Hello! One of the latest reviews left on the previous chapter spoke about giving updates between chapters. I think this is a good idea, as it will give you some peace of mind that I am still working away at it, rather than just empty silence. My solution to this is as follows: at the bottom of this chapter, you will find a section called 'Update Record' which will give you the date (DD/MM/YYYY) and a description of the task that has been completed (e.g chapter outline completed) for the upcoming chapter that has yet to be released. Hopefully this system works, if you can think of anything else, please let me know.
Song of the day: Do It Again - Steely Dan
Chapter 19 – Days Gone By
Lightning split the night with a bright azure flash that was instantly followed up by the heaven's roar. Locke's eyelids flicked open as he stared at the thunderous clouds overhead. Dimly recognising the grim shade of the sky, he sat up suddenly and looked upon his immediate surroundings. His vision had barely come back into focus when a terrible feeling of déjà vu wormed its way into his heart.
The guardsman was back inside the hellish maze, lying inside one of its many misshapen corridors. The onyx walls stood high up around him, trapping and oppressing him in a labyrinth of endless chaos and night. Still, one consolation was that at least Locke knew what to expect.
Idly, his fingers wandered into his webbing pouch where they soon settled on a familiar item, the Omnicron. Rubbing the back of his head that had become sore from resting on the grey, overgrown flagstones, he considered his options. He often experienced similar nightmares, but no two had ever been exactly the same… until now apparently.
He had to get out of there, he had to wake up, but how? From his very limited experience, it seemed as though the only way to leave was to suffer some sort of gruesome death. Locke, for rather obvious reasons, was less inclined to go about that method to leave the maze.
As his faculties realigned, he became aware of a strange hum emanating from behind himself. Glancing back over his shoulder, he found that he had been lying next to an angular obelisk which stood at the centre of what Locke realised was an equidistant three-way intersection.
The moment his eyes met the strange monument, Locke found his mind was ensconced in a wall of hypnotic chaos. Terrified, he frantically sought to tear his eyes away, but the voice of alarm inside his own head slowly drifted into silence as he became utterly transfixed by its unusual and impossible geometry. The very air waxed and waned in its presence as if it were anathema to existence itself.
His concentration on the obelisk was only broken by the sound of chuckling. As if awaking from a stupor, the spell cast by the obelisk was broken just enough that Locke managed avert his gaze from the physical anomaly. Breathing hard in panic, he turned his back on the monument and gripped the sides of his head to stop the place from spinning. Once his vision had settled, Locke followed the sound of the laughter and so his gaze trailed upwards whereupon he beheld the shadow who was sitting nonchalantly on top of the wall in front of him
"Are we awake, Mister Locke?" The entity loudly called down to the soldier, his amber eyes filled with sadistic mirth. "I wouldn't stare too long at that; time tends to run away from those who do." The shadow's laughter sounded so loud in the confines of the maze section.
"Shut it!" The guardsman hissed in reply, suddenly remembering what other dangers lurked within the labyrinth's holds. Images of fire, talons and blood leapt into his mind's eye, making him shudder.
"Whatever for?" Turning his head away, the shadow tapped his chin with a wispy index finger. "What's got you so rattled, hmmm?" He added with a salacious grin.
The daemon was toying with him, revelling in his suffering. When Locke refused to speak further, the shadow cocked his head whilst gazing down at the guardsman.
"I can assure you; you are quite safe… for the time being."
Silence fell between them. Locke remained perfectly still, refusing to believe the malevolent spirit that had tortured him so. His head darted left and right as he shifted his gaze between each passageway like a prey animal checking the entrance to its burrow. The coast was clear as far as he could tell, besides, he had questions that he wanted answering.
"Alright, I've played your stupid game long enough, what the fuck is this place?"
The entity sighed at the guardsman's bluntness. "You are currently standing in the labyrinth of Harakesh."
"Right..." Locke drew out the word, making it clear that the answer provided meant nothing to him.
"Typical," the shadow shook his head in irritation. "You are actually quite lucky you know; few mortals have ever laid their eyes on it."
"I don't feel lucky," Locke spat back. "I think cursed would be a better fit."
"All a matter of perspective I assure you," he said slyly. "I'm sure the Vûldain appreciate their last and final refuge a great deal."
"The Vûldain?" Locke repeated, struggling to annunciate the unfamiliar word.
"Otherwise known as the dread stalkers," The shadow explained, rubbing his knuckles on his torso. "I believe you have already been acquainted with them."
"Wait! You mean those… those things?"
"I do indeed." Noticing Locke's sudden paleness, the shadow continued. "As strange as it may seem now - given their current state, their civilisation once reached heights that yours could scarcely dream of."
"I find that hard to believe."
"I tell no lie; they were not always as you see them now." The entity said, looking thoughtfully towards the horizon.
"It was their hunger for knowledge that was their undoing in the end. Endlessly it pushed them on, further and further until their debauchery reached such excess that they were driven mad, and utterly corrupted in both mind and body."
The way the entity spoke gave Locke pause. Unless the guardsman was imagining things, it almost sounded like the shadow spoke with pride at the alien civilisation's downfall.
"Now, all that remains of their people's great works… is this place."
"It's not so impressive if you ask me." With the alluring monument still fresh in his mind, Locke did his best to keep his voice steady.
"Bear in mind it was reserved only for criminals and traitors." Snapped away from his revelry by the guardsman's interruption, the entity levelled his stare at him.
"So why I am here?" Locke asked, maintaining eye contact whilst his heart began to race.
"To learn of course." The spirit's smile would have curdled milk. "This labyrinth is a monument to the Vûldain's beliefs of redemption. If a person guilty of wrongdoing endured the torment and was able to reach the centre, then they would have earned their freedom."
"That's all well and good, but I haven't committed any crimes."
"Then why do you reek of shame? Surely a man without vice need not seek atonement?"
Locke's confident expression faltered, looking away briefly as the daemon's words bounced around inside his head. "What will I be learning?" The guardsman asked, changing the subject through gritted teeth.
"You will learn how to use the Omnicron. It will not be an exhaustive education, only the absolute basics as you do not have the capacity to learn in such a short time frame. Nevertheless, the Vûldain have left us a perfect training ground that will serve for such a purpose.
So, this would be how he would honour his side of the bargain, he could only hope it would prove to be worth it. "Why the fuck didn't you tell me this the first time?"
"I prefer a more hands-off approach," the shadow shrugged. "I thought it best to drop you straight into it, just so that you'd have some appreciation of the challenge set before you."
"And just how am I supposed to use the Omnicron?" He asked, holding up the artefact for the daemon's inspection.
In a near-human manner, the entity rolled his eyes at the guardsman's question. "Come now, where would the fun be if I told you everything."
"You fuckin' bastard!" Perplexed and enraged, Locke almost felt like hurling the onyx cube at the shadow. "You can't just leave me here!"
"I can and I will, although I will give you at least a sporting chance." The shadow stood up and pretended to dust himself off.
"You have three paths set before you," he said, slowly spinning around to gesture to each corridor in turn. "A pack of Vûldain are approaching down two of the available avenues. Choose wisely."
"That's it?" Despite Locke's best efforts, his voice cracked with panic.
"Indeed," he replied bluntly. "Good luck Tomas, you will certainly need it."
With that, the shadow disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, only his golden eyes lingering a second or so before fading away too. Once again Locke was on his own in the wretched underworld with little guidance.
Resting the Omnicron flat in the centre of his palm, Locke stared at it for a few moments whilst studying the digital-looking runes that covered its dark surface. Locke needed to figure out how to get the stone to work and fast by the sound of things. However, considering his vast ignorance in regard to all things warp-related, that goal appeared next to impossible.
It wasn't like the shadow was going to be of any more assistance for this purpose and he had no reliable means to contact either Mendacius or any other spirit. Looking between the three corridors, Locke chose one at random whilst doing his best to avert his gaze from the jade structure that had nearly entrapped him a few moments prior.
Setting off at a sprint, it was only after he'd ran a few dozen paces that he realised that he inadvertently be running straight into the welcoming jaws of one of those beasts. Still, the section of the maze ran for some way, and was completely empty as far as Locke could see. Perhaps luck was beginning to shine on him for once, although, he had to remind himself that a good hunter would never willingly reveal himself until he was certain of the kill.
Swallowing a lump in his throat, he slowed to a jog which allowed him time to mull over his current predicament and the entity's words. The problem was his questions regarding the Omnicron met only silence and any logic he tried to apply to the situation got stuck into an unhelpful loop.
Frustration and terror mingled into one awful emotion that almost sent the guardsman's mind whirling into despair. However, he was jolted from his thoughts when a voice suddenly spoke from the recesses of his mind.
"Your emotions are the key." A far-off feminine voice said, silencing his inner monologue instantly.
Locke's eyes went wide. "Hello?" He asked to the empty air, hoping that this new unseen party would be of assistance.
Stopping in his tracks, the guardsman looked about himself, searching for the source of the voice. "Hello?" He called out again, far louder than what would have been considered as wise. Whomever this mysterious newcomer was, she stayed quiet and hidden.
This distraction would come at a cost though. By forgetting the advice of the shadow and the need for haste, the monsters closed in for the kill. Out of nowhere, Locke felt a chill sweep across the back of his neck as he was suddenly shrouded in shadow.
Click. Click. Click. Awoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. He shook with fear from that scathing howl.
Not bothering to look back, he sprinted away from the beast. The guardsman only made it a few hundred metres before he was brought down by the Vûldain's talons. His screams filled the confined space until he was torn to pieces by the beast's powerful jaws.
The water flowed fast between her ankles, reaching just over her armoured knees. It was cold, but her body suit and armour maintained her core temperature at a suitable level. Through the red crystal lenses of her helm, she peered down into the swirling water; her hands fixed at the ready just above the rippling surface – prepared to strike. The dark green fauld hung between her legs where it trailed out behind her, waving lazily in the current like a banner in the wind.
Apart from the motions of her warrior attire, Aristriel remained perfectly still and silent, a living statue wrought in wraith bone. Over an hour had passed since she had resumed her task, but the banshee hadn't let that fact bother her. Fishing was ninety-nine percent patience, one percent action.
Upon wading into the river's shallows, the aquatic creatures in the waterway had quickly vacated the area, evidently disturbed by this invader in their underwater home. Not that she had expected anything different, all animals regard a change in their environment with suspicion. After all, change brings the unknown where danger may lurk.
Thankfully, the slender armoured fish of the planet had short memories. One of the braver specimens, most likely a juvenile, approached and passed between her legs. Staying motionless, Aristriel fought her inclination to lunge.
The banshee had bigger prey in mind. Once it had been proven that the strange new obstacle in the water was harmless, the fish slowly returned to their normal routines, many straying perilously close to the eldar's position.
It was only when a large adult swam right up to her left ankle that she struck. Moving with precision and speed, her hands darted into the water, cupping the fish in her clutches before its primitive brain had even realised what was happening.
It was heavier than expected, but Aristriel had no intention of releasing her prize. She pirouetted around in a single heartbeat with the panicking fish desperately trying to wriggle from her gloved fingers. The former ranger never gave it that chance as she flung her prey toward the shoreline. Droplets of water rained down onto the river below as the thrashing aquatic creature went airborne until it struck the shingle with a wet crack.
Stunned for only a second, its survival instincts kicked in. Flopping from side to side, the fish attempted to crawl back into the water before either the eldar maiden or asphyxiation could claim it. Unfortunately for the doomed creature, Aristriel was much faster as she waded back to dry land. The water practically parted before her, considering that it hardly slowed her down at all. The guardsman's misappropriated blade flashed in the morning sun, standing hilt up where the banshee had left it in the nearby silt.
Snatching it up as she darted past, the eldar reversed the blade. Skidding to a halt in the shingle, Aristriel squashed the terrified creature flat against the stones and pressed the sword's edge along its belly between its armour segments. Bloody froth leaked from the mouth of the dying animal, and with one last fierce spasm it finally went still, the life fading from its eyes.
Wiping the viscera-covered blade on a snow-flecked tuft of grass, Aristriel gave a silent prayer of thanks to Isha for the river's bounty. Her latest catch landed inside the sack with a soft thud. There it joined three others of its kind.
Satisfied, Aristriel swung her spoils onto her back, and set off back for home. Ever wary of watchful eyes, she stuck to the darkened glades and vegetation, moving between each patch of cover in short bounds. Only when she had reached the perimeter of their territory did she allow herself to return to a calm stroll.
The days had passed by at an ever more rapid pace and while the apprehension linked to their ork pursuers still remained, it had faded somewhat from its earlier heights. Even so, Aristriel maintained a strict visual. Several times a day she would venture out on a scouting foray, patrolling out to the border of their newly claimed territory and beyond.
A great deal of her time had been spent building and maintaining early warning devices made from whatever she could get her hands on. They had been placed at every likely avenue of approach, no matter how small, although so far, none of them had ever sounded for anything more serious than a curious marsupial.
The greenskin menace, as far as she could tell, was still absent. However, whether that would always be the case, was difficult to predict. Nonetheless, as time marched on without a sighting or hint of the ork incursion, Aristriel grew more confident in their isolation. Letting herself become laxer somewhat, she could dedicate more of her time to other equally pressing matters, food being the primary issue.
Her recent fishing foray had only been possible due to the time that had been freed up, now that she didn't have to spend any available minute scrutinizing every glade, thicket, and leaf. Even when she was on watch, Aristriel had begun to evaluate the various fungi, nuts, and winter fruits that the surrounding flora provided. There was always a possibility of poisoning whenever experimenting with unknown herbs and ingredients but given their precarious situation, she had decided that it was worth the risk.
By paying close attention to the colours, odours and environmental niche of each specimen, the banshee was able to parse out the edible from the non-edible without having to endanger herself. After sampling each type of produce in small quantities, and suffering no ill-effects, Aristriel was relieved to find that her bushcraft skills had not deserted her. The mon'keigh had also provided a good secondary test subject, but that was by the by.
Of course, without any means to preserve game meat that didn't involve using a fire, Aristriel had had to drastically reduce the number of hunting expeditions that she could embark upon. Though the lack of salt did force her to stop going after big game, the banshee could still catch fish from the river and small prey animals in her various traps from time to time.
All of the additional foodstuffs wouldn't keep for long, and so for the time being, they had replaced the mon'keigh's disgusting rations as their main source of sustenance. Not that the eldar or the human complained about such circumstances.
Their decision meant that they could keep their long-lasting provisions for a future meal when food might not be so abundant. Already the aspect warrior was dreading the day if they had to make the transition back to the mass-produced foodstuffs.
Could it be that the mon'keigh's rations are some sort of punishment perhaps? I find it hard to believe that the human regime would be so backward as to make all of their warriors' feast upon such slop and gristle.
Nevertheless, even with the added supplies, the eldar maintained a strict rationing regime for herself whilst being slightly more lenient with the sick human. Their food stocks still rested on a knife edge thus she only enjoyed two meals a day, one in the morning after her sword dance and one in the evening before her blade training. The mon'keigh was given three meals a day, however, if she was being truthful - only the one in the morning was of a sufficient size for such a tall barbarian.
It was a compromise and not a great one at that, but he didn't grumble much; after all, he spent most of his time lying in bed writhing around in his sleep. His troubled slumber was a concern in of itself, but Aristriel had no means of assisting him in that regard. No matter how much she wished that his sleep would calm; every morning he would wake up a shuddering mess.
Aristriel had thought that his nightmares would dissipate with time, but if anything, they seemed to be getting worse. Given the awful expressions he pulled at the tail end of each nightmare, it was almost as if the guardsman was suffering a genuine sort of pain or anguish within them.
The banshee knew much of bad dreams, although she suspected that these went beyond the mere imaginings of a troubled mind, especially since the warp anomaly that had appeared several days prior.
Aristriel had tried to comfort the guardsman of course, although it was obvious the eldar was out of her element. Looking after another person in such a close way had made her realise just how awkward and detached she'd become in her long years of isolated exploration.
In the rare moments where he was lucid, Aristriel would use the time to usher him to the primitive lavatory outside.
He would moan in his guttural tongue, slurred by fatigue, but her persistence always paid off in the end. Swaddled in his blanket, he would hobble outside like a man three times his age all the while remaining under her close supervision until he had relieved himself. Beyond that and eating, he hardly ever moved or did anything at all.
The only exception to this latter point was when he leafed through his sister's old notebook which he often reserved for the evenings. Ever fascinated by the artistic world herself, Aristriel quite often joined him as they admired the pretty illustrations and paintings together in the glow of the waning lamplight.
The previous day, whilst sat beside one another, the consequences of the guardsman's illness had been brought to the eldar's attention; the harsh contrast created by his portable lamp perfectly highlighted his deteriorating physique. What fat his athletic frame had once carried, had been all but depleted and now even his muscle mass was starting to suffer as result.
Clearly, the guardsman's body was siphoning energy from any source to fuel his natural defences. Unlike the eldar's hyper efficient digestive system, that could squeeze out every last molecule of energy from their food, humans though were nowhere near as biologically advanced.
Aristriel continued to mull over their current circumstances as she strode back through the trees with her catch in hand. It was a crisp sunny morning with a slight breeze that caressed the boughs and canopy overhead. Apart from the odd yip and cry from some unseen woodland critters, silence reigned over the wintry forest - scarcely interrupted by her soft footfalls.
The alluring tranquillity of the panorama put her in mind of the Craftworld Alaitoc, her home. Such thoughts were often tinged by a mixture of happy nostalgia and crestfallen sadness. Thankfully, her war mask bled out even the strongest feelings, turning the raging bonfires of her emotions into a mere pile of smouldering embers.
One major benefit of the war helm was that it provided the aspect warriors with an emotional dampener. This permitted the Craftworld Aeldari to access their most passionate or devastating experiences from an almost emotionless vantage point.
It wasn't long before Aristriel was striding through the scenes of her treasured memories, reliving each particular set of sensations as she wandered through her past. One such memory was that of the masterful wraith bone structure that had been her family's home. It was but one of over a dozen such manors - clustered together in one of the residential spires, standing near the bustling thoroughfare that eventually led to the Ixia Wayport.
The family home had grown silent and still ever since she had inherited it as the sole heir of the Fellmair lineage. Despite wearing her helmet, a pained shudder still ran through her body; a predictable reaction, fuelled by a horrifying truth. Never again would she hear the sound of song and laughter echoing down the household's finely decorated halls.
As terrible as it was to think, Aristriel regretted that the bone singers had immaculately repaired the Fellmair residence after it had been turned to ruins by the roving imperial savages. If one were ignorant of past events, one would have thought that the building had never suffered such a fate. Yet Aristriel knew, she would always know.
The engravings, sculptures and portraits had been recreated perfectly, looking exactly as she'd always remembered as too were the furnishings and décor. Yet to Aristriel, it had never come close to assuaging her grieving heart; in the end, it mattered little when those who had once dwelt within those walls no longer existed.
When her benighted mission finally ended, the banshee would have to return back to her home, a fact that gave her pause. The household to the banshee was now just a soulless husk, a tomb for her most cherished memories and an embodiment of her failure.
'Tis a terrible thing that tragedy can mar even the most joyful of remembrances. The eldar winced at the muffled ache glowering in her heart. The haunting past was something that Aristriel still struggled with greatly.
With a brief shake of her head, the aspect warrior forcefully pushed herself to reminisce the happier times in order to counterbalance her emotions. In compliance, her psyche brought forth the scene displaying the 'Avenue of Starlight Secrets', her most treasured place on the entire Craftworld.
In happier times, Aristriel would have often strolled along the dazzling promenade in the company of her elder sisters and friends. Arm in arm, they would gossip and laugh as they explored all the heavily-curated delights that the district had to offer.
The beautiful bars and restaurants, each one more unique and niche than the last, were situated along the vast balcony that overlooked the starward side of the craftworld. The way the sunlight had played off of the Craftworld's domes and exterior had left the youthful Aristriel mesmerised - it was an experience that had never diminished with age. What the banshee would have given to be taken back to those times, even if it was just for a few minutes.
Another of her favourite memories was when she had visited the 'Dome of the Midnight forests' along with her father and brother. The azure grass, near luminescent in the twilight, grew to such a length that when a breeze caught the stems, whole meadows would sway like waves upon the ocean.
High above those flowing fronds had stood the ancient and noble Lianderin trees. The rose-tinted crystal leaves of those mighty plants refracted and reflected the starlight in such a way as to create a kaleidoscope of endless colour upon the ground below.
No matter where one was within that habitat, every viewpoint was the perfect snapshot for an artistic masterpiece. If it had not been for her father's insistence, Aristriel would have happily sat and watched the world go by, such was the landscape's enthralling disposition. Even now, she could recall every last detail. The family trio had sauntered through the vegetation until they had come across a high point overlooking a shallow valley.
From there, Aristriel and her brother were able to watch the spiralhorn herds grazing whilst peakwolves shadowed the herbivores, waiting for the moment to pick off a straggler. As the two young aeldari gazed on at nature playing out before them, their father had sat cross-legged behind them in quiet contemplation with his staff across his lap.
Aristriel easily recalled the image of her father: an austere and stern man of great wisdom. Yet despite his great knowledge on most subjects, he seldom uttered a word unless provoked, and even then the man tended to be rather cryptic. However, on that day, he took both of the two young eldar by surprise.
The sound of his voice ripped both Aristriel and her brother away from the spectacle playing out down below. Recognising that he was about to give them a lesson, the two siblings gave their father the utmost attention. The aged seer did not disappoint them. He spoke at length of their roles within the Craftworld, of the many paths that they could follow whilst denoting the merits and drawbacks of each.
Not only that, but he also instructed them on the nature of their species and of the state of the galaxy. One thing that Aristriel had noticed, even back then at such a young age, was the disparity in her father's demeanour between the two of them. As he gave his lecture to his children, the seer had looked upon his son with quiet pride… but for Aristriel, his eyes only held a hopeful sadness.
Why he had decided to choose that moment to impress upon his children the importance of such matters, Aristriel couldn't say; although, she was glad for it regardless of his own reasoning. The pair of them had hung on his every word, so much so, that many hours could have passed and Aristriel would never have noticed.
All of the images and memories gradually receded as she padded through the snow on approach to the cabin. Life back than had been so normal and peaceful. Maybe it was her good upbringing or the folly of youth that allowed her to take so much of it for granted.
When she had finally come of age, the strict nature of the Craftworld's authorities had grated on her to such an extent that she had gladly taken the path of the Ranger. Aristriel had left her family and everything she had known in her quest for adventure and excitement, never stopping to think that so much of what she held dear would soon vanish.
One small mercy granted to the returning ranger was that she'd never had to find the mutilated corpses of her loved ones. Whatever weapon had struck their home had completely vapourised them, leaving nothing but ash and their charred, but intact, soul stones.
All of her fallen kin's souls had been preserved in Alaitoc's infinity circuit for which she was ever grateful, however, many other aeldari had not been anywhere near as lucky. Many had had to endure the long mournful wails of their dead relatives and friends through the aether as their souls were devoured by 'She-Who-Thirsts' - the worst fate that any eldar can ever suffer.
Yet despite Aristriel's relatively good fortune, she had never been able to summon up the courage to go and commune with her lost loved ones at the Craftworld's spiritual nexus. How could she after she'd failed to honour her vows to protect them?
Stepping onto the porch of their temporary home, the banshee entered to the sound of dull snoring. She spared a glance at the mon'keigh before heading into the kitchen in order to dice up their next meal. Using one of the available knives, Aristriel began to cut away the fishes' scales and armour, revealing the soft, cream-coloured flesh beneath.
After a life of such rich experiences… reduced to this mundane and lowly existence. Was my fate ever thus? The banshee let out a long sigh, although once the subject of destiny had been broached, her thoughts would not leave it alone.
What of Farseer Ullaryne's strange turn of phrase when she had originally briefed Aristriel on her assignment. 'That future is very much…unorthodox.' The words of the mage came unbidden into her thoughts.
The past events of the last two weeks had not left her with much time to reflect on that meeting, until now of course. Undoubtedly Farseer Ullaryne must have foreseen that this humiliating fate would be Aristriel's to bear. The banshee's current predicament was probably the most unorthodox pathway that she could possibly imagine.
While some part of her did try to reason away this awful truth, Aristriel couldn't help but feel slighted by the Farseer for daring to use her in such a way. The mage had been so incredibly understanding of her history, and yet she still sought to antagonise Aristriel by assigning her a mission that had transformed into nothing less than a complete farce.
The banshee shook her head, suppressing the thought and yet she couldn't banish the notion from her mind. The more Aristriel thought about it, the more likely it appeared to be.
Her anger flared before snuffing itself out in the same instant.
Calm! Farseer Ullaryne is to be respected; she merely acted in accordance with the betterment of Alaitoc.
At the end of the day, the survival of the Craftworld and its people were paramount above all other concerns, including the life of one of their own which was a painful enough price to pay. Aristriel's ego and dignity didn't even factor into the equation.
I am in no position to question her wisdom. She chose me for a reason.
That last sentiment sent a claxon ringing within her subconscious as Aristriel turned her mind back to the implications that Farseer Ullaryne had spoken of. Of all their warriors, Aristriel had been the only one that could possibly lead the mission towards a successful outcome.
Like puzzle pieces coming together, Aristriel could finally understand the reason why that was the case. Any other eldar sent in her stead would have simply slaughtered the annoying guardsman, thus destroying a key resource which would have undoubtedly led to failure.
It was impossible to know without observing each strand of every decision, but the banshee had a strong suspicion that she was correct. An image of the dead human, lying in the snow – covered in blood, phased through her mind. It would have been a death sentence for the mon'keigh if the Autarch and Farseer had sent someone else.
Understanding that reality filled her both with a strange kind of relief and regret; a combination that the aspect warrior wasn't particularly comfortable with. Still , her feelings betrayed her, proving without a doubt that she was beginning to regard the human as an actual person, as if such a pathetic creature could ever be an equal to one such as her.
What would her kin think if they could see her now, tending to a lowly mon'keigh like some poor servant whilst stuck within a frozen wasteland? Disbelief and disgust perhaps or would they merely look upon her with grief?
Putting her focus back into the task at hand, preening away the fish's scales, she reviewed her options. There Aristriel decided that she would continue to care for the mon'keigh, but she wouldn't go any further by trying to relate or emotionally bond with the savage.
In fact, the more she thought of it, did she really need him at all? Had he not already served his purpose? Aristriel had sent out the message which her kin would hopefully find and the Omnicron was in a secluded and seemingly secure location. The likelihood that they would need to abandon their current position was highly unlikely.
The orks weren't known for their tracking abilities, especially without their runtherd who the banshee had personally seen off into the mouth of a ravine. With this in mind, the usefulness of the mon'keigh, who was acting as a vehicle for the Omnicron, dwindled with every passing day.
That didn't mean that Aristriel's mind was set on a course of action just yet. She understood perfectly well how cruel it was to nurse a creature back to health to just go and kill it after it had recovered. The banshee cursed her short-sightedness.
In some ways it would have been better if his life had expired in the nearby river's plunge pool. It was only due to her emotions and protective instinct that had pushed her to save him that day… or so she told herself.
How he had managed to get under her skin at all was not only surprising but a complete scandal. Not that it had been entirely her fault mind you, the mon'keigh was wilier than she had given him credit for. The guardsman had outmanoeuvred her and capitalised on her areas of doubt and ignorance.
Being taken advantage of in such a way and by such a dumb brute irked her, causing her xenophobia to resurge anew. Channelling the thoughts of her dead kin and the devastation wrought on her home, Aristriel reminded herself of what his kind were capable of. They were ignorant, greedy, and destructive. This savage was part of the same species that had caused her so much pain, he didn't deserve empathy or kindness.
Although parts of her conscience spoke up in the guardsman's defence, Aristriel doubled down on her narrow-minded view; he was no exception. He may have behaved outwardly different, but it was obvious that he was the same as the rest deep down – a point that she had to keep reiterating to herself. To prove her newfound resolve, the banshee vowed privately that she would act without hesitation and deference whenever it came to the mon'keigh from that point onwards.
From now on she would treat him as the disposable tool that he truly was. There would be no more fraternization, no more displays of emotion or warmth, only cold contempt. The mon'keigh would be kept alive, but nothing more.
This she swore to herself; one step out of line and she would see to it that the human never bothered her or anyone else again. Hopefully when her fellow aeldari finally arrived, the human would be retired, and she could forget about the whole sorry ordeal. Yet while part of her may have rallied from this renewed zeal, why did she also feel so much guilt?
Sprinting down the maze as fast as he could, Locke vaulted over a random beam crossing his path before sliding underneath its counterpart. He turned a corner and mounted several steps that led up towards a high dais. Upon reaching the top, Locke gazed across the unpleasant expanse towards the green pillar that stood way off into the distance.
So little progress and with so far to go. He couldn't help but feel disheartened, but at least he had avoided the roving packs of dread stalkers thus far. The guardsman still hadn't managed to figure out the inner workings of the artefact, and if he were being honest, he'd almost given up trying. Maybe he didn't need it? After all this was his fourth attempt at the maze since his briefing, and it was the furthest he'd come.
Following along a suspended walkway that led from the dais, Locke dropped down into a courtyard of sorts that was decorated with elaborate sculptures and edifices. None of which appeared to be of any discernible function.
A bloodcurdling howl pierced the ambience as surely as a dagger stabbed into his belly. The beast's call had come from his left and by the sound of it, the creature was still some ways off from his position. Breathing hard, Locke entered another passageway that snaked its away along other adjoining corridors and entrances. Keeping his eyes on the horizon where the green pillar stood, Locke followed the path that led towards the centre, ignoring all others that led in different directions.
That was until he finally came across an abyss that stretched across the floor which brought his rushed flight to an abrupt halt. The walls flanking the corridor continued on either side of the chasm, silently mocking the frustrated guardsman who could not follow on after them. At first Locke thought about jumping the gap but it was far too wide, even with a run-up.
He suddenly remembered the alien device hidden within the walls that controlled the platforms for such a gap. Although, after a fruitless search, the guardsman found no such crevice where a lever could hide. A louder baying from behind him, encouraged him to be elsewhere. Not wishing to double back on himself, he opted for climbing onto the nearest wall, using the overgrown vines as leverage. Many of the grey plants gave way due to his weight, but enough held firm for him to ascend up the obstacle.
Hoisting himself up on top of the structure, Locke quickly realised how bad of an idea it was. For one, he stood out for a considerable distance in all directions and for the other, the wall was so narrow that he could barely move faster than a slow shuffle as he shimmied himself along.
The other side of the wall revealed yet another chasm, it was like the entire floor section for this area had fallen away, leaving the walls to bridge the gap in its stead. Locke had made it about half way around the bottomless ravine when a chilling call echoed on the wind between the gaps in the thunder.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Awwwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
Staring out to where he believed the howl to have emanated from, Locke caught sight of an ungainly silhouette. It was quite a distance away, but Locke knew instinctively that it was a Vûldain gazing back at him – the myriad of red eyes and the burning ruff were unmistakeable.
What was unnerving though was that it was stood back on its hind legs, utterly motionless like some sort of monstrous sentry. It made no move to intercept him; it merely watched him from its far off platform.
One of the reasons Locke found the creatures so terrifying, was that not only were the dread stalkers hideous to look upon, but their behaviour was so unpredictable that one never knew how they were going to act.
Not letting the creature's apathy go to waste, the guardsman pushed himself onward sparing a glance down at the cloying darkness that awaited him should he fall off either side. Regrettably, the guardsman would not make it far.
Another howl, this one far too close for comfort, reverberated around the locality as Locke kept his focus on the far side of the chasm. However, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted movement that brought him to a halt. Another dread stalker had sprung up onto an adjacent wall that was off to Locke's right. How such a large creature could balance itself on such a small ledge was a great cause for concern.
It cocked its head at him, studying the human before bellowing its triumph and sending a poison dart his way. He had no means of blocking the projectile and there was nowhere to dodge and so the barb struck him square in the chest.
Pain surged throughout his body as the impact pitched him off his narrow perch and into the depths of the abyss. He would have no memory of what he found in that chasm, apart from an unspeakable misery that was far worse than anything he could imagine.
Locke gasped, flinging himself upright, the bed covers toppling to the floor as his body contorted in agony. The pain inflicted on his dream-self had carried over into reality, pulsing for but a moment before the unpleasant sensation ebbed away. At which point, the ill guardsman was finally able to relax his tired muscles. Exhaling with relief, Locke looked around the room in search of his companion.
Although as soon as he acclimatised to the chilly air, the guardsman quickly forgot about the alien as he stooped down to recover the blankets. Within a few seconds, he was swaddled back inside a warm cocoon that was paradoxically both a comfort and an irritant.
Sweat streamed down from his forehead and armpits, but Locke had concluded some while ago that an unpleasant warmth was better than an unpleasant cold. Using the rag that had fallen into his lap, he fussily swept the perspiration away.
Sat in the midst of his bedding, aching, and shivering, the soldier had neither the ability nor the desire to sleep any longer. Alas with nothing to do, boredom soon set in. He still felt terribly weak, and his headache continued to wrack his weary mind. Nonetheless, after spending so much time bedridden, Locke had decided that his discomfort would not be enough to deter him anymore.
An animalistic urge pulled him toward the light streaming into the cabin; he wanted to look out the window to see the world beyond. Maybe the guardsman would even take it upon himself to go outside of his own accord to explore. Anything to get away from the confines of his bed that had become a prison in recent days, albeit just for a little while.
He rocked himself onto his heels and very nearly fell backwards, but his balance held and so he headed for the nearest pane at a shuffling pace. The light from the frosted glass stung his eyes, exacerbating his migraine, however the ill soldier refused to look away. He noted that ice crystals had formed into beautiful patterns around the edges of the window. Rubbing the fogged-up glass with his shaky hand, Locke peered out at the wintry forest that enclosed their home.
Everything was mostly still apart from a few small clumps of snow that drifted down from the canopy. The boughs of the coniferous trees were festooned in the white powder, with only hints and patches of greenery showing through.
One of the large, upturned pinecone trees stood at the edge of his view, looking like a giant white egg due to the ice covering its hide. In the clearing next to the house, an elegant and feathery creature hopped along the surface layer of snow, absently pecking, and pawing at the ground at random intervals.
The guardsman watched it with fascination, leaning his weight against the window frame for support. Another of the creatures joined it and soon they began to chase one another about, either in play or over a territorial dispute.
When the two rivals engaged in an odd head bobbing dance, the guardsman felt the corners of his mouth move upward in an amused smile. To Locke, it looked like a stereotypical picture lifted straight from an 'Emperor's Day' card – something that one would often receive back on Narvos during the time of the celebration.
I wonder what this place looks like in spring… if springtime is a thing here? The guardsman pondered.
His enjoyment of the spectacle only came to an end when he saw a familiar and annoyed visage reflected in the glass. Pulling back, Locke spun about and came face to face with a decidedly unimpressed eldar.
Before he could even open his mouth, she prodded his chest and then pointed towards the bed - a clear command. For a moment, he thought about ignoring her, but there was an underlying hardness to her green eyes that quickly made him reconsider the idea.
Nodding in acquiescence, he hobbled back to the couch, occasionally leaning down to give himself more support on the furniture's armrest. Sitting down had become a painful experience in as of late; he braced himself as his joints flared with a white-hot pain that stole his breath away. Locke grimaced as he laid himself back out across the bedding, willing the soreness to ease to a more tolerable level.
The banshee didn't offer him any assistance, observing his arduous journey from windowsill to couch with detachment before disappearing back into the kitchen. The xeno returned a few minutes later carrying a plate of steaming fish, mushrooms, and mashed berries. Not a meal that Locke would have relished, no matter his current state. Nevertheless, his hunger had already begun to make itself known, and besides, he wasn't one to turn down a free meal.
The banshee set the plate down in his lap, the warmth seeping into the covers which soothed his cramping thighs. Not wishing to keep his stomach waiting, Locke began shovelling the food into his mouth and was pleasantly surprised. The mashed berries weren't sweet at all and complimented the fish and mushrooms fairly well.
One thing that did catch his attention was the sudden break in routine from the banshee, who after giving him his meal, had departed from his bedside. Normally, they ate together during the morning and evening in what had been some sort unspoken arrangement.
It shouldn't have been a big deal and yet the guardsman couldn't help but find it jarring. Had he done something to offend her? It wasn't like he hadn't annoyed her before. Maybe she was just getting sick of caretaking for him, Locke knew he would have been if the roles had been reversed or so he believed.
More likely he was just overreacting. He pushed away the notion that anything had changed in the alien's behaviour; she seemed just as abrasive and high-strung as always. Instead, the guardsman turned his attention back to his breakfast and wolfed down the meal in record time.
However, Locke's original fears would soon be proven to be right. As the days went by, he noticed more and more how distant the eldar had become. If there was no functional reason to interact with him then she would take every available opportunity to avoid him, either by retreating to a different room or by heading outside.
Gone were the days when they would sit together before, during and after a meal. Even with the cold, the alien would rather sleep in the neighbouring armchair than join him in the bedding on the couch. Her smile had disappeared too, and it was that more than anything that Locke mourned the most.
It was almost like she had reverted back to how she'd been when they'd first crossed paths with one another. What had suddenly brought about this change, continued to leave the guardsman perplexed.
Even if by some miracle he could figure out what was bothering the xeno, it's not like he could communicate with her to try and resolve it. In the end, all he could do was hope that the fickle alien's mood would shift back to her less uptight self.
He crouched there panting, his back pressed hard up against a low wall within a misshapen, angular plaza. The vines and other growths were draped over his shoulders and head to make him look as if he'd become a part of the edifice.
Not only did the vegetation provide him some camouflage, but also as cover from the elements as it was raining quite heavily; far worse than any other time on previous 'visits' to that dark land. His shelter wasn't perfect though; he tensed every time droplets of ice-cold water ran down the grey fronds to drip down his spine.
Shivering with cold and soaked to the skin, Locke was strangely grateful for the miserable weather. The fog usually stayed around ankle height; however, on this occasion it had expanded into a thick blanket that hung across the land. Another factor on his side was the sheer noise from the downpour.
The sound of the rain drumming on the endless jungle of stone and crystal was a crescendo that drowned out all but the loudest of disturbances. Hidden in mist and muffled by the elements, he'd made the most progress of any of his so-called "training" sessions to date.
Of course, Locke had to keep in mind that these factors could well be a double-edged sword. If he could use the weather to mask his movement, so too could the beasts that roamed the infernal labyrinth.
A high-pitched yowl reminded him that one such monster was patrolling around the courtyard just beyond his hiding spot. Glancing down at a puddle of water close to his feet, the guardsman could have sworn that he saw the reflection of the creature's whip-like tail as it passed right overhead.
Staying motionless, he opened his mouth wide so as to breathe as quietly as possible. After some time, the guardsman was confident that the dread stalker had moved far enough away for him to risk a look. Ever so slowly, Locke leaned towards the wall's edge, peeking around the corner whilst keeping his breathing steady.
A murky silhouette prowled about the courtyard, sniffing the air, and growling in frustration. Despite the deluge, Locke could still discern the hiss of the rain flash boiling as it made contact with the creature's burning mane.
His vision moved beyond the roving vûldain to the maze sections that made up the various alleys and corridors, and even further to the green pillar in the far-off distance. It was slightly obscured due to the weather, but still distinct in contrast to the shadowy land of Harakesh that it overshadowed.
The guardsman carefully pulled himself away from the wall's edge. Part of him wanted to keep an eye on the dread stalker, but he knew that the longer he stayed in one spot, the harder it would be to push through the mounting fear to carry on. Besides, staring at an instrument of death was to invite its unwanted attention upon oneself.
Still, Locke was in a difficult position as his only way through was blocked by the beast. Pressing the back of his head against the worn overgrown stone, his frustration grew as he thought of a plan to get past it. From his very limited time within the maze, he had come to notice that there was a clear split in the Vûldain's' behaviour.
As far as he could tell, most operated in packs of three or more; although, there were some individuals that, for whatever reason, operated as solitary hunters. Why this was, Locke couldn't say. He was just thankful that he was only dealing with one rather than a whole pack.
His restless muscles forced him to readjust his crouched position, his boot striking an unseen piece of rubble hidden in the undergrowth. Inspired by his meagre discovery, he groped around for it whereupon Locke's fingers soon closed around a lump of broken masonry that had come loose via weathering.
For a moment, he let the weight of the large stone rest in his hand, admiring the sleekness of the smooth and slippery surface. Bracing himself for what was to come, he whispered a quick prayer to the Emperor, before hurling the rock as hard as he could in the direction of an adjacent alleyway that led away from the plaza.
The stone tumbled through the air until it collided with the onyx-coloured wall with a loud clack. It glanced off the edifice where it went on to strike the opposite facing partition until it bounced around the corner and out of sight. The hollow sound of it skimming along the unseen flagstones echoed all around, irrespective of the incessant downpour.
Locke leaned back against the wall, holding his breath, and freezing as still as a statue. The creature had immediately ceased its barking, but with it out of sight, the guardsman had no way of discerning its reaction.
A gasp of surprise almost escaped his lips when a large shape barrelled out of the mist, passed his position and onwards towards the disturbance. The dread stalker didn't bother climbing the wall, it merely bounded along the adjacent corridor before turning the corner.
An overwhelming feeling of relief washed over Locke as he fought against his own lethargy and the cowardly desire to stay put. Moving his stiff legs proved harder than anticipated, but the fear of the monster returning was enough of an incentive to not hang around. Brushing away the vines and vegetation, he stepped out from the confines of the wall and jogged through the square to the maze section's opening.
His body was still shaking, although it was more from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins than it was the cold. In any case, the glow of his small triumph was enough to keep him warm for the time being.
Locke had done it; he had managed to outfox one of the loathful creatures. If not for his frayed nerves, the guardsman could almost have burst out laughing. Practically high off his latest success, a seed of an idea began to take shape within his mind; 'if the vûldain could be outsmarted, could they be killed?'
The guardsman didn't see why not, if anything he was more than willing to dish out some well-deserved vengeance on the foul monsters that had made his dreams a misery. He speculated that the Omnicron was for that very purpose: fighting the Vûldain and keeping them at bay among other things.
Then again, maybe Locke could complete the damned maze and have done with the whole sorry venture without even needing it. The guardsman almost wanted to try it, just to see the shadow put on the backfoot for once. Witnessing that arrogant entity humiliated and furious upon discovering his success would be a memory that he would cherish to the end of his days.
At a T-section in the maze, the guardsman opted for the left-hand passage. Upon turning the corner, his heart leapt into his throat as he nearly bumped into one of the drooling monsters that had seemingly been waiting for him.
Locke's blood froze in his veins as he skidded to a halt, slipping over onto the wet flagstones. The creature didn't give him the chance to escape. It instantly lunged forward, pressing its clawed foot - wreathed in flame, onto the guardsman's chest, effectively pinning him to the floor. The guardsman was so paralysed with fear and shock that he barely registered the intensity of the heat radiating on his torso.
Leaning in toward the soldier, the Vûldain gave Locke a perfect view of its razor-sharp teeth as it lowered its head towards him. The guardsman felt his bladder release its contents as the monster's snout was a mere handspan away from his neck.
It was so close that he felt the wind from its nostrils blown into his face. Shifting its head position slightly, the wide jaws of the creature's mouth opened, and a large rock - coated in saliva, toppled to the ground just beside the guardsman's head.
Instantly recognising the rock, Locke stared aghast at the piece of masonry; It had been the same stone that he had thrown mere moments before. The Vûldain leaned back onto its haunches, raising itself to its full height whilst still staring directly down at the trapped human. After a dozen of Locke's frightened heartbeats, it cocked its head at him as if to gauge the pale-faced man's reaction.
Wishing for the end to come, Locke couldn't help but recoil as the beast's eyes played over his flesh. Seemingly satisfied to have caused an appropriate amount of terror, the creature pointed its nose to the sky and let loose a victorious shriek that made Locke silently wish for a swift death.
Click. Click. Click. Click. Awwwooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.
The hideous clacking noise that emanated from its gullet was followed by the chilling howl that was unfathomably loud in the confines of the maze intersection. Locke wanted to cover his ears, but his arms were trapped against his sides by the dread stalker's oversized paw and talons.
It opened its jaws, aiming for the killing blow on his throat. however, before it could rip his head from his body, the creature paused at the last second. Locke wanted to retch as several strands of drool landed on his temple, the monster's breath was truly vile. In that instant though, Locke saw something change in the Vûldain's demeanour.
Another player had entered the arena. Its head retreated from the guardsman's face as it watched something approach from over its spiny shoulder. Whatever it was, Locke couldn't bear to think about it.
Was he about to be offered up to another one of its kind in some sort of animalistic mating ritual? Surprisingly though, the monster removed its large paw from Locke's torso and stepped several paces away from him. The guardsman needed no encouragement. Free once again, he pushed himself backward with his legs.
"I thought I had made it quite clear that they are not mere animals." The shadow stepped out from behind the hulking dread stalker, whose eyes remained firmly on the supine guardsman. Locke couldn't even manage a response. He feared if he opened his mouth, all that would come out would be vomit.
"No matter, you will learn." He continued, running his wispy hands along the beast's flank.
"Y-you saved me?" The guardsman spat in shock, not taking his eyes off of the dread stalker's hypnotic gaze.
"Only to relay a message." From the tone of his voice, the entity seemed rather annoyed that his entertainment had to be interrupted.
"The orks have not been idle since you left them." The mention of the greenskins was enough to make him pay attention, despite his terror at the monster only a few paces away.
Crossing his arms, the shadow resumed his message. "The beast master that your eldar friend believes to have vanquished, is in actual fact very much alive. He's been tracking you for over a week now and he's finally homed in on your whereabouts. The noose is closing quickly, you will only have a few hours to escape."
"What are we supposed to do?" The guardsman gasped, fighting to get his breath back. "My fever, I'm in no fit state to travel."
"As we speak, your illness has reached its limit. Your fever will have broken by the time you wake up."
"So where do we go?"
"West," he replied instantly. "There is a quaint little mining town out that way. That is where your salvation lies."
"How is th- ". Locke never got to finish his question as the shadow snapped his wispy fingers together and unleashed the monster from whatever oath or bond that it had been adhering to. The creature pounced onto the guardsman once more, the latter having barely had time to scream as it leant down and ripped his head from his shoulders.
He awoke with a start, the pain a mere echo of what it had been. However, unlike his previous mornings, Locke wasn't struck by a lancing ache in his temple, nor did he suffer any agony in his limbs. He still lay in a bed damp with his own cold sweat, but he no longer writhed and shivered uncontrollably. For the first time in an age, he felt he could breathe clearly through an unblocked nose and a throat that wasn't clogged with mucus.
Taking his time, he enjoyed the simple pleasure as he inhaled the crisp morning air without inducing a horrible coughing fit. Most importantly of all though, he was a free man once again; his body no longer was a lead weight pinning him to the bed. Brimming with a newfound energy, Locke cast off the covers as well as the damp rag on his forehead, stood, and rejoiced as he stretched.
Rotating his upper body on the spot, he felt several happy clicks in his joints as one by one, Locke worked out any remaining stiffness from his body. While doing this, he couldn't help but notice the state of his physique.
Whatever relief and good feeling he'd had after awakening, quickly drained away as he grimaced at his weakened state. Where once he could have boasted to having a relatively muscular and athletic frame, he now looked wiry and slim to an almost unhealthy degree.
Throne above, I must have lost at least two stone!
Remembering the shadow's warning, Locke put his shallow thoughts out of his mind and immediately set about cleaning the cold sweat off his body before getting dressed. After roughly half an hour, the guardsman had pulled his last boot on whereupon he moved to pack as much as he could into his kit bag. Anything warm and light was gathered up into rolls or pulled around his shoulders to be worn as an impromptu cloak.
"Xeno! Are you there?" He asked to the empty lodge, but there was no sign of her. "Hello?" Shrugging, he shifted his priorities back to his preparations. He'd let her know what was happening as soon as she got back.
Within the kitchen, Locke soon discovered the alien's food collection that she'd been gathering during their stay. None of it would keep for overly long, but the guardsman was determined to leave nothing useful behind. Luckily, he had a few pouches to spare both on his webbing and inside his kitbag.
He divided each type of foodstuff between the various compartments, ensuring that similar rations were stored together. Finally, he began gathering away anything else that was still lying around such as his sleeping bag, lamp, etc.
Locke knelt in the midst of the living room, surrounded in a small circle by everything that was waiting to be stowed away. After seven years in the Guard, one tended to get good at packing. It was all going smoothly until the eldar returned to find him up and about.
Appearing in the doorway with eyes wide in amazement, she crossed the room toward him in record time. Locke stood and turned to meet her, but before he could do or say anything, the banshee ripped the pack from his hands and placed the back of her palm against his temple. Her expression, whilst subtle, shifted from concern to relief as the realisation dawned on her that his fever had finally broken after a week of misery.
"Glad to see you too." Locke chided her jovially which drew an irritated glance from the blushing alien. "Can I have my kit back?" He asked, gesturing toward the pack that the banshee still held away from him. The aspect warrior shared several glances between the kitbag and the guardsman until surprisingly, she shook her head.
Confused and somewhat annoyed by the sudden refusal, the guardsman was not going to accept 'no' for an answer. "Come on Xeno, we don't have time for games, we've got to go A.S.A.P!"
Taking a step forward, he reached out for his bergen, but was stopped by the banshee's firm hand on his sternum. Grabbing her wrist, he stepped close enough to see the finer details of her emerald irises.
"Enough! We need to leave right now" He kept his voice level and assertive as he spoke, even as his impatience began to boil over. "The greenskins are only a few hours away and I don't want us to be here when they find this place!"
The banshee could clearly sense the desperation in his words and yet her countenance remained firmly unimpressed. Thoroughly sick of her nonsense, the guardsman lunged for the kit, but his lethargic body and dulled senses made him far too slow and the eldar side-stepped his attempt easily. The next thing he knew was his back hitting the floor; the xeno had just delivered a harsh kick to his chest that had sent him flailing backwards.
The light rasp of a blade being drawn as well as the heavy thud of his discarded pack pricked his ears. Looking up, the eldar had posed herself into one of her basic sword forms as she glared at him from the other side of the living room.
She stood stiffly in a defensive stance with her sword held in a low guard pointing straight at him, neither willing to advance nor retreat. His kitbag lay just behind her, some of its contents spilling out onto the floorboards.
Although impressive, Locke couldn't help but notice that there was something lacking in her form as if her mind wasn't wholly unified by her current course of action. That observation was further reinforced by the uncertain look in her green eyes that revealed the lie in her smug expression. Could it be that the ever-steadfast eldar, was actually conflicted?
Either way, Locke was undeterred by her show of force. Ultimately, if they didn't leave soon, they'd both soon be dead. Picking himself up slowly, he advanced on her again. The smirk on her face faltered, lighting a fire in the guardsman's heart.
Stopping a mere inch way from the sword's tip, the eldar remained perfectly still. Doubtless her muscles were wound up like springs, ready for the slightest provocation which would thrust the blade forward into his flesh.
She appeared to rally at his tenacity, her face hardening at his display of insolence. Locke did his best to keep a neutral expression as the two stared one another down. Thankfully, it was the guardsman who moved first. Rather than attacking her, which is what she seemed to be waiting for, he simply pressed forward so that the sword's tip contacted his chest.
The eldar's resolve wavered in that instant, forcing her to retreat a pace and then another and another before she regained her footing. The guardsman seized the initiative, taunting her as he pushed her back with his pacifistic advance. He even unbuttoned his shirt, bearing his naked chest to the alien as an added provocation.
"Go on then Xeno, if you want to cut me down after all we've been through, then have at it!"
Baring her teeth at him in a half-snarl, half-grimace, she retracted the blade and shifted into a high guard stance. At a slight downward angle, the sharpened wraith bone tickled his pectoral, causing a small line of blood to run down his chest. Tensions were rising, they both knew that one thrust would end the matter, and yet for whatever reason, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
Astounded by how far things had escalated in such a short span of time, Locke pushed the advantage and acted before she could do anything more. His hands moved up and caught her blade, sandwiching the flat of the power sword between his palms all the while the guardsman kept his gaze firmly fixed on the alien's face.
His heart was pounding like crazy; one wrong move and her sword could dismember and cleave with a single blow. The eldar's eyes went wide at Locke's audacity, her index finger massaging the trigger on the handle that would ignite the power sword. With the single push of a button, the guardsman's hands would be cut to ribbons and immolated all in the same breath.
The temptation to fight back lurked in her eyes, yet still she held herself in check, much to her own chagrin. Sweat trickled into his eyes, but the guardsman would not allow himself to break eye contact with the banshee.
Whatever battle was raging inside the confines of her own mind was beginning to boil over; her hands shook as her grip on the weapon loosened enough for Locke to wrench the blade from her grasp. Using what little leverage he had, the soldier twisted the weapon in the eldar's hands until she could stand it no more.
The sword hit the ground with a dull ring, chiming like an odd hybrid of porcelain and steel. Surprise was the first thing that registered on her face. This swiftly turned to horror when the xeno realised how easily she had been disarmed without offering a single attack in her assailant's direction. Backing up several paces, she frantically looked about herself for some avenue of escape, her resolve shattering as the guardsman closed in on her.
Locke could see that the hyperventilating alien maiden was on the edge of flight. Given his weakened state, he knew that if she fled now, he would never be able to catch her. Mercifully, even though he had lost a lot of weight during his ordeal in the past week, he wagered that he still weighed a hell of a lot more than the dainty alien.
Lunging forwards in a full body tackle, the eldar yelped as the two of them went tumbling to the floor in a tangle of limbs. The fall managed to knock some of her former self back into her as she immediately fought back against him.
Hissing and spitting at his face, the aspect warrior clawed at his eyes whilst attempting to wriggle free and throw him off. Locke grasped her wrists tightly and pushed them with all his might up against the wooden floorboards. He had almost forgotten what it was like trying to wrestle the banshee… at least she didn't have a knife on her this time.
Refusing to move or do anything untoward, all Locke had to do was wait. It was the right call as his patience soon paid off; slowly but surely, the eldar's struggles grew weaker and more half-hearted until eventually she went still and calmed.
Her face softened into the irritated mien that the guardsman had come to know so well. While not exactly welcoming, he much preferred how she was now to the manic person that he'd brought down just a few seconds ago. An awkward silence developed between the two, their noses mere inches apart.
"The hell has gotten into you!" The frustration in his voice was apparent. "One minute you're nursing me like an overbearing housewife and the next you're trying to gut me! What gives?"
The eldar did not reply. Time stood still as she stared fixatedly into his eyes and for the briefest moment, the guardsman thought he'd recognised something. The exasperation in his tone did have some effect.
She sagged in his grasp as a remorseful look crossed her face, like that of a guilty child that had realised the error of its ways. The alien's acknowledgement, while small, was enough for Locke; he was confident that she wouldn't try to stop him leaving again.
Releasing her wrists, he pulled away from her and stood up.
"Bloody xenos!" The guardsman grumbled, turning his back on her as he stepped over towards his discarded kitbag.
Righting it, he began stowing all of its spilled contents as well as the things he hadn't had a chance to pack yet. All the while, the eldar lay on her side with her legs pulled in under her, watching on with sadness. She did not move to stop him, the fight had all but gone out of her for the time being.
With all due haste, he packed everything that he could think of. The cabin had been a treasure trove of useful knickknacks and it would have been a shame to abandon such a bounty.
His thoughts soon shifted back to his xeno companion. What had happened to her to make her act out in such a way? It occupied his thoughts for a good while until a notion popped into his head.
Do xenos feel the same way about us as we do about them? Locke had never considered such an obvious idea before, but the more he explored it, the more it made sense to him.
If one of her ilk ever found out about the way she had cared and looked after him, would the banshee be treated with respect or scorn? Locke suspected the latter. Was it possible that the societal pressure had mounted on her until she'd finally cracked?
The soldier couldn't think of any other reason for her behaviour to change so drastically. Likewise, he'd gone through similar guilty phases himself whilst he'd travelled alongside an enemy of mankind, so he could understand her feelings.
"Y'know, I think I get it." He said, breaking the silence that had hung between them as he turned back to face the alien, who still hadn't moved from her position on the floor. Sighing with a mixture of embarrassment and regret, Locke knelt down next to her, and offered the lass his hand.
"We've all got our personal battles to fight, and daemons to slay. You've got yours…" he said, looking away briefly. "And I've got mine."
Changing tack slightly, the guardsman offered the alien a small smile. "But taking it out on each other isn't gonna solve anything."
For her part, the eldar remained silent, her face unreadable as she hung on his every word. "I know it hasn't been easy for you these last couple of days, and if I pissed you of somehow, well… I'm sorry." Gratitude and regret mixed together as his mouth turned into a slight frown.
She still hadn't accepted his offered hand, however, just as Locke was about to retract it, the banshee reached out to him and clasped it gently. Her fingers were slim and elegant unlike his own calloused and rough digits. Unable to keep the stupid grin from his face, Locke hoisted the banshee back to her feet.
Stooping down, Locke also retrieved her fallen blade and offered it to her, hilt first. She took it deftly, spinning it around before sheathing it. Her confidence had returned somewhat, and she even wore a small weary smile that sent the guardsman's head spinning. Although, this was partially ruined when she punched him hard in the shoulder, but Locke believed that it was a small price to pay.
The banshee then spent the next few minutes fussing over his bleeding chest, although it was only a skin-deep wound, and only required a bit of water to wash away the drying blood. With that done, Locke buttoned up his shirt, pulled on his smock and wreathed himself in his cloak. The eldar also decided to wear some of the blankets as a layered coat to ease the amount that the guardsman would have to carry.
With their leaving preparations completed, Locke turned to his companion once more. She still looked a bit remorseful but offered him a half-hearted smirk nonetheless. Taking her hand in his own, he tugged her along after him as they passed through the front door and out into the wilderness.
The both of them stopped a short ways off to share one last backward glance at what had been their refuge for the past week or so. It was a sad moment to leave it to the marauding greenskins, but there was little that they could do to stop its inevitable ransack and destruction. The guardsman squeezed the banshee's hand as they faced toward the horizon and settled into a long westward march.
Update Record:
14/09/2021 - Chapter 20 outline, completed.
26/09/2021 - First section, completed.
08/10/2021 - First section edited and expanded.
15/10/2021 - Introductionary section added.
24/10/2021 - 1000+ words added.
28/10/2021 - 1000+ words added
31/10/2021 - First section (2nd draft), completed
06/11/2021 - Second section, completed
14/11/2021 - Third section added
25/11/2021 - Further edits and additions to previous sections.
26/11/2021 - 1000+ words added.
27/11/2021 - 1000+ words added.
03/12/2021 - 1000+ words added.
07/12/2021 - 1000+ words added.
08/12/2021 - 1000+ words added.
12/12/2021 - 500+ words added. First Draft Completed
28/12/2021 - Second Draft Completed.
30/12/2021 - Third Draft Completed.
30/12/2021 - Fourth Draft Completed.
Review Responses:
Jamarian117 – Glad to be back.
Waken Woken – Indeed, Locke better watch his step.
Bassplayer123 – Who can say. After all, the denizens of the warp tell many lies, half-lies and full truths.
AyeJimmy123 – Nice
Opaque-Cavalier – I think the time for phoning a friend has well and truly passed at this point. Tom's going to have to be very careful in future. Glad to be back, thank you. I like stakes in my stories: 'the greater the challenge, the greater the glory.' That kind of thing, but yes, Tom is going to need every bit of help he can get.
S33R – Yes, I agree! Lots of Aristriel in this chapter. I actually wanted to include more, but I think I'll save that for Chapter 20.
Naruto Loves FemKyuubi – Thank you!
Another S.T.A.L.K.E.R – Thank you, hope you like this one.
Jetjedi - Thank you, glad you liked it!
– Thank you, happy to hear that you're enjoying it. It's certainly an interesting premise although it is quite a challenge.
VonBurger – Happy to oblige! I see you're a man/woman of culture. To be honest, my writing is slow enough as it is, if I made the slow burner any slower, my grandkids would have to finish the story for me xD.
Look2021 – Thank you!
LongSelfindulgentReviews – Thank you, it's nice to actually be earning money again. I used a bit of my ill-gotten gains to get some 15mm WW2 miniatures from ThePlasticSoldierCompany. I also want to get back into latin dancing which is surprisingly expensive in the south of England.
That's very kind of you, but I live in the UK, although if I were in [That city that shall not be named] then I'd definitely take you up on that offer. Indeed, Aristriel is quite an aloof, but conflicted character. Glad I could offer some advice; I wish you the best of luck when you get back to it.
Guest – I think it's more that I get swamped with real life. If you're struggling with burnout, I'd suggest planning your chapters out ahead of time. Most burnout seems to happen when you write yourself into a corner, at least in my experience.
Guest – Thank you very much, hope you like this chapter too.
No Talker – Haha indeed! Bloody hell that sounds like a good story! Thank you very much, it's been interesting so far.
ICatoSicarius – Glad you liked it! Shhh, don't name the dark lord.
Navigator – That's very kind of you, thank you! That is something I definitely didn't want to shy away from. Hardship breaks down the barriers between people and it ensures that any romance is well earned and understandable. Aristriel's inner conflict is demonstrated even more in this chapter.
I was in the UK Army Cadets for several years which gave me a pretty good taster for army life, and I've read a few war memoirs. Apart from that I've never been in the actual army; I do go hiking quite a lot though, so I usually draw upon that to help me create the various scenarios that Locke and Aristriel find themselves in. I hope this chapter was up to a good standard.
VarenWolf – Thank you kindly, happy to see you enjoying it! A lot of people say that, although I must say it is quite a challenge writing it all. Please don't be put off, I implore you to try your hand at writing! Everyone has to start somewhere and besides the world always needs more good stories!
Jctherebel – Thank you, glad you like it!
Dutyofthereader – Unfortunately, I can't really give my thoughts on the matter regarding the Omnicron and its denizens as it might spoil the story, but I will say that I do love reading your theories in the review section - they certainly brighten my day.
I do touch on the subject of the Farseer in this chapter from Aristriel's perspective although things will become more in-depth in future updates. I very enjoyed writing that part of the chapter as well. Strangely, it always feels like the Aristriel & Locke scenes write themselves in my opinion.
Thank you very much, I was glad to get back into my writing. As for the image, I eventually managed to find it, thanks to your help in that. I'm not a huge fan of the face of the eldar in that picture, but her body is close to what I had in mind albeit a bit overly sexualised. I've actually used the website to generate a portrait of Aristriel that is very close to how I'd imagined her looking. I may upload it to Imgur at some point.
Olofpalme – I agree, but you've got to understand that in this universe, humans and eldar hate each other. I couldn't think of any means to speed up the pacing without harming the burgeoning relationship between the two characters. This is a big project for me, one that I'm not going to abandon. Unlike other authors, I actually know how my story starts, progresses, and ends. I just need time to sit down and write it all up.
LegioStultus – You'll not like this chapter then. Remember, Locke is not a space marine or an assassin. He's just a guy (i.e., a normal human) who has been put into a very strange and difficult situation and yet despite that, I'd say he's held his own about as well as could be expected - if not more so. Were it not for him, Aristriel would have met her end in several different ways and vice versa. If you want an all-conquering Mary Sue then you'll have to look elsewhere.
– Thank you, glad to see you like it!
30k40kStarWars – I go back and forth on that eventuality. I understand that an "intimate" scene can really tie up the romance in a satisfying way, but it can just as easily devolve into degenerate smut. I'm still not decided on which way to go when the time comes.
Chronos353 – I agree, check the preamble for my solution to this problem.
