Hello everyone! Hope you enjoyed the festive season, let's hope 2021 is better than the previous year. If any of you are thinking about writing your own stories, I highly recommend you use a text-to-speech program ('Natural Readers' is the one I use) once your final draft is complete. The sheer number of sentence mistakes, typos, and grammar/punctuation errors that I found, while going through my old chapters, was unreal. While not a replacement for a beta reader, it is a great tool to have in your arsenal. Anyway, enough faffing about - on with the show.
Song of the day: Eve of the War – Jeff Wayne
Chapter 16 – Refuge at Last
The grasping arms of the skeletal boughs and fungal branches clawed at the two fugitives as they made their escape from their pursuers. It must have been roughly half an hour ago since their ice cruiser was put out of action.
United in their dismay at this egregious loss, they were forced to trudge northwards through the wintry woodland on foot. The sun was now moving into the late afternoon, which made a night-time march across unforgiving terrain a very real prospect if something did not change soon.
Thankfully, the eldar had recovered enough from the crash that she no longer needed to be supported by Locke. A small part of him silently lamented the loss of their closeness, but for the most part he welcomed her recovery all the same. The guardsman was having enough trouble traversing down the tree-covered slope without the alien weighing him down on one side.
His sprained leg in particular was causing Locke no end of grief as it cramped up from the exertion. With almost every step he blew out a pained breath, still ragged from the aftereffects of the crash while his ankles burned incessantly from the punishing incline.
This would have been bad enough had he been fully rested, but the soldier's exhaustion from the last few days had finally caught up with him. He tried to keep the pace as best he could, nevertheless his body slowed heedless of his own demands.
Still, no matter how much Locke wanted it, there could be no respite. The bellows and cries of their feral alien hunters echoed throughout the forest; an apt reminder of their situation. The bad news didn't even stop there. Glancing back towards the mountain through a partition in the upper canopy, Locke had spied many more war trucks descending down the mountainside to reinforce their savage brethren.
Emperor preserve us. He dearly hoped that the master of mankind was paying attention.
If Locke had been a betting man, he'd have rated his odds of survival so low as to be an inevitability, divine protection or not. The only thing keeping him going at this point was the rising sense of indignation at his imminent demise and the presence of his companion. As far as Locke was concerned, whichever arbiter of fate that had dropped him into this mess, could go take a long walk off a short pier.
Given his slow progress, the guardsman had already hardened his heart to the possibility that the aspect warrior might leave him behind. In all honesty, he couldn't blame her if she did. After all it was his fault that they were in this situation in the first place. Maybe dying alone and forgotten would be the universe dishing-out some well-deserved karma for all that he had done in his past.
Yet, in spite of his expectations, the banshee resolutely declined the opportunity to abandon him. In fact, her current behaviour was in stark contrast to her usual isolationist demeanour. Normally when they were on the move, she would often range out far ahead of Locke, melding into the surroundings, only to return every now and then to check up on him.
Now though, she was sticking very close to the guardsman, her body tense and alert with her sword drawn as if she were expecting foul greenskins to burst out of the foliage at any moment. Considering how close the orks sounded, that prospect wasn't too far off the mark, so her actions were understandable.
My guardian angel. Locke joked inwardly, although the observation hit a little too close to home.
The guardsman suspected that the banshee was merely adhering to the strict warrior code that she followed. In this regard, she would always do her utmost to honour the bizarre alliance that they'd created albeit with an open resentment.
The more he thought about her indifferent attitude towards him, the more questions it raised. What was it that had swayed her mind to spare his life in the first place? She could barely even acknowledge him as a sentient being half the time.
The xeno had already proven that she could handle herself in a fight, she didn't rely on him for that. Was it something to do with the Omnicron? If that was the case, why didn't she just kill him and take it for herself? Answers for these queries eluded him, and it didn't help that the eldar's actions, at least from his point of view, were contradictory to the extreme.
The guardsman turned his mind back to the matter at hand, he swore that he'd learn the truth one way or the other. In light of this grim reality, Locke consoled himself that while the eldar may not outwardly appreciate his company, he welcomed hers irrespective of their differences.
Besides, the soldier knew he'd be lying if he said that he didn't get any amusement out of annoying the alien with his light-hearted attitude. Heretical as it was, he'd grown oddly fond of her companionship despite the eldar's unusual and enigmatic nature.
Ducking underneath another low hanging branch and parting a rather thorny bush, another familiar noise tickled his ear drums. The guardsman had almost missed it amidst the racket of the whooping greenskins and the vocal fauna that called this woodland their home.
Locke paused for a few heartbeats; he had heard that sound before, but his panic-stricken mind was sluggish to place the endless rumble of calm thunder.
Rain? He asked to no one. No… wait. A river? A river!
His eyes went wide at the realisation; they were heading straight towards the yet unseen waterway. The banshee with her superior senses had undoubtedly heard it too and was already beginning to move faster towards it. Locke hesitated; a river was not necessarily a good omen.
If they reached the watercourse without a safe crossing point then they'd be trapped with the river to their front and the orks to their backs. Even if there was a ford or a bridge, there was still no guarantee that they'd be able to open up the distance between themselves and their pursuers.
In the end though, what choice did he have but to keep going? The pair rushed through the thick snow-encrusted undergrowth and down towards the river. Along the way, they weaved in and out of the countless dormant trees that littered the area, all the while the orks' advance gained on them. Locke caught a few glimpses of the savage beasts' silhouettes through the cloying vegetation with every backwards glance.
Stop it! Eyes front. He chastised himself. Doesn't matter what those bastards are doin', keep your eyes on the prize!
Listening to his own advice, Locke forced himself to ignore the goings-on behind him and kept his vision firmly planted on the ground ahead. As of yet, there had been no solid indication that they'd been spotted by the ork host. The brutes, in a wide searching pattern, were most likely moving in the direction where the two of them had last been seen.
Given the size of the enemy force arrayed against them, staying hidden and ahead of the search wave was their only option for survival. Locke posited that if they could keep this up, there was a chance that the orks would grow bored and give in. It was a long shot, but it was all the soldier could come up with to stop his morale from dropping through the floor.
Unfortunately, the changing weather pattern would be what would expose them. The shifting clouds in the evening sky caused an errant streak of sunlight to stream down from the treetops at the worst possible moment. The eldar, who was to Locke's left, was caught in the thin beam as she passed between two elderly shrubs. The light reflected off her blade, shining like a beacon in that murky grove of ice and dull greenery.
The greenskins themselves do not have the best eyesight, but even they understood the glint of finely polished wraith bone when they saw it. Once the first barbarian called out his discovery, the cat was well and truly out of the bag. The enveloping woodland came alive with boisterous orks as they responded to the sighting of their quarry.
Hearing the promise of a pain-filled and gory death broadcast all across the forest, Locke suddenly found stores of energy that he didn't even realise he'd had. In a burst of speed, the guardsman sprinted down the slope, buffeted by vegetation the entire way.
The banshee, taken aback by his abrupt change in gait, wasted no time in joining him. The orks though, were done playing games; they sensed that their grand hunt was nearly at an end.
A few of their greenskin hunters fired a handful of shots in a ragtag volley but none found their mark. The closest of these errant projectiles blew out the trunk of a nearby sapling, several paces off to Locke's right.
Though this handful of greenskin fusiliers kept up the sporadic gunfire, its half-hearted nature was obvious to all – intended as more to frighten than to maim. The majority of the orks were apparently content enough to wait until they could have a proper melee brawl with the two fleeing fugitives.
In a headlong dash, the guardsman vaulted over a fallen tree and pushed on into a clearing. Some movement off to his right distracted Locke for only a split-second, and yet it almost cost him his life when his foot struck nothing but air.
Coming to an abrupt halt on the edge of the precipice, Locke's heart jumped into his throat whilst his arms windmilled for balance. It was only the timely intervention of the alien that stopped him from tumbling over the cliffside as her arm shot out and pulled him back to safety.
While his heart hammered inside his chest, Locke watched as a couple of pebbles - knocked loose by his boot, bounced down the ravine and into the fast-flowing, tumultuous waters below. They had inadvertently stumbled onto a slight overhang that jutted out over a deep-looking river.
"Thank you, Xeno… knew I kept you 'round… for somethin'." The guardsman doubled over with his hands on his knees, panted his gratitude to the banshee which she accepted with a curt nod.
Her attention soon shifted to the foaming rapids at their feet whilst Locke regained his breath. Once the burning sensation in his lungs subsided, the guardsman found himself studying the geographical barricade that blocked their path.
His vision swept backwards and forwards across the ravine, daring to believe that there might be something that could offer salvation, but it was not to be. The soldier's face fell, the second it became clear that his hopes had been thwarted. There was no crossing point; they were doomed.
The eldar apparently did not share his pessimistic observation. She tugged at his sleeve for his attention and then jabbed a pointed finger at the river below. It took Locke only a second to realise what she intended to do. The guardsman, almost believing her to have gone mad, frantically shook his head but she did not relent.
"Xeno, are you crazy?" He asked, dumbfounded by her request. "If we don't drown, we'll freeze to death!" Detecting the cynicism in his tone, it was her turn to shake her head in exasperation.
"No… no way." It was too surreal; they were wasting precious time arguing whilst the orks drew nearer and nearer. This was probably not lost on the alien, but she refused to let the matter slide.
In the short space of time that he'd known her, the unrelenting stubbornness of the banshee had become her defining characteristic. Locke came to believe that she would rather be torn limb from limb by the orks than concede anything to him. Flushed with anger from this realisation, the guardsman verbally lashed back at her.
"How about you take out that fancy sword of yours!" Locke demanded, gesturing at her now sheathed blade. "And help me kill these bastards." He pointed his thumb towards the treeline where the orks were likely to appear.
The banshee lifted her elbow so she could study the sword resting on her hip. Crossing her arms in annoyance – an eerily human gesture, her vision promptly swept back up to return his gaze with an unwavering one of her own. All of which seemed to say, 'I'm not suicidal, thank you very much.'
The guardsman could have either laughed or wept in that moment, the irony was clearly lost on her. Locke clenched his fists as he let loose an irritated and forlorn sigh at the eldar's answer. Deep down though, he knew she had a point, there were simply too many… even for a warrior as good as her.
There's got to be a way-out o' this that don't involve takin' the plunge. Locke thought, albeit with less conviction as time went on.
Sensing that he was beginning to come around to her plan, the alien persisted with a series of nudges, hisses, and clicks which forced an embarrassing admission from the pestered guardsman.
"Look… I c-can't… I can't swim, alright." Locke confessed whilst doing a quick miming action so that the point carried across.
"If I jump in there…" He directed her attention towards the swirling waters. "I'm not comin' out again." The guardsman said, casting another worried look back the way they had come before pinching the bridge of his rebreather-covered nose. He had to think of something and quick.
It's a bloody wide river, but maybe… with Xeno's help I could jump it? No, don't be daft, it'd never work. Or we could chop down a tree… and use it as a pontoon… but it wouldn't be easy to shift with just the two of us… and time ain't on our side. Damnit all.
It was hopeless, Locke resigned himself to the inescapable truth. He had become so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed the alien's hand move towards his own. When Locke felt her fingers grasp onto his palm, his head flicked over to her.
The red lenses of her war mask fixed onto his visor, stopping his thought process dead in its tracks while the physical connection soothed his fears and doubts. In place of these worries, all Locke could now think about were those beautiful green eyes hidden behind her helm.
This unusually tender moment was interrupted by the greenskins who emerged from the woods in an explosion of leaves and snow. The guardsman's attention was snatched away from the alien as he frantically scrutinized the enemy vanguard.
The sighting of the orks prompted Locke to ready himself for combat, however the eldar hindered him as she refused to relinquish his hand. Needless to say, his panicked thoughts returned in an instant due to his companion's counterproductive actions.
"The hell are you doing?" He shot her an angry and bemused look, but she held fast.
Locke expected the savages to be upon them instantly, especially amidst their petty squabbling, but the orks practised an incredible level of restraint… by greenskin standards anyway. Instead of barrelling towards them in a reckless charge, the orks halted about eighty feet away from their position.
It remained unclear whether this behaviour was due to some sort of reputation that Locke and the eldar had fostered amongst the barbarians or from the strict orders of their war chief. Either way, the outcome did not bode well for the guardsman and his companion.
The first few orks were quickly joined by more of the foul barbarians, jostling and growling at one another with nearly the same intensity that they reserved for the two fugitives. In spite of their inhuman nature, the orks still managed to order themselves into a loosely defined crescent-shaped formation which cut off the duo's escape and trapped them both on the overhang.
The enemy force must have numbered somewhere close to four dozen warriors not counting the roving bipedal beasts and gretchin tag-alongs. Locke froze, terror engulfing his being. There he was, a lone guardsman with his alien ally-turned-craven, trapped against an amassed group of greenskins.
Many of the dumb brutes, baring their sharp fangs, screamed inane war cries at him that made his bowels loosen. While those of the greenskin horde with a bit more nous, slung all sorts of dirty insults and foul promises his way whilst brandishing their weapons in mock displays of battle prowess.
Well… we're fucked. He surmised grimly.
A squeeze of his hand brought his gaze back to the banshee. She was still staring at him and even though he couldn't see her expression, he knew that the aspect warrior was willing him to trust her.
The eldar had no intentions of fighting the greenskins assembled in front of them, she was still set on escape via the river. Faced with the freezing torrent frothing below or the cruel aliens baying for his blood, the guardsman settled on the former.
Abyss take us all. He shivered in preparation for the horrible ordeal that he was about to embark upon.
"Okay Xeno." Locke whispered in a disheartened voice as he undid the clasp on his helmet strap and removed his rebreather. "I'm with you."
It was at this point when a towering greenskin, the same one that had eyed him from across the snowy ravine earlier in the day, pushed his way out of the throng of greenskin warriors. The armoured ork war chief tramped forward and halted in front of his subordinates around thirty paces from Locke and the eldar.
"WOT DO WE 'AVE 'ERE BOYZ?" The greenskin leader enquired with a ferocious leer, looking over both shoulders whilst holding his meaty arms out wide like a sly showman.
Even as Locke stood quaking in his boots, he had to give the greenskin his due, the brute certainly was a performer. The air quickly filled with the babble of shouting ork warriors as they dined to give their own vile opinions.
"LOOKS LOIK WE GOTS US SOME 'UMMIES!" He gestured at Locke and the banshee with a huge axe that could have cut a grox in half with a single swing. "YA KNOW WOT WE DO WIV 'UMMIES DONTCHA?" The war chief cried.
"FOIGHT 'EM AND KILL 'EM, DRAZGAD!" The ork crowd roared in answer to their chieftain's question. At this response, their leader wore an oddly thoughtful expression, nodding along as he listened to many more of his tribe's views on the matter.
The ork leader, this so-called Drazgad, then turned his beady red eyes onto Locke and the banshee – who had remained rooted to the spot during the theatrics.
"WELL THEN 'UMMIES." The war chief now addressed the two of them. "YOU 'EARD 'EM! TIME TO FOIGHT!" He shrugged his mighty shoulders, acting sardonically sympathetic to their plight as if he were bound by some unfortunate convention and not by his own instinctive cruelty.
Locke for his part didn't appreciate being mocked by this oversized green thug and increasingly glanced down at the white waters behind him. Never before had he been so thankful for the waterproof lining on the inside of his kitbag.
"YA AIN'T GOT NO PLACE LEFT TO RUN!" The orchestrator of their misery added with a rib shaking bellow.
"That's what you think." The guardsman called back as he and the banshee, hand in hand, jumped off the cliff and into the swirling waters some thirty feet below. In Locke's opinion, the look of shock plastered across the dumb brute's face almost made up for the day's trials.
The unpleasant feeling of weightlessness took hold of him as gravity tugged him downwards to the bustling waters below. In the unforgiving onrush of air, Locke accidently released the eldar from his grasp. This drew a shout of concern from the falling alien, but it was lost upon the wind.
Mid-free fall - a few feet above the river, a snapshot of advice from Brandr flashed through his mind in regard to cold water shock. In response, he braced his hands hard over his mouth and squeezed his nostrils closed.
The banshee disappeared into the water a fraction of a second before he was plunged bodily into the depths. The violent clap of the water caused his pack to shoot upwards; it was as if his arms were being wrenched from their sockets as the kit straps dug mercilessly into his armpits.
Not that he could even give voice to his pain, the sudden shock of freezing water all about him had overwhelmed his sensory nerves, striking the guardsman as sure as a physical blow. Fully submerged underwater, Locke acted with reflexive instinct; he tried to inhale the surrounding fluid and was only prevented from doing so thanks to his palms clamped fiercely across his face.
From each failed respiratory attempt, an awful hollowness blossomed in his chest cavity all the while his legs and elbows spasmed impotently in the water. His lungs burned with a terrible need, threatening to burst forth from his rib cage at any moment. Thankfully though, these instinctual gasps that had temporarily paralysed him, subsided over the course of nearly a minute after their initial bout.
For the time being, the danger of shock had passed which allowed Locke's psyche to reassert itself. There was only one thought on his mind, the overriding desire to breathe. Releasing the grip over his mouth and nose, the guardsman kicked and pulled at the water as he made for the surface.
With his vision darkening, the exultant soldier emerged atop the waves in an explosion of flapping limbs and spray; he breathed deeply without restraint. It was only now that Locke registered how fast he was actually moving; he was well and truly ensnared within the river's current.
It had been a miraculous escape; however, it hadn't come without sacrifice. The Mark III Kaidros infantry helmet - a cheap cross between a sallet and the Cadian pattern, had been torn away in an instant by the force of the river when it swallowed him whole.
His rebreather too, snatched from its chest pouch, had been claimed by those greedy waters. Both pieces of apparel had been with the guardsman for nearly seven years and now they would remain forever lost to him.
Through the roar of the foaming torrents around him, the irate war chief - denied of his prize, could be heard shouting at the top of his lungs from the rocky precipice above. Those of his subordinates with ranged weaponry, rapidly took up positions along the tops of the ravine and opened fire.
More due to the enigmatic movements of the river current than his own judgement, Locke was dragged under the water as kinetic rounds spat into the chaotic medium all around him. Trails of tiny bubbles materialised in the sloshing water, each one marking the passage of one of the missiles.
A few heartbeats after the initial salvo, a greenskin gunner got a lucky hit that struck Locke square in the back – a perfect kill shot… or at least it would have been had the guardsman been above the waves. The retarding effect of the water had bled the bullet's momentum to such a degree that it held about as much force as the flick of a finger.
Grunting in frustration, the orks did their best to keep pace with their target, however, they were forced to temporarily abandon the pursuit as an adjoining tributary cut them off. With no way to ford it at such short notice, all they could do was watch powerlessly while the guardsman was carried out of their sight.
It definitely wasn't plain sailing for the beleaguered soldier though. When the river curved round in a meander, he was flung to the outside of the bend by the centrifugal force of the current.
Locke only just managed to flail away from the liquid's clutches long enough to break the surface to take another sputtering breath. Wild-eyed with desperation, he glared down the run of the river, and was met with a plethora of shallow foaming cascades and rocky protrusions.
He had no time to contemplate the challenge ahead when the turbulence pulled him under the waves once more. If not for the fact that the undulating riverbed had become much shallower in this section, the soldier would have surely drowned.
As he was borne under the waves, the myriad of submerged boulders and rocky shelves were his only saving grace. Whenever it was possible, he would use the tips of his toes to lever himself up on these passing obstacles, just high enough so that his mouth cleared the watery membrane.
The rapids though, were a whole other story. The river flow increased drastically and became ever more tumultuous, tossing Locke around in the current without a care. Several times he was launched into the air in fits of foam and spray as the river rushed over a mini waterfall, only to catch him as he landed back into the riotous waterway.
More than once whilst attempting to respire, he accidently swallowed mouthfuls of freezing water that flooded his gullet and drove a spear of ice into his heart. The spluttering guardsman, tumbling end over end in the merciless current, tried in vain to grab onto the rocky outcrops that protruded out of the river. Unfortunately for him, the stones had been rubbed smooth by countless years of erosion and were covered in a slimy lichen, thus offered no purchase.
On and on this exhausting cycle went, but for how long was difficult to gauge. Needless to say, the combination from the physical effort required to stay afloat and the sheer cold of the water was inevitably taking its toll.
He was beginning to tire, the strength in his limbs were receding with every minute that ticked by. If this went on much longer, he wouldn't have the energy necessary to fight the river current; these uncaring rapids could well have become his grave.
Nonetheless, fate isn't entirely without mercy; Locke's salvation came in the form of a piece of flotsam, a half-rotten log, which made itself known when it banged into the back of his head. Dizzy from the blow, Locke shot out a floundering arm and grabbed the makeshift float in a drunken fashion, although his iron-like grip was anything but weak.
Bleary-eyed and shivering in the freezing waters, Locke hacked up some of the water that he'd ingested and finally caught his respite. Bobbing along at a fast pace, he travelled for several miles down the river's course.
Frequently, throughout that uncomfortable journey - with eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, the soldier shudderingly searched for the whereabouts of his companion. Time wore on, but Locke never saw any sign of the eldar, she had vanished – claimed by the waters.
He would not have the time to contemplate this loss as this realisation coincided with much graver tidings. The river had reached yet another meander, however the guardsman noticed that the flow was picking up speed even faster than before.
His brow furrowed in puzzlement until the chorus of falling water filled his ears. Rotating slowly in the current, Locke gazed - practically open-mouthed in horror as he was brought forth towards a huge waterfall. Through the haze of the partially evaporated water, the panicking guardsman could make out the north western horizon, far in the distance.
Snubbing the inevitable outcome, Locke's legs thrashed in fluttering spasms as he spun himself around in the freezing water. Wedging the makeshift float under his armpit, the guardsman kicked and paddled wildly in a desperate attempt to reach the eastern bank before he was sent careening over the falls.
Alas, it was far too little and far too late; he had been caught in the cascade's pull. As the flow continued to accelerate towards the oblivion that awaited, the beleaguered guardsman looked on helplessly. There was nothing Locke could do; he was being dragged to his doom like a void ship crossing the event horizon of a black hole.
In one last ditch effort to save himself, he lunged for a few of the rocky protrusions that stood close to the drop. These brave yet impotent attempts were met with failure as the unassailable force of the water batted his body aside with ease; the river would not be denied its sacrificial offering.
His trusty log slipped from his grasp as he was thrown over the edge of the tumultuous precipice. Frozen with fear and cold, his training – practically instinctive at this point - took over. The guardsman crossed his arms over his chest and straightened his legs with mere seconds to spare.
The plunge pool met his descent as he dropped into the raucous water in a great stream of bubbles. This tarn though was deep, and without his buoyancy aid, he sank like a stone.
Locke reached up to the ruffled translucent curtain that separated the two realms of air and water, but the brook refused to relinquish him. Struggling like a dying animal, he fought and pulled at the water's chilling embrace but to no avail.
With his lungs bursting at the seams, a series of bubbles escaped from his lips while his limbs flailed wildly in the non-viscous fluid. The guardsman's efforts, though admirable, were in vain as his arms and legs became heavier and heavier.
The soldier couldn't give up, he needed to get out of there, if not for the sake of his mission, then for his need to get home. Locke continued to weakly wrestle with the river in a feeble attempt to ascend, but the fight had long since been lost by this point.
Eventually, he couldn't stand the internal screaming of his chest cavity any longer; his breath gave out in a billowing cloud of effervescence. Victorious at last, torrent after torrent of triumphant river water flushed down his gullet in several draining gulps that flooded his internal organs.
The awful pain in his lungs gradually faded and was instead replaced with a peculiar warmth that spread across his chest. It only then occurred to Locke how tired he actually was. His eyelids felt so heavy and sure enough, his vision began to darken as he closed his eyes.
Just… a quick nap… down here… then I'll tr-
His internal monologue never finished its thought as unconsciousness claimed him. The last thing he knew, was the splash of something entering the water high above.
It was fortunate for the mon'keigh that another had witnessed his plummet over the falls. Aristriel had watched the ill-fated guardsman from her vantage point on the shingle that skirted around the edges of the wide plunge pool. It was only when he failed to surface that her concern forced her to wade swiftly back into the water.
Closing in on the place where he had disappeared, the banshee dived into the depths after him; she would take absolutely no chances when it came to her mission. Her swift entry into the pool created only the slightest wake as her lithe body slipped through the water with the same grace and elegance that characterised her movement on land.
The continuous sound of the cascading spray reverberated through the water, covering up any calls of distress that the submerged human might make. If Aristriel had been without her war mask, she may have struggled to spot her quarry in the churned-up liquid and growing darkness. Thankfully, she was not in that position; her enhanced helmet optics cut through those minor impediments to the sunken mon'keigh below.
There! The banshee's mind cried in alarm; she had spotted the sinking guardsman, who had fallen a considerable way.
His limp body hung unnervingly suspended in the water like a puppet on a string. The human's eyes were closed, his mouth ajar, several bubbles escaping from his lips while his hair drifted gently in time with the current's movements.
With just a few powerful strokes, the eldar swam the distance between them, pulling up directly opposite the human. Aristriel only needed to take a cursory glance to understand his current state; he was drowning. Closing her right arm under his armpits, she kicked with her legs and tore at the water with her left arm. The fluid parted before her as they rapidly ascended towards the surface.
Plumes of spray were sent skyward when Aristriel and the comatose human explosively arose out of the disturbed water. Bobbing in the tarn, the banshee took a mere heartbeat to get her bearings. She leaned back in the water and half-swam/half-dragged her mon'keigh-shaped burden to the shoreline.
Once within the shallows, the eldar planted her armoured feet on the stony riverbed and waded ashore. Grabbing the guardsman by the scruff of his neck, Aristriel hauled the motionless human free of the river's grasp whilst rivulets flowed off of them both in a shower of icy droplets. With her companion secure, her vision swept across the nearby ground for a suitable place to apply first aid.
The eldar did not have to search for long, she was immediately attracted to a small patch of sand just off the rocky shingle and headed straight towards it with the human in tow. Once there, Aristriel removed the mon'keigh's pack, and with great care, laid him down onto his back.
In desperation, she tried to rouse him in her usual way; when that failed, she resorted to more forceful methods. Nonetheless, the guardsman would not stir from either her hisses or nudges nor did he register the slapping of her hand across his cheek nor the shaking of his shoulders.
The soldier's paling face remained utterly lifeless, his chest neither rising nor falling as it should while the warmth had all but fled from his clammy body.
The eldar refused to believe the possibility that this irritatingly stubborn mon'keigh was dead, although, with every beat of her heart, this reality became all the more profound. Throughout their time together, from the conclusion of their fateful duel and onwards, Aristriel had slowly but surely gained a begrudging respect for the human as a fellow combatant.
Now that very same guardsman lay cold and still; he had beaten the odds time and again, only to meet his end not by blade or bullet, but by suffocation. Drowning was no death for a warrior, it was too painfully anticlimactic for her to contemplate; he had deserved better.
After all of our trials along this journey, and you decide to die during the pinnacle of our escape. Aristriel bitterly observed his stilled form with fists clenched in frustration and disappointment.
These emotions were quickly replaced with rage once she realised that the resolute human probably took some sort of perverse solace in the knowledge that his death would inevitably spite her.
If this fool truly thought that he would have the last laugh then he will be sorely mistaken. She silently declared, glaring at the human laid out before her.
He would not die here, not now, the aspect warrior would not allow it, even if that meant travelling to the aether herself to reclaim his lost soul back from the very corpse god that he worshipped.
Jumping to action, she pulled and ripped at his upper clothing with a shaky desperation. Whether this was born from her ill-concealed worry over her companion or the concern for her mission, she did not dare dine to answer.
Placing her hand on his naked pectorals, she closed her eyes and sought for any shred of the cheerfully cynical soul that she had come to know. For several nerve-wracking seconds, the banshee searched until she detected the life that still dwelt within him. While certainly a relief for the eldar, his life force was still fading at a rapid pace; she would need to act and fast.
Even with her emotion-nullifying mask, Aristriel felt the paralysing sensation of panic rise within her. If he died, her mission would be in jeopardy. She would have no method of moving the Omnicron that was currently within his possession.
At present, as the guardsman's life waned, the dark aura orbiting the artefact grew which sent an involuntary shiver down the banshee's spine. Aristriel swallowed the fear back down, she would do her utmost to save him.
Normally, an eldar who had suffered in a similar drowning scenario could be resuscitated by their fellows via the application of their own psychic potential. This human though was not psychically attuned and without a conscious mind to guide what little aethereal assistance she could offer, his body for all intents and purposes was inert.
There was nothing for it, the banshee would need to act in a physical manner as a temporary surrogate for his heart and lungs until his brain could take over once more. Aristriel knew what this would entail, and already she could feel the shame and resentment boil up from within.
Never would I have believed that a member of a supposedly intelligent race could not swim. It is a disgrace and now… I am forced to do the unthinkable! Her mind howled; this had to be the doing of Cegorach.
Only he could devise such a scenario that would force the eldar to lower herself to such a disgusting degree. Aristriel was a Howling Banshee of Alaitoc, she was supposed to kill the craftworld's foes, not revive them… and certainly not in such a debauched manner. Be that as it may, her humiliation when compared to the importance of her mission was utterly negligible.
She turned her hardened ire upon his paling visage, yet the sight of his white and peaceful face snuffed out her childish anger. For all his many annoying faults, he had still displayed compassion and even honour; sides of humanity that Aristriel previously would never have believed to exist.
The human had proven his worth on a number of occasions whilst flouting almost all of her biased expectations in the process. He did not deserve to die here, not yet anyway; ultimately, his life was still hers by the rights of the old pantheon. Sighing, she removed her helmet – placing it to one side and readied herself to do what any other eldar would consider a depraved absurdity.
The banshee knelt down by his head, the pebbles crunching underneath her shifting form. Aristriel's knowledge of human anatomy was limited to say the least, although her nightly inspections of his form had yielded more than enough information for her purposes.
Using her index and middle finger, she pulled the mon'keigh's head back to open up his airway. Next, the banshee leant in towards his mouth, stopping just short as she ran her eyes over his face. She couldn't believe it had come to this; her bountiful lips quivered in trepidation while the coppery bangs of her hair fell across his brow and neck.
Sucking in a deep breath, she parted his mouth and pinched his nose as her head crossed the gulf between them. The instant Aristriel's silky lips landed on the corner of his mouth, it took a few awkward moments for the aspect warrior to manoeuvre hers into the right position.
Once this simple feat was accomplished, she pressed her lips forcefully against his own to make a tight seal as she blew into his mouth at a steady pace. The soldier's chapped lips, now taking on a bluish hue, were surprisingly soft with a slight salty taste. Despite her earlier complaints and the pressing nature of the situation, this 'osculation of deliverance' wasn't necessarily unpleasant.
Certainly not what I had envisaged my first kiss to be. A tiny voice at the back of her mind said with casual indifference.
Aristriel's eyes went wide in surprise - completely shocked by this revelation. This statement was instantaneously rebuked and rebuffed by more vocal parts of her psyche.
Absolutely not! I do this for his well-being alone! The very idea that it holds any greater meaning is as unpalatable as it is incorrect. Her mind slapped down the small rebel that had dared to voice such a foolish notion.
Her cheeks reddened all the same, however such a triviality would not turn the banshee away from her duty. The eldar's eyes travelled across his torso and was satisfied to see that his chest rose and fell as his lungs inflated and deflated from her input.
Aristriel repeated this action twice more before she broke the connection between them and moved away. Interlocking her hands, one over the other, the banshee rested them on his sternum – perpendicular to the length of his body.
Keeping her arms straight, she pressed down hard before releasing in short, quick pumping motions. Doing her best to imitate his heartbeat, she repeated this action forty times before shifting her position back to the side of his head. Without pause or rest, the banshee forced air into the human's lungs and pumped the oxygen rich blood around his body.
It was exhausting work, yet the banshee would not relent, nor did she slow. Eventually, Aristriel was rewarded for her efforts. During one of her so-called 'osculations of deliverance', she felt the oppressive aura of the Omnicron recede in the blink of an eye.
The eldar took this as a good sign but was unable to pull back in time when the human's eyes sprang open. Their eyes met, hers bright and uncertain whilst his were dull and unfocused.
Aristriel kept her face impassive whilst doing her best to suppress the red flush on her face with a force of will beyond the imaginings of any human. She couldn't bear to fathom what it must have looked like to the weary supine soldier who blankly stared up at her.
In spite of her earlier bluster, the awkwardness of their current predicament had the banshee frozen in place, her face still mere inches from his own. For his part, the guardsman took on a far-off look, his hands meekly groping around in the wet pebbles beside himself while his unsteady breathing tickled Aristriel's cheek.
The aspect warrior who had explored the farthest reaches of the galaxy and fought a myriad of terrible foes, now found herself utterly subdued by embarrassment. Aristriel's mind flitted about as she frantically sought a way to extricate herself from the situation whilst maintaining her dignity.
Surprisingly, it was the groggy and disorientated mon'keigh who acted first while the banshee uncharacteristically dithered.
Aristriel was left astonished by the human's initial reaction; she had expected the sobering human to marvel in infatuated shock from her rather intimate actions. Especially when the banshee had considered his previous and poorly-hidden appreciation of her various physical characteristics.
Instead, the sputtering mon'keigh, entirely indifferent to her strange life-saving actions, shoved his paw of a hand into her face - forcing her back to give him some room. Appalled at this blatant disrespect, the banshee stood aghast as the guardsman rolled over onto his side and vomited a vile concoction of river water and bile onto the pitiable shingle.
With his attention wholly occupied by his trembling stomach and lungs, the spell that had enraptured Aristriel was broken in that instant. Turning away, the blushing eldar put on her helm, and rejoiced as her roiling emotions were mercilessly snuffed out.
Aristriel stood off to one side, allowing the mon'keigh space to recover; although, he certainly took his sweet time as his prolonged heaving went on without end in sight.
It was a dreadful spectacle but the eldar couldn't bear to look away; she absently wondered if this reaction was a reflex common to all humans or a weird quirk of this particular individual. Either way she had to admit that, while equally horrifying, there was also a sense of satisfaction in seeing the cocky human brought so low.
The guardsman's convulsions only came to an end when his stomach emptied what little remained of its contents. Unfortunately for the mon'keigh, his torment didn't end there; the subsidence of his heaving gut coincided with strong shudders that shook his entire body.
His shivering was so violent that when he went to swill his mouth out with water, he struggled to pour the liquid out of his canteen - the majority of which landed on his already soaked uniform.
Upon seeing this, the eldar turned her eyes to the setting sun through the cumulus clouds; the cold was getting worse as the daylight dimmed. Even Aristriel's armour, normally proficient at regulating her body temperature, was struggling to hold the chill at bay.
Likewise, her helmet's display flashed up warning runes indicating both the falling temperature and the decreasing atmospheric pressure.
A storm is coming. The eldar surmised. We must leave this place.
Turning back to the shaking human, Aristriel knelt down next to him and helped the guardsman up to his feet. It was like he had aged fifty years in the space of a day; the banshee had never seen him look so frail and grey-faced. In reverse of their previous roles, it was now her turn to support him.
Passing his arm over her shoulder, they both shuffled towards the treeline one faltering step at a time. Hypothermia was their greatest enemy now; the human would need shelter if he were to survive.
After a few hundred paces, the banshee noticed from the corner of her eye that the gaunt-looking mon'keigh was in some sort of exhausted trance. He plodded forwards obediently with his free arm tightly wrapped about himself, barely even paying the environment any heed whilst he shivered in silence. It was only when Aristriel halted that the guardsman turned his head to look at her, as if seeing the banshee for the first time.
Aristriel ignored his blank glare, for a glint of sunlight reflecting off something had enraptured her gaze. When the banshee set off towards it in a hurry, the partially-supported human was taken totally off-guard by her sudden change in direction.
Nevertheless, the mon'keigh was in no position to resist her assertive manhandling and could only offer up weak complaints in consolation. With every unsteady step, the pair drew closer to whatever it was that shone in the fading daylight, brushing aside any foliage that stood in their path.
Stepping around a bulky upturned pinecone plant, Aristriel noticed that they now found themselves on either a manmade path or a game trail. Whatever it was, they followed the indent in the ground as they blundered their way towards the shiny item.
All the time, the soaked human's shaking became more pronounced which only drove the banshee to move faster. He needed warmth more than anything else; if he did not find it soon, his death would be an inevitability. Aristriel understood this which only made the eventual discovery of the object all the more jubilant.
Slightly obscured by a leafless branch from a nearby tree, was a glass pane embedded within a wall of layered logs. It was a wooden hunting lodge, well-concealed in amongst the trees and buttressed up against the cliff that swept round from the waterfall.
It was a true godsend; the banshee couldn't describe it as anything else. If not for her companion, she would have dropped to her knees to give thanks to Lileath for this good fortune.
Without a second thought, they entered the premises through the front door with all the subtlety of an ork at a banquet. There was a worry that another mon'keigh occupant may be present, but the banshee soon dispelled this concern once she saw the interior.
The hovel, while in good order and reasonably maintained, had not been used in some time. Aristriel took in their new abode, it had basic furniture – likely handmade by its original owner, and a rustic décor.
There were no stairs, just a single floor. From the doorway that the two of them stood in, the banshee gazed directly into the living room. A kitchen connected via an open doorway stood off to the side on the farthest wall and a closed door stood on the western wall.
The banshee's growling hunger demanded her to inspect the former's contents, but she ignored it; there were other matters that she had to attend to first.
Within the living room, several animal skin rugs from native fauna lay in places of import, the largest of which was located in front of a stone fireplace. Aristriel couldn't describe in mere words how much she wished to light it and bask in the fire's glow, although she knew such an idea was naive at best.
If they weren't careful, the light in the darkness could well guide their adversaries right to them. Above the mantel piece over the fireplace, was the bust of a magnificent feline specimen with long protruding canines and silver fur.
An involuntary shiver from the human interrupted her brief inspection; his well-being was the top priority for the moment. Closing the door behind them, she laid the soaking and shivering guardsman down onto the wide couch.
Evidently, whoever had lived here before must have used it as their bed. Aristriel had hoped that the squat building was warmer than it first appeared, but in that regard she was left disappointed; the internal temperature wasn't much greater than it was outside.
At least there is no wind. Aristriel thought, remaining positive.
This observation was further reinforced by the guardsman's shivering which would not stop. It immediately became obvious to the banshee that the sodden clothes he wore were leaching what little heat remained in his body.
Without a care for his own opinion, Aristriel started to strip the soldier in an efficient and emotionless manner. Not that the mon'keigh resisted, he was either wholly oblivious to what was happening or so out of it that he didn't care.
When it eventually came to the matter of his undergarments, the banshee didn't need much persuading to allow the human his last vestige of sodden clothing. After all, she had no real wish to see what lay underneath, hypothermia be damned.
Taking away the wet fatigues that she had removed, the aspect warrior hung them up on some usefully placed clothes lines near the fireplace. The guardsman's webbing, which contained the Omnicron, was the only piece of apparel that she did not dare move away from his protective aura. Next, Aristriel gathered up the animal skins off the floor and covered the delirious human with them; it wasn't a brilliant solution, but it was better than nothing.
The banshee had wanted to use the guardsman's thermal sack and blanket, but they were too sodden to be of any use for the time being. Upon investigating the human's kitbag, Aristriel found that only the items contained within had managed to stay dry. The temptation to light a fire continued to grow but she resisted it for now.
Not until I have reconnoitred the local vicinity. The banshee promised herself.
With that done, she decided to explore their new abode and her first port of call was the kitchen. It was a narrow room, a single corridor running down its short length, finishing at a door that led back out into the wintry forest outside.
The lodge's scullery contained a whole myriad of cupboards and shelves which sat underneath the wooden worktop and covered the walls, respectively. Off to the side, a cast iron oven stood proudly in the corner, the old log walls near it darkened by a mixture of soot and heat.
What truly caught her attention though, was the tapless sink that sat just beneath a picture window; the latter of which had a slight build-up of frost along its grilles.
Wiping away some of the condensation on the pane, the eldar peered at the outside world from her vantage point. Over a dozen metres away from her position, Aristriel noted the existence of a single water pump protruding at the centre of a clearing.
A bit further ahead, in the shadow of a large conifer, lay a tall but slim timber shack. Aristriel raised a bemused eyebrow, it was far too small to be a storeroom, but it obviously had to serve some sort of purpose - humanity wasn't that capricious.
I shall investigate that in due course.
After a brief inspection of the kitchen's paltry contents, she left the room with a frown, it mostly consisted of empty cans and tasteless biscuits. The banshee returned back into the living room whereupon she examined what was behind the closed door.
As it turned out, a sort of airing cupboard. Dusty blankets as well as some towels were piled up in neat heaps all across the cramped racks and shelves.
Although, with the way that Aristriel gazed about the room, one would have thought that it contained all of the galaxy's greatest craftworks. Admiring this odd horde of treasure, she grabbed an armful of the fabric sheets and proceeded to dump them over the top of the mon'keigh's already considerable makeshift bedding. Eyeing his slumbering form, she was at least content to see that his shivering had completely dissipated.
Interestingly, the mon'keigh hadn't been entirely idle while she had been preoccupied. At some point, the guardsman - now safely hidden under the covers, had taken off his wet underwear and placed it neatly folded up on the shin-high table at the centre of the room.
A grimacing Aristriel felt her eye twitch in irritation. Sleeping alongside a naked mon'keigh had not been on her to-do list, and yet the eldar knew that when night came, she would have no choice but to share the covers. This entire mission was maddening to the extreme.
When the time comes, I am going to enjoy killing you! The eldar thought indignantly as she snatched the underwear away.
Holding the piece of attire along its edge and at arm's length, she tossed it onto the washing line. The humiliation that this human had foisted upon her, whether intentional or not, in just a single day was beyond belief.
The banshee was almost thankful that her duties were not yet done. Quite frankly she'd had enough of the guardsman for a while and needed some time alone.
Aristriel made for the exit as there was still the matter of surveying their new territory and preparing early warning systems just in case the orks did venture this far northwest. Sparing one last glance at her dozing companion, the eldar strode back out into the chilly evening air.
The predictions made by her helmet's sensors were correct, a storm was certainly coming, further emphasised by the spreading overcast in the evening sky. The day had worn on since she'd left her companion to rest, gradually giving way to night by the time Aristriel had finished her sword dance along with her other duties.
In her time scouting the area, she had gained a newfound appreciation for the well-sighted location of their latest refuge. It was practically invisible from the cliff above, while at ground level an individual would need to travel along specific routes to even catch a glimpse of the cabin.
The banshee had concluded that this was by design; the fact that they'd even found it in the first place was something of a miracle. Whoever had built the hunting cabin had obviously wanted to live in peace, free from the watchful eye of this planet's authorities.
As for the woodland paths themselves, they all now sported several concealed ad hoc alarms at regular intervals, each one made from twine and empty food cans. The eldar was rather pleased with her ingenuity; she was now certain that if anyone or anything did try to sneak up on them, she would hear them coming.
Upon learning the sanitation purpose of the slim shack, an embarrassed Aristriel decided to head back to the log cabin before the blizzard started. All the tasks that she'd set herself had been completed, and now the banshee fancied taking advantage of the first proper respite that she'd had in a long while.
Some time spent free of my armour would be especially welcome. She relished the idea.
Locke opened his eyes slowly, gazing up at the timber ceiling before his vision trailed around the darkened room which was scarcely lit by the moonlight. A coughing fit rattled out of his lungs, making him wince from the pain that lanced through his throbbing head.
Where am I? He asked silently, gritting his teeth whilst waiting for the agony to pass.
Pulling his chin into his neck, the guardsman nearly jumped out of his skin when he came face to face with some sort of carnivorous armadillo-type creature. However, after a few seconds of gut-wrenching fear, Locke noticed its dead eyes and mouth set in a permanent snarl.
Oh thank the Emperor, it's dead. He let out a long-held breath, realising that he was completely nude under the covers.
The soldier was in some sort of log cabin, but how he got to this place and for how long he'd been here, were still mysteries. His headache made recollection difficult, a few hazy memories came to the fore in his mind. A rocky bank and a hazy figure, the woods, a skull helmet, and then nothing... no, not nothing.
Locke remembered the cold, the sheer engulfing cold that had enraptured his entire being, pulling him down to that abyss of darkness and shadow. The mere memory of his near-drowning experience made his hair stand on end.
The creak of a door opening made the guardsman go still. His survival instincts took over, he partially closed his eyes and lay unmoving underneath the covers.
Turning his head, he saw that the silhouetted newcomer was in fact the xeno, who had just returned from somewhere. She was still with him, that fact alone relieved him more than it had any right to. The guardsman was about to call out to the banshee but stopped himself the moment he saw her latest actions.
Locke had never really known the nature of her armour… until now. The banshee had taken off her helm and was disconnecting the armour plates, piling them neatly next to the fireplace.
However, it was the skin-tight, black body suit that drew the guardsman's attention more than anything else. The crystalline material almost seemed to flow over her athletic form whilst the ebony sheen glinted in the starlight with a slight bluish glow.
The eldar was apparently unaware of his probing stare as she continued without hesitation. The way the substance clung to the eldar's breasts whilst accentuating her slim waist, and the flare of her hip had the soldier utterly transfixed. When she bent over to collect her armour plates, she presented a perfect view of her rotund posterior - an image that would be forever burnt into Locke's brain.
This erotic show that the unwitting alien was putting on, did much to revive his nether regions which had previously shrivelled from the cold. Now though, it was an entirely different sight altogether. The guardsman, ashamed both for spying and his erection, rolled over so that his back was now facing the busy alien.
Praying for absolution, he squeezed his eyes shut, attempting in vain to push the images out of his head as he willed himself back to unconsciousness.
Hearing the sound of the human adjust his position in his sleep, Aristriel perceived the feelings of guilt and shame emanate from his form. At first she believed it to be another one of his nightmares, but his emotions were nowhere near as intense as they usually were.
With a mental shrug, she turned back to the task of squaring away her armour, weapons, and helmet as she stacked them up on an armchair. Taking a seat in front of the fireplace, she sat cross-legged on the icy tiles. The banshee meditated for about an hour to calm her own feelings before getting up to eat a few of the tough crackers she'd found.
Now though, she was definitely starting to feel the cold as her body began to shiver. The only place that was even remotely warm was the blanket-covered couch where the mon'keigh slept. Driven by a combination of her own tiredness and the dropping temperature, the banshee was forced to cross the room and to the makeshift bed.
Sighing once again at the absurdity of it all, Aristriel tentatively slipped under the covers beside the dormant human. The awkwardness of the situation and the chill in her bones soon evaporated as the cosy comfort soothed her mind, body, and soul. Even so, getting to sleep proved to be much harder than anticipated.
Just as she felt her mind drift off, the mon'keigh disturbed her as he turned over; he was now facing her back. The banshee pouted, but it was a minor annoyance, one she could easily bear. What he did next though was another matter entirely; his wilful arm slipped over her front and his hand came to rest upon her rightmost bosom.
Aristriel yelped in surprise from the stimulation along with the heat that flooded off his palm and into her chest. Her head instantly whipped around to glare at the mon'keigh's face, the human had finally revealed himself to be the lecherous barbarian that she knew him to be.
However, where the banshee had expected to see lust-filled eyes and a perverted grin, she only saw his peaceful visage in the midst of sleep. It had been an unconscious action on his part; luckily for the guardsman, he would never know how close he came to having his windpipe punched in.
Of course, there was still the task of extricating his hand from her bust, it certainly couldn't remain where it was. Ever so gently so as not to wake him, Aristriel plucked the skin of his middle knuckle and was about to lift his hand away when his fingers contracted slightly.
She drew in a sharp intake of breath; the sensation was too much. Biting down on her curled-up index finger from her other hand, the quivering red-faced eldar carefully lifted his limb off her breast and dropped it behind her. Yet the warm handprint lingered for some time, long after his hand had been removed from her chest.
Controlling her breathing, Aristriel calmed herself and soon her mind ebbed away to where strange dreams awaited. Unbeknownst to either of them, just outside the window, the first wave of snowflakes had begun to fall.
Review Responses:
Look2020 – Thank you.
Guest – Thank you, I spent quite a bit of time on it.
Naruto Loves FemKyuubi – I suppose. Things slow down for this chapter, so I'll be able to explore their relationship a bit more. As for Locke learning the eldar language, I'm going to have to disagree.
Aaron Black – Well, Locke lost his flak jacket back in chapter 7 (I think) so he's only wearing his uniform at the moment. During the chase scene, I concede that him feeling the warmth of her hand is probably inaccurate (I'll change it to 'feeling the pressure of her arm') – good suggestion. Regarding the shared body heat, I still stand by what I have written as it is supported by thermodynamics. Aspect warrior armour is not all-encompassing, there are gaps where the black body suit shows. If I assume that wraith bone is not a heat conductor, but that the body suit is, then this still provides avenues for heat to be released or absorbed. Therefore, this fulfils the requirement: 'two warm bodies in close proximity, capable of producing their own heat, and able to absorb the latent heat released by the other body.'
Guardian246 – Thank you, I'm always worried that I might be drawing things out for too long. Yes it'll be interesting, the race is on.
Theforciswithme000 – Thank you.
AlphariusMagyar – Cheers mate!
Guest – Good to hear! You are too kind; I just hope that my story/writing is able to live up to people's expectations. Simple as.
Expert93 – It was fun to write too :D
Guest – uh… I'm not sure, I never played RE6.
Nanogrunt – Thank you, glad you liked it.
Guesty McGuesty – You have no idea how glad I am to hear that. Yeah, things are certainly starting to ratchet up for our two protagonists. I agree, I think I've gotten into a nice rhythm with my writing, hopefully I can maintain it.
I am addicted – I hope this chapter was able to sate you for now. That is very kind of you, but I'm not sure if I would agree. Didn't 'Suffer Not the Xenos to Live' get completed some time ago?
Red2013.777 – That's quite a strong statement but thank you very much all the same!
Yeti – 1) It really is a great tune, especially when you're travelling in good company.
2) Yeah, I'm an admittedly slow writer and the last few years have been quite hectic for me which hasn't helped. Don't worry I'll keep writing until it's done. In the meantime, thank you for your kind words.
3) The craftworld eldar are not a monolith but we can assume what would happen based upon the society of each city state. Alaitoc and Biel-tan would probably kill Locke without much hesitation as he was just a means to an end. The other eldar craftworlds might be more lenient, possibly returning him home or, in very exceedingly rare circumstances, allowing him to stay.
AyeJimmy123 – Yeh boi.
Ergodox – I shall and thank you!
HellBringerab1 – Unfortunately, I can only write so fast while ensuring the quality, so I wouldn't expect anything more than a chapter per month (rough estimate). As for the story, it will be intriguing to see how the powers of the galaxy react. Who can say hmmm? No man can walk out on his own story.
Last worked on 4 years ago – Thank you very much! After doing a bit of research, I tried to be subtle and stick to the lore as much as possible which I think does a lot to make the story more authentic. The slow build-up of their relationship is something I really enjoy writing. I'm glad that you're enjoying it and I shall continue to put out chapters until it is completed.
No Talker – I'm glad I was able to make something that you enjoy so much.
USACommissar - That's very sweet of you, thank you.
