Merry Christmas and a happy New Year to everyone. I've been very busy over these last few months, so progress has been slow, not to mention I got a bit caught up in world building (probably a bit too much) but I finally managed to get this done and released. I hope you like it (The next chapter is going to be an action packed one).
Song of the day: Short Change Hero – The Heavy
Chapter 20 – A Line in the Snow
Silhouetted by the pale moon above, two figures strode onward through the snow that had built up within the rural lane. Both were dishevelled in posture as they plodded forward in measured fitful paces, chasing after the promise of safety that lay at the end of that buried road.
Throughout their trek, the landscape had given way from impenetrable forests to frost-covered grassland and irregular fields - parcelled up via stone walls and thick hedgerows. The bocage that ran either side of the lane had also gradually grown in height the further west they had travelled until the thick shrubberies towered over the two companions.
The dense hedgerows concealed the landscape around as it channelled them down a narrow defile which reduced the fugitives' field of vision; all that they could see was what lay ahead to the west and what stood behind them to the east. Marching relentlessly onwards, rarely if ever, did either of them gaze back at the way they had come. To do so would just antagonise fate, bringing their pursuers down upon them.
Interestingly, the stockier individual was carrying far more trappings than one would have considered to be wise. Nevertheless, he trudged on heedlessly all the same, digging a furrow into the snowbank with his tired body.
His face was hidden underneath the hood of his cloak - half-bowed before the wind, only the outline of his unshaven jaw visible between the puffs of mist from his exhalation. Of the two of them, it was plain to see that he was struggling the most; however, through a rugged single mindedness, he did not yield to the blizzard.
His more elegant and lither partner was having an easier time of it, padding along the surface of the icy blanket as though she weighed as much as a feather. Whilst in a normal context, the two lost souls would have practically been the same height; the compacted snow that she lightly strode upon now gave her a few inches over him. Through the gaps in her cloak and furs, one could see that she sported an alien attire of bone-like armour that displayed her feminine form.
Similar to her companion, she too wore a hood over her head; although, her visage was not for the faint of heart. Where one would have expected to see a pretty face, instead a cream-coloured mask – permanently set in the form of a howling skull - with glowing red eyes jutted forth from beneath the cloak's rim. Poking out from between her added layers of clothing was an elaborate sword's hilt, sheathed on her left hip thus denoting her warrior profession.
An odd pairing to say the least. Were anyone around to see it, they would have found the little procession rather comical: the gaunt, wiry-looking fellow going about his travels with a slim alien amazonian. In spite of her inherent superiority, even her stamina was not limitless, and she too was showing clear signs of fatigue.
Crushing deep impressions into the slush underfoot along their beleaguered march, no utterance was exchanged between the two bedraggled fugitives beyond the odd grunt of exertion. No banter nor song to uplift the spirits, not a word to break the monotony of the whistling of the wind, the crunching of snow, or the ruffling of their attire.
For some time now they had faced the onslaught of a south-westerly breeze. It nipped annoyingly at the edges of their clothing and sent any loose kit jangling away whilst buffeting their advance in the process.
Battling against the elements and their own exhaustion, it wasn't uncommon for either of them to falter or stumble, and yet never once did they break their hold on the other. Hand in hand, they faced the ordeal together: confident in their bond of fellowship that pushed them on to overcome any obstacle in their path despite their weariness.
As the evening drew steadily to a close, the temperature plummeted ever further. Soon they would be forced to look for shelter if they could not reach their objective within the next hour or so. Fortunately though, their destination proved to be far closer than either of them assumed as the road curved around and crested a small rise. From there, the two fugitives caught a glimpse of the place that they were heading for.
Running along a slight downward slope, the road went straight towards some sort of settlement. From their vantage point, the companions took a moment to observe the village. The pale light from the heavens was reflected along the snow-covered rooftops and awnings which bathed the village in an ethereal glow. All the while, a swirling veil of ice crystals sought to obscure the place from the intruder's view.
Redoubling their efforts to cover the last leg of their benighted journey, the fugitives raced down the rural lane toward the wintry village. As they drew closer, the road stopped at the base of a large yet exceedingly narrow shaped hill. It was only when they reached the strange terrain feature that they both realised it was a humpback bridge - its stonework festooned in a blanket of snow.
Peeping over the bridge's parapet, the man peered down into the gulley below to see the moon's image poorly mirrored in the rippling water that rushed underneath the crossing. His eyes travelled up the river, past the dormant water mill and beyond until the waterway meandered around to the southwest and was lost from view. It appeared as though the river was acting as the settlement's eastern border.
Tugged along by his companion, the man left his scrutiny till later and followed along after her. The place was eerily silent and while neither of them expected to see anyone out and about at that time of day, the absence of light emanating from any of the windows was a curious sign.
Just as they reached the end of the bridge and strolled along the outlying thoroughfare that split off in several directions, a cry rose up from a trio of creatures in the adjacent field. Upon seeing the intruders, the animals quickly made their way over to the fence, bellowing their demand for attention.
Terrified that the sudden disturbance would alert any occupants within the village, the both of them darted back across the bridge where they took cover behind the stone wall. Minutes passed, but no one came to inspect the commotion. Peering over the parapet, they both figured that they were probably safe, and crept out from their hiding spot and crossed the river once more.
They remained under the watchful gaze of the three haggard animals whilst they looked about their immediate surroundings. The watermill and a neighbouring bakery stood not too far off to their left. Terraced houses lined the thoroughfare that headed south whilst a selection of lavish manors and inns were dotted along the road that led to the northwest. A lone stone tower stood directly to the right of the bridge, acting as a sentry for anyone who might come by this route.
A paved track split off from the north-western road and wound its way up a shallow rise to a large manor that stood atop a small hill. The alien warrior, clearly taken with the building's commanding position, pointed to it. There was no discussion to be had, the both of them silently agreeing as they set off towards it, making their way deeper into the village. The farm animal trio continued to bray at their receding backs, but they too soon fell into a dejected silence.
Upon reaching the manor's outer gate, they helped one another climb over the stone pillar before dropping down into its grounds. Following the path that led from the gate to the double stone staircase, they both hopped up the stairs, two at a time before arriving at the front door. The lock on the house put up little resistance against the man's improper expertise.
A click of withdrawing tumblers soon resulted in the thick wooden door opening before them with a dull yawn. They sidled into the darkened interior, one after the other before the slim warrior closed the door behind them both.
There they found themselves within a modest yet finely decorated hallway. Gazing about the dimly lit corridor, the man came across an oil lamp sitting on an entry table buttressed up against the wall which was arrayed below a dusty wall-mounted mirror.
A match was struck, the golden light pushing the darkness back as the flame was held against the lamp's wick. After a quick adjustment, the radiance increased significantly, revealing the identity of the grizzled man. Tomas Locke pulled back his hood, turning to appraise his companion.
"Well Xeno, I'd say this should be comfortable enough. What say you?" His question misting in the air. Despite being surrounded by a roof and four walls, it hardly seemed any warmer than the outside; evidently, no one had been here in some time.
The alien though was not in the mood for games, her drooping shoulders displayed her fatigue well enough. As for a response she motioned to the stairwell and pointed upwards. The eldar wanted nothing more than to find a place to lie down and rest; further exploration could wait until morning. Locke nodded in acquiescence, he couldn't blame her after their long march from the forest, they were both ready to drop.
The guardsman mimed a 'look-out' gesture to the alien as he wished to investigate their new abode before he bedded down for the night. With no energy to argue, the banshee simply nodded, even offering to take his pack from him.
Caught off guard by her sudden thoughtfulness, he quickly recovered his composure. He certainly wasn't going to refuse the offer to lighten the load on his aching shoulders. Exhausted from carrying the kit for so long, Locke happily slipped off the backpack and handed it over to the eldar who wore it across her own shoulders.
He thought about giving her the oil lamp, but then remembered that her mask gave her perfectly good night vision. Turning away from him, she offered him a kind glance before ascending the stairs and into the darkness. She struggled somewhat with the weight of the kit, but the eldar persevered and swiftly climbed the stairwell until she'd vanished from sight.
Holding the lamp aloft, Locke's eyes wandered around the hallway before settling on a nearby door. Crossing the floor, he entered the chamber, stepping inside the kitchen which was adjoined to a small servants' quarters that was scarcely big enough for two people. Rummaging through each shelf, drawer and cupboard, the guardsman made a mental note of the house's inventory.
Travelling back across the corridor to the other wing of the building, Locke found the statelier rooms that the home had to offer. Revealed in the half-light of his lamp was a lavish yet cluttered living room connected to a dining room via two sliding doors.
The grand table was hidden beneath a dust cover while all of the chairs had been stacked on top of it. Interestingly, Locke also found a side chamber which must have been the family's drawing room, although it was awfully cramped. It gave the impression that whoever owned the place was desperately attempting to mimic the habits of the upper-class.
The walls were lined with dark wooden panelling inlaid with gothic arches and other imperial iconography whilst the floor was made up of cold chequered tiles. All in all, it was a nice place if a bit gaudy for his taste. If the society that occupied this world was anything like his own then Locke guessed that the home was owned by an aspiring middle-class family. The house, whilst well decorated and filled with regalia, was far too confined to be retained by the well-to-do.
Whilst in the living room, Locke browsed the various knickknacks on the walls and shelves. He scrutinised the lines drawn into the dust, most likely marks left by removed portraits and pictures that the family had taken with them, although a few still remained. One such example, a black and white photogram, was placed on the mantel piece above an ashen cold fireplace.
Depicted on the vellum was a group of grizzled and bearded men, standing orderly in two rows. There was not an outlandish or formal getup to be seen amongst the crowd staring passively back at Locke. These were working men - dressed in slacks and braces.
Their pickaxes and shovels were either hoisted nonchalantly on their shoulders or stuck in the ground in much the same way an ancient knight would stand behind his blade. Their hardened expressions and rugged physiques were a testament to their life of toil deep within the mines where they plied their trade.
"The founding members of the O'zark Mining Company." Locke murmured as he read the inscription along the bottom of the picture frame.
Focusing back on the photogram, one of the still figures caught his interest as he'd seen his likeness in what few other pictures remained. At the centre of the congregation, in the front row, was a stocky man with a bulbous nose puffing away on a fat cigar from the corner of his mouth.
What was rather alarming though was that unlike his compatriots who stood ramrod straight, his left foot was sat upon a wooden crate with 'T.N.T' scrawled onto its side. Whether the box was just a prop, or his fellow miners were that trusting of the maverick-looking fellow was hard to say; although, Locke assumed the former.
The guardsman would never have thought that such a home could belong to such an eccentric person. Though, if a miner struck lucky, more often than not, it'd be enough to pull them up from the poor house.
Moving away, Locke continued his inspection of the ground floor. By the look of things, the old miner and his family had left in a hurry, only taking their most prized possessions and whatever food they could carry. Apart from that though, the home was practically untouched. The kitchen was still partially stocked with hard bread, an assortment of spices, a strong-smelling wheel of cheese and several cans of what Locke guessed were local fruits and vegetables.
While certainly beneficial and an excellent find, Locke couldn't help but feel that the 'salvation' that the shadow had promised, remained undiscovered for the time being. Clicking his tongue in disappointment, the guardsman slipped quietly away to the staircase after he'd made sure to lock the front door.
The upper level was just as dark as the ground floor, only a small bead of light emanated from one of the thresholds, signifying the room that his companion had chosen. Opening the door, Locke's vision immediately came to rest upon the curvaceous line of his companion's figure whilst she stared out of the eastern-facing window toward the darkening horizon.
The eldar, now only dressed in her black body suit, shivered slightly with her arms wrapped around herself. Aware that he was gawking at her, the guardsman averted his gaze to the rest of the bedroom. She had certainly made herself at home in what was a rather spartan bedroom, likely intended for guests.
He wondered why the banshee had chosen this chamber over the others. Given her aristocratic demeanour, it only made sense that she should favour what was undoubtedly a well-furnished master bedroom.
Probably just the first room she'd tried. He pondered.
Regardless of the reason for her choice, the alien had definitely not been idle whilst Locke had surveyed the ground floor. Their bedding was tidily laid out on the fully-made double bed whilst the additional linen had been neatly folded along the wooden footboard.
She had also taken the time to set up a little food station in the corner where Locke's portable stove was surrounded by the foodstuffs that they'd taken with them. Using a few of the coat hangers that she'd pinched from the wardrobe, the eldar had hung up her wet cloak to dry along with her detachable armour plates. The banshee's grim instruments of war: her sword and helm, had been placed on the heavy-duty chest below the bed's footboard.
It never ceased to amaze the guardsman how women could make even the dreariest abode feel homely. Female aeldari apparently also shared this trait. Following the xeno's example, Locke slipped off his wet cloak and smock, hanging them up along the curtain rail that veiled the northern-facing window.
Driven by exhaustion, the fully made bed called to him, luring him to its embrace like a devilish siren. The bed squeaked as he sat down onto its edge, relieving the tension in his muscles as he took a moment to savour the sensation. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept in a proper bed with feather pillows, cotton sheets and a springy mattress. All he wanted to do was lie down and let sleep take him away.
Unfortunately for him, he noticed that the squealing of springs had caused the eldar's ear to twitch. Locke bit back the tired groan, he knew that there was something bothering the alien, something that would undoubtedly require his assistance. Sure enough, she glanced back toward him appearing rather unimpressed as her breath misted in the air.
The eldar pointed towards the fireplace to which the long-suffering guardsman could only offer a tired grunt.
"Fire?" He asked, miming the action of writhing flames with his fingers. She nodded firmly.
The soldier was tempted to ignore her: not only because he was knackered, but the glow of the fire would travel for some distance which could potentially attract unwanted attention.
Then again, what did it matter at this point? Their enemy was back on their tail whether they liked it or not; there would be no possibility of outwitting or outrunning them for much longer. Besides their day-and-a-half long trek had been gruelling for the both of them. They had taken so little rest during their march that they were both running on fumes and near collapse.
He hadn't been able to properly communicate the need for their journey to this place, but she was smart enough to have a good guess at the reason. Language barrier aside, both Locke and the eldar had concluded that they'd meet their fate here whilst enjoying some small comfort before whatever end awaited them.
Moreover, the weariness in the banshee's eyes plucked at the guardsman's masculine desire to provide and protect; they both needed some relief after the hell they'd been through. Sighing, he regretfully lifted himself off of the mattress and pointed towards the slim cuttings of firewood stacked in a wicker basket next to the fireplace.
"Set up the kindling then, an' I'll go grab some logs from downstairs." After a slew of gestures, the xeno got the message and rewarded him with a thankful smile that caused Locke's cheeks to warm.
Taking up his lantern once more, Locke set off into the dark corridor back towards the staircase. After a quarter of an hour, he returned with an armful of logs that he'd plundered from the storage area in the servants' quarters.
Pushing the door aside with his foot, his vision immediately fixed onto the curve of his companion's bottom. Stooped low in front of the small cast iron stove, she fed the rectangular maw dry kindling in preparation for the flame that would soon be lit inside its metal belly.
Lost in the view, a hiss of annoyance swiftly drew his attention away from her posterior as she tried unsuccessfully to create a flame with his lighter. Crouching down next to her, he proffered his open hand in a silent request for the little device.
Refusing to look at him, the eldar scowled as she tried thrice more, creating several bright sparks in the process. Finally she relented, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. Her pouting expression put Locke in mind of a bratty princess as she unceremoniously handed the lighter to the snorting guardsman.
"It's all in the thumb." He said, running his digit swiftly along the flint wheel. There was a brief spark and an immediate ignition.
"See. Now you try." He said, snuffing out the fire before handing it back over to the alien.
The banshee, looking rather flustered, imitated his exact action and was rewarded with a small dancing flame that protruded from the nozzle. Satisfied with her victory, she lowered the burning torch head to the stacked kindling inside the fireplace.
The edge of the flame tickled the kindling, separating into two branching tongues as the thinly chopped wood began to curl and blacken before catching alight. An orchestra of cracks and pops followed soon thereafter as the fire took hold. Bathed in the blossoming orange glow, the eldar turned to meet his gaze, giving him a look which seemed to say, 'eh, I would've figured it out eventually.'
Locke couldn't help but feel a small smile tug at his lips as he hovered his hands close to the growing blaze. Feeding several logs into the fireplace's hungry maw, the two companions soon found the heat of the stove to be stifling up close. Backing up somewhat, they both soon settled on the floor, staring into the contained inferno that raged behind the stove's glass windows.
They stayed sat together for some time, lost in their own thoughts and weariness, simply enjoying the warmth whilst they watched the blazing embers curl and writhe. It hadn't escaped Locke's notice that there was only one bed within the room.
Huddling together for warmth in the wilderness was one thing, but the shelter of a nice home was another matter entirely. With growing dissatisfaction, he knew he should relegate himself to the sleeping bag and the hard wooden floor. All the while his moral compass was going haywire trying to reconcile his creed and upbringing with the desire for a bit of comfort.
Suddenly, Locke felt the gaze of his companion upon him as if she had sensed his discordant emotions. He didn't dare meet those jade eyes of hers that bewitched him so. However, before he could make his excuses to leave, he felt a satisfying pressure on his right side. Fidgeting briefly, he glanced down to see the eldar maiden had crossed the distance between them and was leaning against him with an unsure expression etched upon her visage.
It appeared as though the banshee was as taken aback by her own actions as the guardsman was. Not that Locke was complaining overly much: her touch was soothing, dispersing his aches and pains while his doubts only persisted and grew. The situation he'd landed himself in went against everything he'd ever been taught to believe.
Humanity was perfection, wrought in the image of the God-Emperor, master of all mankind. Xenos were abominations, to be cleansed and exterminated wherever they were to be found. Yet, gazing at the beautiful alien lass from the corner of his eye, that tenet rang assuredly false to the confused soldier.
He tried not to acknowledge their sudden closeness; the guardsman having decided it was best to just enjoy the moment and so turned his attention back to the fire whilst his heartbeat raced. Ever since their little spat back at the cabin, the eldar's demeanour had changed somewhat.
She was still as aloof and abrasive as always, but there was a degree of softness to her that hadn't been present before. Perhaps it had just been hiding under the surface? Despite some of his underlying misgivings, Locke understood that after all the hardship they'd been through, they were now comrades for all intents and purposes.
Shifting his position, he reached his arm around her waist and pulled her in close. He half expected a slap across the face for his boldness, but surprisingly the eldar merely propped her head against his shoulder.
Bloody hell, she really is knackered: too tired to care anymore. He stifled a chuckle which abruptly ended when he felt a sharp pinch on his belly from the alien's nails. Locke glared at her, but the eldar feigned ignorance of any wrongdoing.
Caught between the banshee and the fire, it didn't take long for him to shake off the cloying chill that had settled into his bones along the latest leg of their journey. Mesmerised by the flickering embers, Locke realised that he hadn't felt the warmth of a real fire in ages, not since he'd been back at the Monastery on Deyria with his company.
The thought of his comrades who he'd been forced to leave behind left a dark shadow on his thoughts. He wanted to believe that his friends had somehow survived, that they'd escaped, but he knew the chance of that being true was slim.
And what of the eldar rubbing up against him? She was one of those warriors that had taken part in the siege that had almost assuredly wiped out his regimental family. He should have been harbouring nothing but hatred and resentment for her… and yet he felt nothing of the sort.
On the other hand, she was just a soldier the same as himself, sent to fight and kill whatever enemy her superiors designated. He couldn't exactly blame her for the things she'd done, especially given his own history.
Nevertheless, he could still levy some complaint towards her, such as the debacle at the comms station which was still a sore spot in Locke's memory. Her reckless actions had very nearly gotten them both killed.
The guardsman could never know for sure what exactly she had done to cause the security lockdown, although he was strongly inclined to believe that she'd sent a message to her people, probably of the Omnicron's whereabouts.
It was a stark reminder indeed that their partnership was a tenuous one; a fact that a zealously xenophobic part of the guardsman still clung to. At the end of the day, they were still adversaries with opposing goals, but as the eldar melted into his side, he couldn't bring himself to hate her or wish her ill. They had been through so much together in such a short time span, they relied on each other probably far more than either was willing to let on.
Very soon the raging inferno inside the stove became too much for the guardsman and with his muscles thawed, he decided it was finally time for sleep. The banshee, having taken notice of his fidgeting, came to the same conclusion as they both stood up and headed for bed.
At first Locke thought about retaining his modesty, but after the ordeal with his erstwhile fever it struck him as pointless. Whether he liked it or not, the alien had become fairly well acquainted with his semi-nude form, there was little to be gained by being a prude.
Untying his boots, he slipped off his socks and removed his smock, shirt, and trousers, leaving him in his underwear. Hanging the fatigues to dry, he made his way over to the already occupied bedding.
Whilst he had been undressing, his companion had slipped under the covers and waited patiently for him to join her. She did her best not to stare at him, keeping her eyes planted on the ceiling with the thick duvet pulled up to her chin.
He noticed her cheeks were bright red, but that could have purely been the heat from the fire and her own weariness. Settling into the soft and pliant bedding himself, the guardsman could finally let go of the fatigue weighing down upon him.
Exhaling contentedly, he quickly became aware of an odd tension that prevented him from going to sleep. Lying flat on his back, he too looked up at the ceiling, stealing glances at the pretty alien from the corner of his eye.
How had it come to this? How had they gotten to a stage where sleeping in such close proximity with an alien was now considered just normal? The guardsman brushed the questions aside, they had only been doing that for warmth and yet as time dragged on, he felt something missing that kept him from his slumber.
Daring to look across to the banshee, he noted that there was significant distance between himself and the xeno, but she too was also struggling to fall asleep. It was maddening, they were both exhausted and yet sleep refused to come.
Heretical thoughts came unbidden from his subconscious, tempting him to cross lines that no man should. They both knew what was wrong but neither of them were prepared to 'fix' the problem. After all, this was their first night spent together since their renewed partnership which explained why they both felt so awkward in each other's presence.
Realising that the both of them could soon well be killed by their greenskin foes, Locke mustered his courage. His companion may be an alien, but she was still a gorgeous lass and that was all the encouragement the young guardsman needed to break the deadlock.
Taking them both by surprise, Locke turned over onto his side towards the eldar who instantly rolled over to face him. Her facial expression was almost unreadable, reluctant, and yet longing for something. Either way, Locke wasn't going to let this battle of wills continue. Reaching out, he looped his arm under the crook of her neck; there was protest in her emerald eyes, but she made no move to stop him. Quite the opposite, she raised her head up off the pillow to give him easier access.
The guardsman's other arm slid along her side until it reached the small of her back. In one quick motion, Locke pulled them both together much to the alien's consternation. As if realising what she was allowing to happen, the xeno pushed away at his chest in a half-hearted attempt to escape, but the guardsman held her firmly against himself.
Her resistance died away and she quickly went still in his embrace. Nuzzling his neck, a contented shiver ran through her body whilst he buried his nose into her luscious red hair.
Her unique scent clouded his thoughts as the sweet and flowery fragrance of fresh apples and lavender filled his nostrils. It reminded him of home, of the rolling green fields, meadows, and tall mountains of Narvos. His restless leg muscles calmed as the tension melted from his limbs.
Pressed tightly up against one another, he was acutely aware of the curvaceous contours of her body as they rubbed against his bare skin. If he'd had the energy, his blood would have rushed to his pelvis, but he was far too gone for that. A feeling of contentment came over him as his breathing slowed and his eyelids soon grew heavy. Locked in their comfortable embrace, sleep soon claimed them both.
The heavenly thrum of harp strings called to him as his eyes sprang open and a sky of vivid orange, purple and red filled his vision. He was sprawled on the slope of a grassy hill that overlooked golden violet crops as far as the eye could see.
Caught up in the pristine vista, the guardsman could have spent an eternity staring out at the landscape before him; however, the music drifting down from the summit could not be ignored for long. Unable to resist the beautiful tune, he was guided up the incline.
On the hill's summit is where he found the mysterious source of the music. Shrouded beneath the shade of a solitary tree sat the harpist who paid no attention to his arrival as he drew closer. Locke was immediately struck by the near hallucinogenic beauty of the woman sat playing the golden instrument.
A heart shaped face complimented by high cheek bones, a small nose, and a full pair of lips, gave her a regal bearing. Her long black hair trailed in the breeze whilst her fine elegant fingers plucked away at the strings.
The guardsman felt the breath catch in his throat, gazing at the near perfect creature sat before him. The woman had a fine figure, slim whilst still boasting her female assets in excellent proportions that entrapped the eye.
Unable or unwilling to stop himself, the guardsman drew closer still until he could have reached out and touched her. Thankfully her tune ended before Locke could embarrass himself. Only then did she turn her gaze onto the guardsman whereupon Locke found himself bewitched by her striking red irises.
"Hmmm, 'tis rude to stare you know." She giggled, a jovial high-class laugh that would have captured the heart of any man.
"I-I… sorry, I…um… who are you?" Locke faltered, attempting to regain his composure.
"I am Voluptas, but you may call me Volu." She stated politely, offering her hand to the guardsman like a true noble woman. "I believe you are Mendacius's disciple, are you not?" The spirit asked, the mischievous look in her eye daring the guardsman to play along. It didn't take him long to figure out who he was dealing with. Suppressing the arousal that he felt in her presence, he hesitantly bowed to kiss the back of her palm.
"I guess, although I'm starting to have second thoughts about that." He replied, rubbing the back of his head as he stood straight. He noticed Volu bite her bottom lip, her regal expression turning to that of a huntress on the prowl.
Unsure of what to do, Locke stepped away from the spirit who moved swiftly off her stool and away from her harp as she chased after him. Not expecting her sudden forwardness, Locke was taken by surprise when she trapped him in a tight hug. Volu stood a head shorter than he did and yet her demeanour gave her a towering presence.
"Perchance, I could ease your doubts?" She whispered in a sultry voice, squashing her large bust into Locke's chest whilst her fingers gently massaged his back.
"Hmmmm?" Volu giggled as the guardsman's mind went foggy and he slowly relaxed into her sensual embrace.
However, before he brought his arms up to return the hug, the last vestiges of his mind rallied as his memory clicked into place. He remembered her voice from one of his attempts in the labyrinth.
Blinking at the grim memory, Locke tore himself away from the spirit's encirclement, much to her shock. Putting some distance between himself and her, the guardsman's stupor dispersed as he became able to think straight once more
"Hang on a second, I've heard your voice before." He said, almost accusatory towards the daemon who smirked at him.
"Indeed you have, I spoke to you during one of your trials. I was sad to see that you did not listen to my advice." She appraised him with a sympathetic frown.
"Yeah, vague advice." Remembering the pain of his ordeal, his response came out far more bitter than he'd intended.
Volu was unphased by his change in demeanour. "But advice all the same." She said happily. "For your emotions are indeed the key."
Locke had had enough; he wanted a straight answer out of these irritating entities. "Enough with the games and riddles. What the hell does that mean?"
The smile fell away from her face, morphing into a more thoughtful expression as she considered her answer. Turning her head, Volu stared off toward the glorious horizon in contemplative silence whilst Locke waited patiently.
"There are many dimensions that exist within our universe, many of which intersect and overlap with one another." She explained with a wistful expression. "The two that are the most important to know are the Materium, that is what you call reality, and the Immaterium which you will know as the warp."
"The Materium is where you and all other living beings' dwell, it is a dimension governed by the natural laws of physics; unlike the Immaterium which is a place of raw emotion, governed by the fickle desires and fears of mortals."
Ignoring his watchful gaze, the spirit stooped down to pick a vibrant violet flower from a tuft of grass. All the while giving Locke a perfect view of her well-rounded posterior which forced the guardsman to look away.
"Contrary to what some of your more ignorant scholars believe," she spoke softly, watching the flower whilst she twirled it in her fingers. "These two realms are not separate places, they are overlaid and intertwined with one another. Events that happen in reality will have an effect on the warp, and vice versa. Does this make sense to you?" She asked, appraising him again with her bright crimson eyes.
"Sort of." The guardsman replied, struggling to defy her beauteous stare.
"You have seen a psyker before have you not?" Locke flicked his eyes over to the pretty flower in her grasp. He didn't recognise the type, but it was a fine specimen indeed. Seeing that which held his attention, Volu drew the flower toward her chest as she lured his eyes back to her.
"I have, a long time ago." He coughed, averting his eyes once more. "The things they were able to do… I still can't believe it. No wonder the inquisition keeps them on a tight leash."
"Hmm," the lady agreed. "Their caution is well justified. Psykers by their very nature are unstable; their entire lives are that of living conduits between the two planes. Yet it is through that rare connection that they are able to use their own emotions to gather warp energy and bring it into real space."
"Right." Locke drew out his answer as the topic expanded beyond his comprehension. "And this warp energy gives them their power?"
"Exactly." She smiled, stepping in close to Locke which caught him off guard.
"Ya think I'll be able to do what they did?" The guardsman asked tentatively.
"That and more." She replied, a seductive tone creeping into her voice. "Although, it is important to bear in mind that the more a psyker pushes against reality, the more reality will push back."
"Okay, but how does this work in practice?"
"Patience. A gentleman should never rush a lady." The way her eyes flashed with the promise of mischief made his heart race. "Besides a foundation of knowledge is needed if you wish to master the Omnicron… which is why you are here after all." She stated confidently.
Curtseying in front of him, Volu plucked a small rock from the ground whilst providing Locke a front row seat to her cleavage.
"Take this pebble," she said, levelling her gaze at him. "You're going to move it."
"I take it you don't mean with my finger." Locke raised an eyebrow at her.
She tapped the side of his head with her index finger, "with your mind, silly." Volu clarified.
"I see."
"Take the Omnicron into your hand, it shall act as the source for the warp energy." Locke reached into his pocket where he soon felt the soft pulsing warmth of the black cube. Bringing it out, the guardsman noted how the spirit's eyes glared at the artefact with hunger.
"Good, now concentrate." The guardsman was a bit hesitant to close his eyes in the company of this daemon given her behaviour, but his desire to use the artefact proved greater than his concern. "Clear your mind, pour your focus into the Omnicron sat on your palm."
The guardsman's face twitched. "Don't break your focus, your mind is opening up the gate between the planes."
"Now what?" He hissed through gritted teeth as he felt an aethereal pressure envelope his being.
"Your emotions will draw out the warp energy," she spoke maturely now, like that of a teacher educating her pupil. "The greater your passion the better."
"And what if I'm not feeling very passionate?"
"Memories will help you in that regard. Moments of great joy, sadness, lust, rage, envy and fear can be used to this affect."
"Hang on, which is it," Locke grunted as he struggled to control his breathing. "Clear my mind or think of a memory?"
He heard her sigh. "The point being you have to concentrate, remove the distractions that might harm your ability to wield the artefact."
"Okay, okay," Locke replied, taking several deep breaths. "No distractions, concentrate, got it."
Minutes passed as the guardsman silently battled to maintain the gateway in his palm as he tried to coax what lay beyond. "Some types of emotion are better for doing particular things, but I shall let you figure out which is which." Volu spoke up again.
He didn't know why but his thoughts went back to the village girl who used to go on walks with him along the banks of the Derwin. Locke remembered the sunlight playing in her golden hair as they'd shared their first kiss in the flowering meadows. The giddy happiness came flooding back along with a strange nervous energy.
In that moment, a thin stream of warp energy flowed out from the gateway provided by the Omnicron whereupon it orbited the artefact in a vibrant cloud. Locke opened his eyes to see Volu beaming at him.
"You have done well." She said, admiring the effects of her tutelage.
"I feel… strange." Locke replied in a disjointed manner.
"That would be the warp energy coursing through you. Relax, "The spirit said, noticing his worried expression. "You are safe, the Omnicron acts as a Faraday cage for its user."
"Like I know what that means." Locke finally allowed himself to smile as he gazed at the miniature nebula surrounding the Omnicron and his right hand.
The lascivious daemon clapped her hands together to get his attention. "Bringing warp energy into real space was only the first step. Now, you must direct it into moving the pebble."
The guardsman nodded. He shifted his vision to the stone on her palm and released the warp energy all at once towards it. A sudden explosion blew Locke off his feet, throwing the guardsman back a dozen yards before he smacked into the ground. Groaning in pain, Volu came trotting over to him just as the guardsman got back to his feet. He patted himself down and found that he was unharmed albeit shaken.
"The fuck was that!" Locke gasped, blinking at the dust in his vision.
"You lost control, thankfully there was little warp energy to expend." The spirit replied, her tone that of a disapproving mother. "Remember, warp energy is not inanimate, it is as much alive as you or I. Even at the best of times, it is a fickle and cantankerous thing. You cannot just let it go and hope that it does what you want, it has to be guided every step of the way."
"You don't think you could have told me that before I nearly blew my own arms off?"
"Apologies," she offered him a sad smile that defused most of his anger. "It has been a while since I have given tutelage to such a novice."
Locke looked away from her red eyes and dusted himself off. "Whatever, just tell me how to move the damn stone."
"Very well." Her attitude remained upbeat despite their latest setback. "Imagine yourself pushing the stone with your finger. Let it be the thing you want most in the galaxy, your entire fixation; nothing must stand in your way."
Repeating the steps earlier, Locke once again felt the unfamiliar feeling of warp energy coursing through him. The guardsman did as he was commanded, planting his feet firmly on the ground; he ordered the rock to move.
In his mind's eye, he felt his fingertip brush the tiny stone, except unlike a normal pebble, it felt as though it weighed as much as a boulder. Straining against the invisible barrier of reality, Locke poured more of the latent warp energy into moving the stone.
The more he used, the lighter the pebble became as it began to rock gently in Volu's palm. It edged its way across her digits, until finally with one last push, the stone tumbled over her thumb and to the floor.
Doubled over, panting for breath, Locke let any spare warp energy dissipate as he fought against the exhaustion. It was as though he'd just ran a marathon up a mountain and yet all he'd done was move a small stone with his mind. With his hands on his knees, the guardsman stared down at the floor, trying to regain his breath whereupon he noticed the red droplets that fell from his nose.
"My nose is bleeding." He said in alarm.
"Of course, you exerted yourself quite hard there."
"I don't think this is going to work if I get like this just trying to push a bloody stone."
"Using psychic abilities is like using a muscle," she explained, stroking his back as he recovered. "The more you use it, the stronger you shall become."
"Noted," he exhaled a sigh of relief. "I need some rest."
"I concur, you have performed admirably for someone with no prior knowledge. I look forward to watching your future trials."
"Uhhhh, thanks." Locke said, finding it hard to stand properly on his wobbly legs. Volu moved around him and took his hands in her own.
"So resilient, I can see why your eldar friend likes you." She said, the same mischief from earlier now making itself known.
"Huh." He hadn't been expecting the daemon to know of his companion.
"Give the Howling Banshee my regards, won't you? I can't wait to be acquainted with her when her end finally comes."
The day started early for both Locke and the eldar. In typical fashion the alien had already vacated the bed by the time the guardsman awoke, leaving only her warmth and flowery scent behind as a calling card.
The fire they'd lit the previous night had certainly done its job; the stove was still pumping out a lukewarm heat that kept the room a pleasant temperature. Inspecting the glass panels, all Locke could see was a small pile of glowing white ashes. Stretching his body, the yawning guardsman felt several satisfying cracks as he set about getting ready for the day ahead.
Within a few minutes, he'd clothed himself - ensuring to wrap up warmly, and had a bite to eat from the rations in their reserve. Chewing on the tough salted meat, Locke stepped out the bedroom door and was shocked momentarily by the chill that assaulted him. Much to his dismay, the warmth of their chamber didn't extend to the rest of the building. Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he headed for the staircase.
Wandering downstairs, Locke caught sight of his companion through the back window as she performed her sword dance in the large back-garden. She twirled and leapt with sword in hand whilst in full battle regalia as she drilled from one stance to another.
Looking just beyond the spectacle put on by his companion, Locke's eyes drifted to a large shed that stood in the corner of the yard. He hadn't noticed it when they'd first arrived, but then again he couldn't really say he'd been in top form the day before.
Stepping outside, he walked over to the banshee, who was busy combating imaginary foes. That was until she sprang off the ground, somersaulted and landed just in front of him. Her sword flashed in the morning sun as she swung the finely crafted blade around toward his throat. Locke's face went as white as snow as his life flashed before his eyes and yet the killing blow never came; the cold porcelain-steel stopped instantaneously a mere hairsbreadth from his neck.
Instinctively, Locke dodged backwards albeit far too late, managing to trip over his lethargic feet in the process. His landing wasn't too painful though thanks to a helpful snowdrift that caught him; although, the pain of a bruised ego still stung.
"The fuck was that!" He cried, seething with anger whilst the banshee removed her helm nonchalantly.
She offered him a restrained yet smug grin, her eyes alight with amusement. Try as he might, Locke found it impossible to stay mad at her: the banshee warrior was far too pretty for her own good.
Back to her old self again, I see. He thought wistfully.
"If you're done dossing about, we can make a start." The guardsman said, dusting away the snow on his fatigues as he got back to his feet.
"A little birdie tells me that this is the place to be if we want to solve our 'ork' problem. Didn't give us anythin' specific so we're gonna search high and low for anything that can help us. Savvy?"
The eldar just stared blankly at him as if he were the dumbest creature in all creation.
Why the hell do I keep talking to her, she doesn't even understand a word I'm saying. Locke grumbled inwardly as he made a 'follow-me' gesture to the alien as they set off to explore the rest of the village.
Their first port of call was the watermill that stood close to the bridge that they'd crossed yesterday. Making their way through their abode's gate and down the icy pathway, they descended the hill and headed for the close-knit buildings.
The entire facility was ringed by a high stone wall with the only point of entrance being a wide archway that enclosed a set of thick double doors. Thankfully, whoever had owned the mill had not been particularly security conscious, having left the entrance unlocked. Taking advantage of this accidental generosity, Locke and the eldar walked straight in.
They found themselves in a square courtyard which in normal times would've bore witness to scenes of labourers and drivers hard at work amidst the bustling goods traffic. Whether the ruts in earth had been created by mechanised vehicles or by horses and carts was hard to tell.
The guardsman was still struggling to work out the technological level of the human civilisation that existed on the planet. At least Locke was fairly sure they were in some sort of loading bayy area, if the crane on the raised platform was anything to go by.
The lifting machine was adjacent to the two-storey mill building and an open-air storage area that was buttressed up against the river. Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the yard was a large warehouse that was longer than it was tall.
Unlike the depot that comprised of whitewashed brick walls and a dark slate covered roof, the mill building was of an older aesthetic. It had a thatched roof for one whilst its walls were likely wattle and daub covered in thick cream-coloured clay and supported by timber braces and frames. All of which suggested that the watermill's business had expanded and developed over time.
Another interesting feature of the yard was the pier along the waterfront that jutted out a small way into the river. Though, much to his disappointment there were no canal barges moored that could offer them a route of escape.
Given the size of the loading area, Locke could only assume that the mill had been a productive one during its hay day. After the quick inspection of the warehouse, Locke and his companion crossed back toward the mill. The guardsman debated about asking the xeno to cut through the lock using her sword but thought better of it.
He knew that she hated using her beloved blade for such a purpose and only when absolutely necessary. Besides it'd probably be better if they left the place as intact as possible. Still, time was getting on. He promised himself that if the latch proved too difficult for him then he'd ask the xeno to cut it asunder.
Crouching down in front of the door, the guardsman began to pick the lock whilst the banshee took an interest in the crane nearby. It was a marvellous piece of engineering, around the size of a large horse carriage that was built from cast iron beams, pulleys, and gears.
Drawn to the hand wheel, the xeno began to experiment as she turned the wheel clockwise and anticlockwise, watching as the swaying hook at the end of the cable raised and lowered.
Listening to the sounds of groaning gears, Locke called back over his shoulder. "I hope you're having fun, 'cause I'm getting nowhere with this."
The xeno cocked her head at the guardsman's struggles with the door whereupon her vision trailed upwards toward the mill's second floor. In the centre of the wall was a wide set of shutters hanging partially open.
Taking the crane's hand grips, she rotated the lifting machine around so that its jib protruded just above the loading hatch. The xeno left Locke to his futile efforts as she mounted the crane and strode along the parallel beam sections and spars.
When she reached the end, the banshee placed her foot in the crane's iron claw and carefully lowered herself down the hanging cable. Such was the mastery of her own balance, that the cable hardly moved with the application of her weight. In one fluid motion, the xeno pried open the hatch door with her foot and leapt inside.
Meanwhile, Locke had only been vaguely aware of the alien's antics behind himself whilst he was becoming more frustrated with his lack of success. The front door at the manor had been child's play in comparison to this.
Trying his lockpick again, all he heard was a dull click, the tumblers remaining firmly in place. He shook the door handle in exasperation, kicking the abstinent door impotently for good measure.
"Xeno, I think we're going to have to use your sw…" He stopped as the door opened before him, the banshee standing on the other side.
"…Or that works too. Good job." He shrugged, stepping inside the mill as she moved aside to let him in.
Upon entering the mill, Locke and the banshee now stood within a narrow rectangular office space where the mill's clerks would have worked, managing deliveries and inventory. All along the inwards facing partitioning wall were grid windows that provided a good view of the storage and loading area.
The guardsman could well imagine the sight of the place in proper working order: the bustling activity of labourers working tirelessly to bring through the newly filled sacks of flour from the silos, lining them up in close order like soldiers on parade.
The clerks rushing around endlessly as they tried to maintain some semblance of order within their records and schedules. The sliding doors being opened wide as the couriers loaded their order onto the carts that were destined for the shops and bakeries of the land.
Interestingly, the moment the banshee had opened the door; the chugging hum of revolving machinery could be heard throughout the structure. The people who had worked here had obviously never envisaged a need to disconnect the water wheel from the internal machinery that drove the heavy grindstones. This meant that when they had vacated the area, the mill was left to keep working even if there was no one around to feed the contraption any grain.
Beyond the loading area, through a wide opening, was the workshop which was just across from the flour vats. These large open-topped collection barrels sat underneath two conical flues that would have filtered the newly crushed flour from the grindstones on the floor above.
Evidently, the workshop itself was mostly for the maintenance and running of the mill's machinery. Wandering over to the silos, Locke discovered several half-filled cloth sacks which had been left where the workers had dumped them.
Sticking his hand into one, Locke was surprised to see that the pile of white flour in his palm looked in relatively decent condition. The guardsman nudged the powder with his thumb before bringing a small sample to his mouth. Whilst not the most appetizing snack, the flour was free from staleness as far as he could tell.
"Huh, it's still in date." Upon hearing his utterance, the xeno, who had been examining the various tools in the workshop, drew up alongside the guardsman.
"Now if I remember rightly, my friend Kern once told me that flour could only last up to around seven or eight months," he said, glancing across toward the banshee. "Which means, everybody who lived here can't have left too long ago."
Removing her helm, the eldar looked inquisitively at the powder in his hand which sparked Locke's desire for some petty revenge against the alien.
"It's good quality," he surmised, holding it up for her so she could see it more closely. "If ya ever learn Low-Gothic, I'll have to tell you about the time I took on a combat servitor with nothing but my seax and a sack o' the stuff." The guardsman made sure to sound as boastful as possible to bait her in.
She sensed the faux gloating by the tone of his words; the banshee merely opted to roll her eyes at him. Then with a playful grin, Locke leaned in towards her and blew the flour sitting on his palm into the shocked face of his companion.
"Consider us even." He chuckled, attempting to dart away from her, but proving too slow as her hand shot out and grabbed his fatigues.
Through the white specks plastered on her face, the banshee scowled at him, preparing to deliver a sharp punch to his side when all of a sudden she froze in place like a living statue. Waiting for the blow that would never fall, the guardsman raised his eyebrow curiously at her.
Without warning, her face screwed up like she'd sucked on a lemon as she sneezed daintily with a high-pitched 'achoo'. Such a sweet sound was unbecoming of one of the eldar's aspect warriors: so much so that she completely forgot about her desire for vengeance, instead choosing to hide her embarrassment. Locke's laughter had completely died away too as he stared enamoured at the adorable demeanour of his companion.
"Uh… bless you." Locke said, trying to suppress his own rising blush. Releasing his uniform from her clutches, the eldar turned about face, wiping away the remaining flour without the guardsman's beguiling eye upon her.
Once she had sorted herself out and put her war mask back on, they resumed their search. Besides viewing the actual machinery and the revolving grindstones, neither of them found anything particularly useful or of any note.
However, their investigation didn't end there. Locke and the banshee scoured the rest of the village, searching for anything that could be of any use in aiding their escape or in combating their approaching foes.
The terraced houses and manors yielded little more than additional foodstuffs. All of which were soon piled high in a broad wheelbarrow - that Locke had appropriated from one of the garden sheds - as well as his own rucksack. Upon seeing some of the food on offer, Locke's stomach let out a hungry growl which the guardsman ignored.
Whilst there was the temptation to cut their search short, he'd decided that eating could wait. They'd already had to make several return journeys to empty their loot back at the manor. Where once the dormant kitchen had borne mostly bare shelves and empty cupboards, was now crammed with the food that they'd pilfered from the various properties around the abandoned settlement.
One very interesting feature though that all of the houses possessed, were the flyers that had been nailed to people's doors or slipped through their letter boxes. Tugging an ice crusted piece of paper from the entrance of a particularly hunched house, Locke read the mass delivered correspondence:
'ATTENTION Loyal Citizen,
The great struggle continues! The vile xenos horde have managed to push our valiant soldiers off of the island of Kyros and are now invading the southern tip of the Ravanian continent. Rest assured, this minor setback shall soon be corrected as our forces regroup and reorganise; however, while this takes place, you and your kin now lie in harm's way.
By royal decree from our most esteemed High Consul and Planetary Governor, Lord Hyron Bartharius, supported in conjunction with the supreme commander of all Imperial Guard and Militia forces, Lord General Erik Valance, it has been declared that ALL settlements south of the River Harlok are to be EVACUATED to the northern reaches.
There are NO EXEMPTIONS to this proclamation, all those who defy the Consul's edict shall be punished harshly.'
The text then began detailing the course of action that each district would need to take. For his part, Locke skimmed through most of it, until he came across a passage that struck him as familiar.
'…Those that live to the west of the Brownbarrow Mountains, should make haste to the designated assembly point: the town of Rosnow - situated along the River Grail, before continuing your journey to safety.
Remember to travel lightly, take ONLYthat which is necessary: FOOD, WATER and SMALL ITEMS OF SENTIMENTAL VALUE are recommended. HIDE anything of VALUE that you own; SECURE your HOMESand PROPERTY to ensure that it remains as it was upon your eventual return. DESTROY all equipment and items that may be of use or benefit to our enemy; it is imperative that our foe be DENIED any succour in our lands.
Thank you for your compliance! It is regrettable that this action should need to be taken, but fear not dear citizen, for by the grace of the God-Emperor, He shall deliver us from the evil that has dared to invade our noble world. Take comfort in the faith, gird yourselves against the coming hardship, for our triumph will soon be at hand.
The Emperor Protects,
Signed, Tharos Berkenthraad, Grand Herald of the Communications Bureau'
"No wonder we haven't come across anyone," Locke spoke his mind aloud as he held his chin. "They've all gone north."
Folding the paper in half and then again, he stuffed it into the pocket along the seam of his smock. The guardsman turned his attention back to the xeno who was strolling down the street with an armful of food cans.
"Ya hear that Xeno, if we survive this, I know where we've got to go next."
His companion remained silent as she emptied her haul into the wheelbarrow, ignoring his statement with work-like indifference. She was probably still smarting from her embarrassing sneeze, so the soldier decided not to press the issue.
Locke had come to learn that his companion was not one that forgave a slight quickly. Moving around the gardening implement, Locke took up the handles as they moved off again to the next house.
By midday, they had scouted out the entirety of the residential buildings. It was only when they finally moved into the main town square and local market that their luck truly changed for the better. Forcing his way into the boarded-up tavern, Locke found a pint of beer awaiting him on a pub table near the door.
The guardsman, ignoring everything else, made a beeline for the amber drink that was sat on its lonesome. The last drop of alcohol he'd had was the bottle of laetius nuntio over two weeks ago, and it was fair to say he'd been craving a drink to take the edge off.
The glass was cold to the touch, but Locke didn't care as he swept it off the counter and upended the vessel into his awaiting mouth… and tasted nothing but air. Opening his eyes, he stared in shock at the frozen beer that defied gravity.
He shook the upended pint glass vigorously, but the golden ale remained stuck fast, much to the guardsman's lament. The sound of laughter from behind him made him keenly aware that his companion had seen his idiocy, only serving to pour more salt on the wound.
"Throne, why do you do these things to me?" He asked the ceiling which provided him no answer.
Although, he quickly rescinded his grumbling statement the instant he spotted the double-barrelled shotgun that was hung above the bar. Vaulting over the bar counter, the guardsman pulled it off its rack and started to play around with it. His analysis was meticulous and gentle, treating the firearm with respect as if it were an animal that might bite him.
He'd not been expecting the shotgun to be real and in working order, but it was a welcome surprise, nonetheless. Afterall with the way their luck had been going recently, they definitely deserved something positive for once.
In a frenzy of excitement, the soldier rummaged around in the drawers and shelves behind the bar. Pushing aside empty glasses and bowls in his search, Locke's perseverance soon paid off when he opened the hatch to a small cupboard and discovered around two dozen buckshot shells.
It was no lasrifle, but whilst archaic, it could still do plenty of damage – particularly at close range. Locke passed the firearm over to the curious banshee, who weighed the weapon in her hands. Removing her helm and setting it aside on a nearby stool, the alien maiden brought the butt of the shotgun tightly into her right shoulder whilst she peered down the valley of the double barrels.
A look of disappointment crossed her face as she scrutinized the twin nubs at the end of both muzzles: laughingly called the weapon's sights. Evidently, she preferred something with greater range and precision, the guardsman surmised.
"Think that's probably more my style to be honest lass," Locke said, gesturing for the firearm which the banshee duly handed back to him.
The church that stood on the other side of the market square also proved to have treasure hidden within. Naturally, the guardsman paid his respects, lighting two candles in the shrine for both himself and his companions' protection.
Locke was feeling remarkably pious after the promise he'd made at the log cabin when his body had been racked with one of the worst fevers he'd ever suffered. Dropping to his knees, with hands clasped together, he offered up a long-winded prayer to the stoic statue of the Emperor in thanks. Meanwhile, the banshee wandered around the nave and chancel, eyeing the various symbols and texts with equal curiosity and derision.
The prayer certainly wasn't wasted, it was as though the Master of Mankind was smiling on the guardsman. Upon climbing the revolving stone staircase that led up to the bell tower, Locke discovered a secret stash of hard liquor hidden in the church's steeple.
Unlike the lonely pint of beer left in the tavern though, the alcohol stored in the clear bottles was untouched by the cold. This was made clear to Locke who picked up one of the bottles from its open-topped crate and watched with admiration as the liquor sloshed about inside.
Daring a taste, he pulled off the cork and was nearly bowled over by the strong fumes that assaulted his sense of smell. He scrunched up his face in disgust, placing the drink back where he'd found it; the guardsman almost felt drunk just from sniffing it. After witnessing his facial expression, the alien decided to keep her distance from the offending liquor.
Could probably use this stuff as bootleg promethium, he thought, scratching his head in bewilderment. Not a bad idea though, might come in handy.
Gesturing for the banshee's attention, he pointed his head in the direction of the crates as he gathered two of the wooden boxes up in his arms. Happy to see the xeno follow suit and pick up the last two crates, they both set off back through the bell tower, heading for the street below. Never in his entire life would he have thought that he'd find a place where a church contained more alcohol than the local tavern, but then again these were interesting times in which he lived.
With their exploration of the macabre temple completed, there was little more to be seen. Piling the crates of alcohol into the wheelbarrow, Aristriel now wanted nothing more than to return to their billet.
First and foremost, it was growing colder as the day wore on and she hadn't had a chance to have a proper bite to eat thus far. Given the well-stocked larder, the banshee was determined to prepare the largest meal that she could think of. The mon'keigh though had other ideas… he always had other ideas, yet another of his annoying habits.
Why do males always think that they know best?
Noticing her turn the wheelbarrow about, he came up alongside her and placed a forceful hand upon the gardening implement. Her indignation flared as he pointed towards a distant building, partially obscured by trees along the western outskirts.
However, Aristriel had long since grown tired of the endless foraging. They had found plenty, and still the human wasn't satisfied. No matter, the aspect warrior decided to put her foot down, she would go no further.
Shaking her head at him, she gestured to herself then at the full wheelbarrow before pointing back in a vaguely homeward direction. The guardsman uttered something in his gruff tongue that grated on her ears as he insisted that they keep going.
Aristriel though held her ground, even as he became more irate before finally marching off on his own towards the forestry building. Still, his behaviour had given her pause. Desperation she could understand but the fixated look in his bloodshot eyes along with the dark bags above his cheekbones lent him an atmosphere bordering on obsession.
Why is he so adamant about searching this place from top to bottom? She pondered, making her way through the streets with their haul in tow.
At first, the banshee had thought it was to gather food although as time wore on it became clear that he was looking for something in particular. What that 'something' was remained a mystery to her, and the banshee wasn't even sure if he knew what it was either. They had found a short-range weapon back at that musty smelling structure, but that had only spurred him on ever more.
Surely he is not spoiling for a fight with more greenskins? She thought incredulously. Always the fool, it will take more than some archaic blunderbuss to see off an entire ork tribe.
There had to be more to the mon'keigh's actions though that Aristriel simply couldn't see from her perspective. This hadn't been the first time either. Their pathetic quarrel two days prior had been caused by the guardsman's sudden desire to leave their previous shelter.
She had naïvely presumed that he'd wanted to get the Omnicron back to his own kind. While that may have been part of it, there had been an urgency to him that led her to believe there was a different motive. Her query was only answered during their brutal march westwards when Aristriel had seen the curtain of greyish woodsmoke from the forest that had been their home.
Considering that he had been bedridden in various states of lucidity a mere day before they'd set out, it was improbable that he'd managed to detect the orks before she had. No, there was something else at work, and the more Aristriel thought about it, the more her suspicions trailed towards the Omnicron in the mon'keigh's pouch. The nightmares he endured and the strange warp phenomena that she'd witnessed were not a coincidence.
Still, regardless of his reasoning for leaving such a secluded hideout, even if it did prove wise in hindsight; she was still annoyed with him. Not only had the lowly human managed to prove her wrong, but he had also humiliated her into compliance on top of that. When their opposing views had finally boiled over into physical confrontation, the banshee had been unable to bring herself to harm the man that she'd nursed back to health.
And how had he repaid her restraint? By using the banshee's reluctance to his own advantage, disarming her in the most brazen way imaginable. The shame of losing her sword in such a manner had sent her varying emotions into a frenzy whilst her mind collapsed in on itself in a death spiral.
Fractured though her thoughts were at the time, Aristriel still remembered how he'd tackled her to the ground and how she had struggled against him. Ironically, part of her had felt vindicated at first - the human had finally shown his true colours for all to see.
However, that assertion was short lived. Upon restraining her, the mon'keigh had gone no further as he'd waited patiently for the eldar to bring her emotions back under control. The moment they had both calmed down, the human had released her from his hold, offering several soothing remarks to reassure her. Whilst Aristriel did not understand his language, she'd appreciated the tone of his words.
There had been a tenderness to them that spoke of the gratitude for his care and possibly even an understanding of the internal struggle that she'd been going through. As loathsome as it was to admit it, Aristriel knew in that instant, she'd have gone along with anything that the human had wished.
Just thinking back over the previous days brought about mixed emotions for the eldar. The fact that she'd ceded the position of leader to such an inferior creature rankled deeply with her, and yet surprisingly, another part of her was becoming more used to the notion.
The banshee continued to mull over the silent battle that was being waged between them as she retraced her steps whilst lugging the wheelbarrow up the hill. Upon reaching the summit, the eldar passed through the gilded bars of the ornate gate and onwards to the front door.
Once inside, Aristriel immediately set about storing the food that they'd scavenged in preparation for the meal that she planned on serving up. As for the crates of disgusting liquor, the aspect warrior decided to lay them out on the far end of the dining table along with the shotgun and its accompanying ammunition.
Back in the kitchen, the banshee soon began trying to figure out how to work the various cooking apparatuses. What she assumed was the oven was set into a wide alcove beneath a stretched brick arch. The cooker was a hardy thing, built from a dark iron that gave it an aura of indestructibility.
Still, after a bit of trial and error, she became proficient enough to get their meal underway. Despite her desire to spoil herself and her companion, she still sought to preserve as much of the long-lasting rations as possible.
Working away silently, she moved swiftly and efficiently from one station to the next as she chopped the vegetables, sliced the meat, and mixed the other sauces and ingredients. The banshee had almost forgotten how satisfying it was to cook a complex meal. Not that she could be blamed for letting her culinary skills slip mind you: when one only has to cook for themself, the desire to serve up good food dwindles.
Within just under three hours, Aristriel had created several different dishes each one more mouth-watering than the last. When the only thing left to do was to leave them to cook, Aristriel turned her attention to the rest of the house.
Remembering the warmth of the stove in their bedroom, the banshee decided to light the grand fireplace in the dining room along with the candelabras around the chamber as the sunlight began to fail. Soon enough the temperature started to rise while the snow began to fall in earnest outside.
It was getting late and still the mon'keigh had not returned. Thoughts began to circle her mind that he'd used the opportunity to abandon her and not before long, Aristriel was cursing herself for trusting the human to not backstab her. All of which was quickly dispelled the instant she heard the front door slam shut.
The mon'keigh, now mottled in a thin layer of snowflakes, entered into the kitchen, and deposited his rucksack in the corner. There was no word of greeting which struck the eldar as unusual. In his hand was yet another archaic human weapon, although this one was slimmer and only sported one barrel.
He cast a glance over the food that she was preparing, and left briefly to the dining room, likely to leave the rifle with the shotgun on the table. When he returned, he shuffled over to the cupboard and proceeded to stuff his face with dry biscuits like a grox put out to pasture.
She didn't need to sense the waves of emotions coming off him to know that he was frustrated and weary - the guardsman's face said as much. Whatever help or tool he was looking for had evidently not materialized and now he sulked like a scolded child.
The banshee couldn't help but feel a little smug seeing the human knocked down a peg; however, unlike in the past there was now an odd yearning to comfort him.
After he'd gotten through four of the wafers, and with no end in sight, Aristriel decided to put a stop to his gluttonous binge. She tapped his damp shoulder and pointed towards the warmth of the fire in the living room. The guardsman switched his focus from the biscuit to the aspect warrior as he snapped back at her, but the eldar maintained her passive expression in the face of his wild anger.
He made to make another angry retort but after seeing the soft plea in her eyes, the fire in his blood went out. The mon'keigh's shoulders slumped in defeat as he was shooed out of the kitchen. From the corner of her eye, Aristriel watched him drop into an armchair next to the grand fireplace.
With any luck the heat would improve his mood; after all, the fire had long since become a cheery blaze that was quickly beginning to warm the whole house. The eldar just hoped that there'd be enough logs for the entirety of their stay.
Allowing him some space to calm down, Aristriel bided her time until she dared check up on her companion. Passing into the room, she moved like a ghost, the only sign of her entry being the click of the door as it closed.
The guardsman was staring into the golden blaze as he fed it another log. His expression was drawn into a pensive frown; undoubtedly, trying to think of a solution to their problem. The orks were likely only a day away now.
If they were to have any hope of fleeing then it had to be tonight, otherwise battle would be joined whether they wanted it or not. Although considering the conditions outside, neither wanted to endure another forced march through the icy countryside unless they were given no other option. The fact that they were wasting so much time cooking an elaborate meal meant that in reality, they'd already made their choice.
Standing just behind his armchair, the aspect warrior could feel the gears of his worried mind turning. Aristriel hesitated for but a moment as she steadied herself on the backrest, at which point she reached out and placed her hand upon his right shoulder. He perked up dramatically at her touch. Without a word or change of expression, he brought his left arm up and overlaid his hand over the top of her own, giving her a gentle squeeze.
Aristriel willed the aether to soothe his irritation in the same manner that she would have calmed a frightened gyrinx. Stroking his blond mousey hair with her elegant fingers, she was surprised at how soft it was, considering the rest of him was so rough and hardy.
In no time at all, his eyes became half-lidded as he sank into a light stupor. The guardsman tried to speak, but she pre-emptively hushed him before he could spoil the moment; he fell silent without protest.
If only he were this way all the time.
Whispering sweet nothings into his ear, the banshee sensed his frustration melt away while a contented warmth took its place. Increasingly the guardsman leaned further back into her massaging fingers as his fears and worries were forgotten. Come what may, they'd face their trials together with or without the guardsman's mystery solution.
Eventually, the smell of cooked meats and vegetables wafted throughout the house, calling the eldar back to the galley. In a short order, Aristriel had served up several platters on their dining room table. Noticing his odd expression, she raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the guardsman who marvelled at the plates and cutlery she'd chosen to use. The tableware was made from fine porcelain inlaid with bronze and silver while the cutlery appeared to be chromium steel set into polished ivory.
Why does he look so embarrassed? The banshee mused. Do not tell me these barbarians prefer to use plain utensils over their own meagre craftsmanship?
Either way he overcame his shyness; they divided and dished out the portions between them both as they sat opposite one another on the dining room table. However, the guardsman had only managed to sample the platter once when the eldar was forced to stop him.
Tapping her glass to create a light ding, she brought his attention to her mouth which was closed as she chewed. The mon'keigh grumbled at her but acquiesced to her soft demand all the same time.
Now that she didn't have to see the ground up food in his mouth, their meal turned out to be rather pleasant. The human certainly looked satisfied with her cooking which gave her a giddy feeling in her belly.
Yet when his view drifted over to the window, the human suddenly stood up and moved swiftly over to the glass. Taken by surprise by his sudden outburst, Aristriel joined him as she looked over his shoulder. For several seconds she attempted in vain to spot what he was staring at, but all there was to be seen was the large shed in the back garden.
Without a single utterance, the guardsman rushed to the back door, lighting and collecting the oil lamp on his way out as he struck out into the snow with purpose. Wondering what had gotten into him, the eldar followed on after the mon'keigh.
Locke's curiosity would not be sated until he'd checked the big gardening shed; he scolded himself for overlooking such an obvious place. Grasping the doorknob, the guardsman pulled the stiff entryway open as a creaking wail split the ambient silence.
The interior was filled with gardening tools and equipment, but what drew his eye was the angled metal door at the far end of the building. Striding over to the fortified entrance, he smashed the frozen lock and flipped the hatch door aside.
Shining his oil lamp over the opening, the beam of light plunged into the darkness from above, revealing a set of wooden steps that led downwards. Descending down the squeaking steps, the illuminated circle travelled across the landing, scattering several rodents who fled from the radiance. Shadows cast along the walls danced as the light source held aloft descended further into the murky domain.
When his hardened black boots slapped the proto-rockcrete base of the cellar, Locke was faced with an exposed entranceway that led into a narrow chamber. He wasted no time in flashing his lamp about the place as he inspected the room; the light pierced into the depths of the cellar whereupon it revealed the edges of several wooden shelves.
Just when he was about to step into the underground room, a thin shadow that ran across the floor caught his eye. Locke paused and crouched down, brushing his hand along the string that ran across the doorway at ankle level.
His vision swept along the tripwire, that progressed up the doorframe, along a wooden beam to a bundle of books that hung above a black box with a T-shaped handle jutting upwards. Carefully, he stepped over the tripwire, ensuring that there wasn't another as he put his foot down.
From there he neared the heavy stack of books that swayed gently over the detonation plunger. His heart was beating hard in his chest as he cut the bundle down and set it aside. Not taking any chances, Locke also unwound the two wires that were attached to the plunger which ensured that there was no chance of a premature detonation.
Tracking after the leads that led from the plunger, they soon partitioned and spread across the room, weaving their way up the shelves like climber plants. On these heavily stacked shelves were deep-set boxes where the thin cables eventually led to.
Peering in close at the contents of the open topped box, Locke let out an audible gasp, staring mortified at what lay within. Examining each crate in turn, he found more of the same: stacks and stacks of trinitrotoluene explosives.
Enough to level the hill and their manor house or clear a mile long section of mineshaft…
…or destroy an incoming invasion by greenskin savages. He surmised eagerly.
"Xeno, come have a look at this!" Locke called to his alien companion. He never heard her approach as she appeared at his elbow.
"Ya know what this stuff is?" He asked, handing her one of the sticks of TNT.
She sniffed at it; her green eyes growing wide the moment she recognised the scent.
"This is our salvation."
Update Record:
09/01/2022 - Chapter outline completed.
15/01/2022 - 1500+ words added.
29/01/2022 - 2000+ words added.
05/02/2022 - 1000+ words added. First section refined.
12/02/2022 - 1000+ words added.
13/02/2022 - 500+ words added.
27/02/2022 - 500+ words added.
05/03/2022 - 1500+ words added.
06/03/2022 - 500+ words added.
13/03/2022 - 1000+ words added.
27/03/2022 - 1000+ words added.
03/04/2022 - 1500+ words added.
09/04/2022 - 1000+ words added.
10/04/2022 - First Draft Completed.
12/04/2022 - 800+ words added. Chapter review started.
16/04/2022 - Second Draft Completed.
19/04/2022 - First Section Refined/Edited (10% Done)
01/05/2022 - Second Section Refined/Edited (20% Done)
02/05/2022 - Third Section Refined/Edited (53% Done)
08/05/2022 - Fourth Section Refined/Edited (60% Done)
11/05/2022 - Fifth Section Refined/Edited (70% Done)
15/05/2022 - Sixth, Seventh, Eighth Section Refined/Edited (91% Done)
16/05/2022 - Ninth Section Refined/Edited (95% Done)
21/05/2022 - Tenth Section Refined/Edited (100% Done). Third Draft Completed.
22/05/2022 - Final Review
Review Responses:
Naruto Loves FemKyuubi – Thank you again for your review. Interesting song suggestion, it's not really a genre that appeals to me, but I rather enjoyed that one.
LegioStultus – Apologies my friend, I didn't pick up on your tongue-in-cheek tone. Thank you again, nonetheless.
Chronos353 – Happy to oblige. Glad you're enjoying it.
Ive been clean for 6 months – Thank you for your kind words.
Wallywolf – What can I say, I'm a busy man. I won't say anything on the fever, but I definitely agree about the theme of trust. Trust is certainly going to play a bigger role in the story as they become more conversational with one another.
– It's a hard life being a guardsman in 40k.
Opaque-Cavalier – Hello and thank you again for your interest in my story. I'd say you've hit the nail on the head in regard to the fic's structure (the A & B plot). I understand your concern about the Omnicron plot and hopefully this chapter has served to increase the pace in your eyes. I won't say too much more as I'll be worried I'll spoil something, but rest assured your comments are always taken onboard.
Steadfast 3 – That's very kind of you to say, thank you. I must say I'm more of a tea person myself, nonetheless I hope you like this chapter too.
mishaAmot – I'm glad to see it's paying off. I set out with the intention to create a slow burn romance as I found most of the other eldarxhuman fics to be too rushed to be enjoyable. Thank you for the suggestions, I'll have to take a look at them.
Look2021 – Thank you!
Last worked on 4 years ago – Hello and thank you! I want to try to keep the powers of the Omnicron open to interpretation (which I understand is a bit lazy) as it allows the reader to come up with their own theories on the matter. Although I will be exploring more of the artefact in future updates. As for the sex scene, I understand your points completely, I suppose I'm just a bit squeamish at the thought of writing an "intimate" chapter.
Still Addicted – Thank you and I hope you have a good day too.
– Glad to hear that you're enjoying it. I intend on building up Aristriel's Low Gothic language skills bit by bit. I've already planned out a few back-and-forth banter scenes between the haughty eldar and our long-suffering guardsman.
Aaron Black – Not just yet I don't plan on bringing the eldar into the state of play until later on in the story. Thank you for the lore though.
Manuekgeada – It's my pleasure.
Anton Slawik – Yes it was an excellent suggestion by Chronos353.
AyeJimmy123 – Nice.
Starcofan09 – Always happy to see another 'slow burn convert'. I sometimes can't help myself; I think I love to world build a bit too much. I don't intend on ever using established characters or characters from other fanfictions. As for Locke's friends, I will keep quiet on that. Thank you for your kind words.
Guest – I assure you I won't wait until the end for them to get intimate, but it is going to be some time before we finally reach that moment.
Guest – Maybe you have a point, but remember, Locke and Aristriel are both from different species with a lot of bad blood between them. While they may be warming to each other, its still going to be some time before they'll get to that point in their relationship.
Crimson An'Xileel – Cheers mate!
Guest - Спасибо, мой друг - сука блять! Interestingly, if my analytics is to be believed, a large chunk of my audience hails from the Russian Federation.
General Kenobi – General Kenobi, you are a bold one! Thank you, Locke and Aristriel will be spending increasing amounts of time with one another in future chapters.
Thepkrmgc – Damn right, I intend on including a few others in future.
Battenfelder – That's very high praise indeed, thank you it's very much appreciated. I very much wanted the story to be a slow burn romance from the outset as I also found 'love at first sight' to be pretty cringeworthy most of the time, especially in 40k fics. Aristriel doesn't understand Low-Gothic as of yet, but she will probably learn it soon or later. I honestly can't wait to write the back-and-forth dialogue between them when the time comes.
Thepkrmgc – Indeed, I imagine Aristriel is feeling quite reserved in regards to the Artefact.
kostasanes13 – Well I'm happy to say that the wait for chapter 20 is over.
Memeisbest – Good stuff, glad you like it.
Apple424 – Thank you, there is a bit of Aristriel's reflection in this chapter.
Athrix – Cheers! Yes, I quite like the new update system. Indeed, I shall continue working on it.
LuvmeEmpire – Good to see you again.
Detrender – That's sweet of you to say, thank you! In this chapter we see a bit more romantic progress in that regard. I think the reason that the Eldar are chosen more often than the Tau is because the former are closer to how humans look whereas the latter look a lot more alien. Indeed, the human male romancing the female elf is a trope that has existed for a very long time in Sci-Fi and fantasy. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter of mine.
