Hello again chaps, a combination of factors slowed down the writing of this chapter. Firstly, I have been extremely busy with uni work. Secondly, the chapter itself was one that I really had to grapple with. I just kept finding myself unhappy with it, fortunately now, I think I've managed to get it into a nice spot. Not much action in this one, as I needed to set up the eldar perspective. Don't worry though, the next chapter will really start to get the ball rolling…Hopefully!
Chapter 3 – An Aspect of Every Future
Aristriel watched as the mon'keigh, mounted on his beast of burden, spurred his way back to his awaiting comrades at the temple. The banshee made to pursue… but was halted by the untimely arrival of a guardsman barrelling through the trees.
Exactly how this human had managed the incredible feat of sneaking past the assaulting eldar forces would forever remain a mystery to the banshee. Ever the professional aspect warrior, she quickly noted his filthy attire and anxious body language. This was no surprise attack; the human was fleeing and had inadvertently run right towards her position.
That will be the last mistake you ever make.
While the enemy soldier may have been armed with a bayoneted lasrifle, he was too busy staring at the slaughter taking place behind him to make use of it. It was only at the last possible second that the mon'keigh noticed Aristriel standing in his way.
Before he even had time to present his weapon, the banshee's sword was already singing as it leapt from its sheath. The aspect warrior swiped across the man's torso with her shimmering blade, nearly cutting the savage in two in the process. The mon'keigh flopped over backwards with little protest, his innards oozing onto the forest floor.
Without further ceremony, she turned back to the road. There was no sign of the mounted scout; he had gone. At full gallop there would be no catching him now. Aristriel cursed. Farseer Ullaryne had given strict orders that none of the mon'keigh must escape to warn the rest of their comrades at the temple.
He had been lucky - if his mount had not tripped, her shuriken would have taken his head clean off. She scowled with frustration underneath her mask. All throughout the battle, that human had been lucky.
The banshee had first picked out the soldier when he had mounted the beast - who had foolishly gotten its harness caught in the low hanging boughs. The swirling chaos of battle had been to the human's advantage as the man seemed to lead a charmed life.
Time and time again, all the eldar's fire had missed its quarry. The gaggle of rangers that had accompanied the autarch's expedition, while proving themselves to be highly effective throughout the battle, had let the task force down in this regard.
The unthinking ignorance of these young rangers. If I were still one of their number, I would not have allowed that mon'keigh to escape as he did. The aspect warrior silently swore.
She pushed the thought of her old path away; some things were better left in the past. Besides, it was a different life, a different person. Aristriel Úi Fellmair the Ranger died amongst the fallen ashes of her murdered family. From the pain of her loss, Aristriel Úi Fellmair the Howling Banshee had risen like a phoenix from the partial destruction of her beloved craftworld. It was long ago now… but the fires of vengeance still ran hot.
Surveying the wooded expanse around her, she noted that the eldar sharpshooters were already leaving their perches amongst the lofty canopies of the treetops. Likewise, her fellow aspect warriors from the Howling Banshee and Dire Avenger shrines patrolled the valley's basin.
The battle, if one could even call it that, was over now, the corpses of guardsmen littered the ground. Any wounded were discretely dispatched by prowling rangers; their mewling cries abruptly silenced.
Sighing at her failure, she walked back through the woods to where the farseer overlooked the battlefield. The mist, summoned by the master sorceress, was beginning to dissipate now, its purpose fulfilled.
The farseer, wearing a dark blue robe with her pale-yellow winged helm, was standing alongside Autarch Menarion. The autarch was equally well adorned in dark blue armour with great wings of blue and yellow feathers sprouting from his back, his face hidden by a pale war mask.
Aristriel approached them. "My Lord and Lady, I bring poor tidings indeed. A mon'keigh was able to escape, much to my shame." She said apologetically.
The autarch and farseer stood as still as statues in absolute silence. The only movement was that of the wind catching at the feathers of the autarch's wings and the farseer's robes, both looking down the slope at the aftermath of the carnage. Aristriel knew they were most likely speaking telepathically to one another. After a few moments of humble silence, the autarch spoke.
"Hmmm, this changes things." He said thoughtfully. His voice was confident and haughty; a voice used to command. "It is as you foresaw, my lady." The autarch stated, addressing the sorcerer.
More silence followed, this one long enough that Aristriel was about to beg her leave when she heard footsteps behind her. Turning around, she was confronted with a dozen of her fellow sisters of the Howling Banshee Aspect Shrine; in their midst was a dishevelled and battered mon'keigh.
Another oddity that the banshee had noticed was that all the mon'keigh that had fought in the ambush, seemed to be above average in height for their kind. Aristriel herself was considered on the shorter side of the eldar height spectrum, standing just shy of being two meters tall. She found it interesting that many of the humans stood nearly as tall as she did, a few of their number even measuring slightly taller.
How bizarre. Perhaps this phenotype of humanity comes from a planet with a moderately lower gravitational acceleration than the norm? She pondered, making a mental note to conduct further research once their task was complete.
As the group halted the prisoner was shoved onto his knees, his tattered clothes bearing various symbols of authority that marked him as a leader. Exarch Teltera moved past Aristriel to speak to the farseer and autarch who only now had turned to see what all the commotion was about.
"My Lord and Lady, we have captured the mon'keigh commander, as you instructed." She declared confidently, offering a low bow.
"Very good, Exarch, you and your sisters have performed admirably once again," The autarch praised them, turning his attention to the kneeling captive.
He fell into silence once more, though whether he was in quiet contemplation or communicating with the farseer again, Aristriel could not tell.
As for the prisoner, the banshee took in his details. No matter how many times she saw a human up close, Aristriel was always struck by the similarity of their facial features in comparison to the eldar. This realization was a common cause of discomfort amongst many of her race and she was no exception.
Even underneath the layers of grime, she could still make out the somewhat physically appealing features of the man's visage. Bile rose in her throat; the fact that she had felt even a modicum of attraction towards the human's features was revolting.
This mon'keigh may be fair in complexion but I know their true nature. I've seen it first-hand. The aspect warrior guarded herself.
The silence was broken by the autarch, who spoke in the savage's harsh guttural tongue. Many of the surrounding eldar flinched at the strange language as if it were a physical blow, grating against their ears. It was plain for all to see by the autarch's manner that he was just as revolted for having to use such a lower form of communication.
The human remained silent, undisguised hatred and disgust plastered on his face. Menarion tried once more but his only answer was more silence. He turned to the farseer, giving a slight nod, before taking a pace backwards.
Ullaryne stepped forward to stand in front of the kneeling human. The savage barely even registered his new interrogator, his eyes closed as his mouth moved in whispered prayer. Ullaryne spoke to the human, a clear edge to her noble voice. Even though Aristriel didn't understand the language, she understood enough by the tone of her words:
"Comply with our demands or face the consequences."
In way of response, the stubborn brute spat a glob of spit and blood, the liquid projectile hitting the Farseer on her left shin.
Aristriel and the small group held their breath: the insolence of this creature was beyond mere words. The air suddenly became incredibly cold, even the light from the sun seemed to dim. The red lenses of the farseer's winged helm shone brightly as white lightning appeared to dance across her forearms.
The mon'keigh's eyes were wide with fear at the sight of the enraged sorceress. Ullaryne extended her arms towards the human, who was desperately trying to wriggle out of his bonds. White lighting shot from her hands and struck the human instantly, his face a rictus of pain as his mouth opened in a bestial scream. His eyes moved rapidly in random directions as his brain tried to comprehend its own suffering. Despite Aristriel's distaste for the lesser races, even she felt a sliver of pity for the savage.
For almost half a minute, the human was made to endure the agony, after which the farseer relented. Even after she had stopped, sparks of white lightning continued to sporadically dance across the human's torso which caused him to spasm whenever it did so. The question was put to him once more and to Aristriel's disbelief he still refused to answer.
Bravery or shear idiocy? It is a mon'keigh after all…too difficult to say.
The lightning sprang forth once more from the farseer's hands; on and on the cycle went, but eventually the mon'keigh's resolve broke. Tears streaked down his face in defeat as he finally answered the farseer, his entire body sagging - utterly beaten.
The autarch nodded to the farseer that he was satisfied with the human's response. "Exarch Teltera, kill him!" Menarion ordered, reverting to Aeldari.
"It shall be done, my Lord." The banshee replied in an obedient tone. The approach of the banshee leader with a drawn power sword made the human give a sickly grin. He shouted something that was clearly a challenge towards the retreating eldar commander, who was walking away with the farseer in tow. The human's defiance had quickly returned, Aristriel noted, much to her own annoyance.
His impertinence has lasted long enough.
Menarion called back over his shoulder without breaking stride. "Exarch, the mon'keigh has requested to die like a true warrior. That decision I shall leave to you." The exarch stared at the human through the lenses of her banshee mask, considering his request.
"This mon'keigh stood with his brethren and fought on till only himself remained. He displayed about as much courage as their kind is capable of. I believe he has earned his right to die as every warrior should." Teltera explained to the assembled banshees. "Would any amongst you be willing to honour the human's final request?"
Aristriel could not believe what she was hearing. How can the exarch allow this? She thought, outraged that his bid was even considered. They are violent barbarians; they have no sense of honour and deserve nothing.
Regardless of her frustration with her superior's decision, Aristriel would not go against it as the idea of disrespecting her betters was unthinkable. She decided in that instant, that if this mon'keigh was to die in ritual combat, then it would be by her own blade. The human would be humiliated as he passed on from this mortal plane, she would make sure of it.
Before any of the other banshees could make their thoughts known, Aristriel stepped forward and called out to her leader.
"Exarch Teltera, I will grant the mon'keigh's wish!"
The banshee leader, surprised that it was her that had volunteered to do this duty, glanced between the two of them with a quick turn of the head.
"So be it. The honour is yours."
"I would not call it much of an honour, Exarch. An infant would put up more of a challenge." Her voice dripped with derision as she looked down at the kneeling mon'keigh. The human returned her glare with one of defiance.
Within minutes a loose circle had formed around Aristriel and the captive officer, merely to deter the human from attempting an escape. Not that he really contemplated it as an option. Despite being released from his bonds, he remained knelt down, his mouth moving silently in prayer as he intoned the last rites to his Emperor.
It only took him a few seconds, but that was enough for word to spread of the duel about to take place. A few curious onlookers from various other aspect warrior sects soon joined the circle on the periphery. Once the human had finished his prayers, he stood slowly, at peace with his fate.
Aristriel was no expert on human anatomy but even she could see he was exhausted, his body even more sluggish and ungainly than usual for those of his kind. She surmised that his injuries were only amplifying the effect.
Despite this though, his face remained impassive, hiding his thoughts and his pain. Some of her fellow aeldari would have begrudgingly respected that, but not her. To Aristriel that was merely a base requirement to be expected of anyone, warrior or not.
Exarch Teltera threw a power sword into the ring which landed at the man's feet, kicking up dirt and pine needles as it landed. He retreated away from it, his face working with revulsion at the idea of handling an alien blade. Instead, he drew his own short sword from its scabbard. Aristriel had noticed that every one of the tall human soldiers carried one.
A symbol of experience or some sort of subculture perhaps?
Not to be seen duelling an opponent with a clear weapon advantage, Aristriel was forced by the laws of tradition to sheath her own sword and draw her wraith bone dagger instead. Mistaking the gesture for one of good will, the mon'keigh gave a curt nod which the banshee refused to acknowledge.
Both parties began to circle, sizing one another up. Aristriel could hear the sound of her own elevated heartbeat echoing inside her helmet. The tension of promised violence causing knots to form in her stomach. A familiar feeling, one she had experienced countless times. The crowd around them watched intently; silent save for a few whispers.
Without warning the human burst into motion, rushing towards her in a headlong charge and roaring a war cry. He swiped across with his blade in a wide arc, aimed towards her neck. She ducked beneath the blow and lunged towards the man's chest. For an injured man he moved quickly: sidestepping her lunge, he replied with his own.
Aristriel dodged the attack with a small back step and expertly passed her dagger from her right hand to left. Grabbing the man's sword arm, she locked it with her own, essentially trapping him with her at his back. In a blur of movement before he could react, she reached over the man with her dagger, the blade gleaming in the sunlight before she rammed it into the brute's rib cage. The pitiful excuse for armour was penetrated with ease.
He shuddered at the impact, a stream of blood flowing out of his chest as Aristriel retracted the dagger. His strength failed him as he attempted to recover from the fatal blow. The fight was over, signified by the blade hitting the undergrowth with a muffled thump. The mon'keigh's arm hung limp, unable to answer its master's commands as the man collapsed onto his back. Ragged breaths escaped his chest while his gurgling lifeblood drained from his body.
I must have punctured one of his lungs.
His right hand feebly dragged around in the pine needles, seeking in vain for the handle of his short sword.
At first, Aristriel thought that he was trying to continue the bout, but given his deteriorating condition, it became obvious that he merely wanted to die with a sword in his hand. She hesitated… for the most part she just wanted to leave the barbarian to die where he fell, but a small part of her demanded clemency for the man. He had been tortured and been forced to watch those under his command perish.
Relenting to her conscience, although still wary that he might try a last parting shot, she kicked his ceremonial blade to him. The short sword skidded across the forest floor and struck the man's arm. Recognizing the object, his fingers curled around the blade's grip. His head turned sluggishly to face the red lenses of her mask. His blue eyes were full of thanks in the instant before they glazed over in death.
Be grateful for this small mercy I give you, mon'keigh. For we both know, you do not deserve it. Aristriel's own thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the farseer's voice echoing in her head.
"Aspect, I have need to speak with you, time is of the essence!"
"Yes, my Lady." The banshee thought back obediently.
The whole fight had lasted less than a minute. Using the unsoiled parts of the man's khaki coloured shirt, Aristriel cleaned the blood from her dagger. Once she was satisfied that the blade was clean, she stood up and slipped the weapon back into its sheath on her forearm.
The crowd that had gathered to watch were already dissipating - they had their own tasks to see to. After casting about for a few seconds in search of the autarch and the farseer, Aristriel finally caught sight of them now standing on the road. She immediately moved down the slope to join them.
Menarion turned mid-sentence at the sight of the approaching banshee. "Ah, Aspect Aristriel." The autarch said in a welcoming tone. "She is the one you requested is she not, Lady Ullaryne?" He asked, turning to the farseer.
"She is." The farseer said calmly. "Thank you for coming, Aspect. We have a task for you."
Aristriel, unsure as to how to respond, was spared the need for response when the autarch unexpectedly asked her a question of his own. "Aspect, you were a ranger, were you not, before you joined the Howling Banshees?"
"I was, my Lord." Aristriel replied, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice.
"Very good, I too walked the path of the outcast before finding a more… dignified path."
She shuddered at his words - those who found themselves lost on any particular path were to be pitied not praised - but she wisely stayed silent.
"I am sure that any ranger worthy of their long rifle will have no trouble navigating the wilds of this place. With my blessing, I shall leave your mission briefing to Farseer Ullaryne. I'm afraid I must bid you farewell; warriors sadly won't marshal themselves." He turned on his heels and marched away, calling out orders to various groups of assembled warriors as he went.
"Forgive him, Aspect. His dedication to the path never ceases to pull him to his duty." The sorceress apologized.
"Worry not, exalted Farseer. No offense was taken."
"Good."
"My Lady, what is it that you have planned for me?" Aristriel asked curiously, watching the autarch issue orders to his subordinates.
The farseer removed her winged helm, revealing a beautiful face with dark purple eyes and raven black hair.
"Just southwest of here lies a river that flows from the nearby mountain range. Part of the river runs underground, flowing right underneath the ancients' temple. The human garrison are using a well inside to keep themselves hydrated, and I am sure you can work out where the water comes from. "
"The underground river." Farseer Ullaryne nodded, confirming Aristriel's guess.
"Precisely. You are to infiltrate the temple using the well. Once inside, you are to make your way to the artefact holding chamber and retrieve the Omnicron."
"Will this area not be crawling with mon'keigh? How am I supposed to get past them?"
"You will not have to worry about that." the farseer stated. "Menarion will feign an assault on the temple, which will draw the mon'keigh away from the Artefact. Their attention will be firmly fixed on us which will allow you to take it right from underneath their very noses."
"Understood, Farseer. Although I must ask, am I to carry this task out alone?"
The farseer pursed her lips, carefully considering which information to impart to the young aspect warrior. "I have studied the various threads of fate for a long time now. For every choice there is a myriad of consequences that follow. My role is to maximize the desirable outcomes and minimize the undesirable ones. Normally that would be simple, but the skeins of time roll and change unnaturally. I fear the imperials are not the only foe we face on this moon. There is something darker at work which constantly moves to counter our plans."
Unsure of how this answered her question, Aristriel once again chose to remain silent, waiting for a proper answer. Detecting the aspect warrior's confusion, the farseer began again.
"I have seen the outcome of a sizeable force moving through the hidden passageway. In the short term it may achieve our goal but not without cost."
"I see. Any casualties would be a great loss for our craftworld."
"Exactly. Aeldari life is precious, even a single death is one we can ill afford."
"I understand that Farseer, but I remain confused as to why I specifically was chosen. There are many warriors who are considerably more experienced and skilled than I. Are they not better suited to this task?"
"While it may be true that there are greater warriors amongst our band that have superior skills to your own; for whatever reason, fate smiles upon you. In all other futures where other warriors have been selected, the outcome has been failure. You and you alone, provide the greatest opportunity that we possess in our endeavour for permanently neutralizing the threat that this artefact presents. Admittedly though, that future is very much…unorthodox." The farseer explained.
The way the farseer's eyes glinted at the words 'unorthodox' made Aristriel uncomfortable.
Unorthodox? By Asuryan, what does she mean by that? The banshee decided it was best not to pry. Besides the opportunity to ask for further elaboration was swiftly lost as the sorceress continued.
"Now, as for the Omnicron itself, do not attempt to pick it up with your bare hands. There are few capable of resisting the raw energy within it. Instead, use this." she said, handing over a small wraith glass capsule. Upon closer inspections, Aristriel noticed a strange blue aura slowly orbiting the fist-sized box. "Be mindful, it is very fragile, and I doubt I will be able to conjure another anytime soon."
"Thank you for this honour, my Lady. I shall not fail you!" Aristriel said in awe, carefully placing the gift inside a pouch on her side.
"I'm sure you will not. One last thing, Aspect. I had not expected you to be the one to volunteer to duel that mon'keigh commander. What pushed you to do it?" Her eyes studied the banshee in the same way a scientist might study bacteria on a microscope. Even underneath her mask Aristriel could feel the intense scrutiny of the farseer's gaze as if it were a physical pressure weighing down upon her.
"I lost my family when the Imperium of Man attacked our home while I was exploring the far reaches of the galaxy. I was not there to help them when they needed me most, much to my undying shame. I did what I could as soon as word of the siege reached me. I took up the call like so many other wandering sons and daughters of Alaitoc and returned to defend our home." Aristriel was ever thankful for her aspect mask that diluted all the emotions connected to those bitter memories.
"Regrettably, by the time I arrived, the mon'keigh had been repulsed, but they had already done their foul work. My entire family were wiped out. I am the last of my clan and all because I put my trivial desires for freedom ahead of my own kin."
"You duelled him as an act of vengeance?"
"No, my Lady, as a way of proving to myself that the pain these barbarians inflicted on me that day has only strengthened my resolve." Aristriel could feel the old anger rising within her regardless of her emotion nullifying helmet. Through her sheer force of will, she pushed the negative emotions down.
The farseer gave a sad smile at her response. "Our people have suffered much, and your story is one I have heard countless times. I can understand your feelings, but you must not blame yourself for the crimes committed by others. Never allow your emotions to cloud your own judgement or to push you towards action that would be considered reckless."
The banshee nodded along, taking in the sorceress's words. "Your sage advice is always welcome, Farseer Ullaryne."
"I am ever thankful to be in a position to give it."
"By your leave my Lady, I must journey onward."
"May Isha's light guide you, Aspect." Farseer Ullaryne gifted her a genuine smile, full of warmth.
Aristriel bowed once more and left. She took off at a jog, heading southwest, through the trees and undergrowth. She had her mission and by the blood of Khaine, she would not fail.
Review responses:
Deadmanforever90 – Wow, that's high praise indeed, thank you. You have no idea how many times I've written and rewritten chapters. Setting the scene, making sure the story flows is one of the biggest challenges.
Hathagat – Ha-ha, love it! I'm quite interested in Medieval/Dark Ages history, so I thought I'd link Narvos with a sort of Saxon/English culture.
