hope you enjoyed!
The Flippant Writer: Damn, it looks I got them turned around. Thanks so much for the correction!
Allard-Liao: I hope you enjoyed it!
snoogenz: I guess it's about as relaxing as you're gonna get for the grimdark future...
Magnificent Bosh'tet: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it!
Guest: Yang would be proud.
Kamzil118: I mean... it was kinda the point of that section.
Guest: Yup, Ordo Hereticus.
Malletmann: Yeah, not planning to change it atm. I think this story works better as an AU anyways! :P
Quelthias: Hehehe would that include you?
antisnipe: I named a tank "The Wrath of Saint Alfabusa", you be the judge! hahaha
Inquisitor Azreal: Glad you're enjoying the Quest so much! I should have an update ready for you by the end of the week...
The God Emperor of Mankind: Thanks again for all your reviews! Let me see if I can offer some explanations/responses... A minor thing first, the Imperium doesn't have an official currency. There's too many planets with their own money and whatnot, so while some planets may have some kind of standard, it doesn't apply everywhere. As for the main character's 'idealism', I would say it being Mobile Suit Gundam tier is... a little much. RWBY, even with how S3 ended up, is a fairly upbeat and noblebright setting. Since the characters hail from that world, ignoring that part of them wouldn't really make them them. It should also be noted that while both Weiss and Yang don't really like the Imperium, they see it as the obvious horse to back in the 41st millenium. As for Yang being a 'sadist', I'd say that's also a bit of an overstatement. She enjoys violence, sure (she's very much a Blood Knight), but only revels in it when chaos is trying to get at her. If every person in the Imperium who enjoyed violence turned to Khorne, there wouldn't be very many loyalists left... Other than that, I'm so happy you're enjoying the story! I put a lot of work into it, so I'm happy to see you're enjoying everything I do!
cdonovan: I guess you'll just have to wait, huh?
RampantPoultry: Hahaha thank you! Didn't know I was that good...
OBSERVER01: Do you think the Lady Inquisitor would ever do something unknowingly? ;)
Nemris: Yeah, thank Weiss for that. He's a blank slate right now, now that all his conditioning's been wiped away.
Gafgar: Oh come on, am I that predictable?
shadowrallen: If he knows about the Interlopers, it's almost certain he'd want a few...
CreativeRoadblock: If you're reading this story, chomping at the bit to see the next RWBY character, you're going to be pretty disappointed. I mean, I have my own plans of course, but this is primarily Yang's story.
Emperor KingPerby: THANK YOU!
soupie13941: She still doesn't like her being a witch of course, but hey, when you praise the Emperor like the LI...
ATP: We'll see how she reacts!
Guest: That's true enough. I guess I was being a little callous about that.
hellball: Wow, you're too kind! Thanks so much for your kind words! As I've said time and time again, I've put a lot of time into the story and characters, so seeing it rewarded like this is really nice. I hope you enjoy what's coming next!
Anonarat: I don't really know what lyrics you're talking about... I use some songs for chapter quotes, but nothing in the story... Other than that, I'm glad to see you're enjoying the story so much!
Sigurd: Yeah, I see your point. I guess I'm conflating AWoBE Yang and canon Yang. As she stands in AWoBE, losing a limb would barely slow her down, but canon Yang is a very, very different person.
dksamuri: Thank you!
BlazeWings: Hahaha so glad you enjoyed it! It's really getting up there in length, isn't it?
So many new faces! Glad to see you guys around, and I hope to see you guys as we move forward! :D