Finally attached to the Eldar, Roger finds himself nearly friendless and completely unaware in their less than accepting midst. He will be forced to show his skill and ability in a turn of events that will inadvertently alter the path fate has set him on...
One week ago, Roger Wessyng had been living in a Cathedral, surrounded by some of the finest nobility, feeding on the best food, drinking the finest wine. And now where was he? Sitting in a copse of trees near some Emperor-forsaken town as rain poured down in sheets. And he could have handled it, even enjoyed it, had he been with his squad, or even a few humans. Hell, he would have taken some Krieger's at this point.
Because true to his word, Roger had become attached to the Eldar forces under the command of Farseer Alwyn, who gave him a cold welcome after arriving in their camp, quickly being assigned to a reconnaissance squad, consisting of their scouts, rangers, as they liked to call them, the ones they called "Dire Avengers", who seemed to be the standard infantryman of the Eldar, and the "Striking Scorpions", melee and ambush experts par excellence. And all of them, to a man, and woman, Roger guessed, had accepted him as well as an unwanted step-child. Maybe it was the language barrier, the culture barrier, or maybe he had unintentionally annoyed them, but he had received only a few answers to his many questions, most of them being sighs of disapproval. It wasn't a totally lost cause however.
"How are you enjoying the weather, Mon-Keigh?" came a familiar male voice.
"It reminds me of home, wouldn't you believe it, Kallen? Nothing but cool rain for months on end. Sunshine is practically as rare as gold."
"Sounds miserable. Your people are much too cheerful given your homeworld."
Kallen was a member of the Striking Scorpions, who had somehow taken a liking to Roger, being almost a friend. Or as close as one could be with the seemingly humorless and dour Eldar. Even better, he had a surprisingly decent grasp of Low Gothic. Roger pulled out his pair of binoculars, a parting gift from D'Uxford, a very nice, modern pair that still had the packing grease of the Adeptus Mechanicus coating them. It may have been given out of sympathy. He watched the town, ten or twenty miles away from the Third Corps "frontline", wherever that was. It had been taken over and fortified by the enemy, which kind, heretical or rebellious, no one was exactly sure. So now, here with a small group of Xenos, maybe twenty or thirty, he watched and waited.
"What's our forces made up of again?" Roger asked.
"Standard grouping. Ten Avengers, ten Scorpions, myself included, and ten Rangers, wherever they are."
"That… explains why I feel like I'm being watched."
"Oh dear. I know Anya is with them.
"Emperor protect me," he sighed as he slumped his head forward in anguish.
It had started out not too bad, as soon as he arrived at the Eldar camp, she had been watching him in the shadows. At first, he had almost enjoyed the attention, finding it even a bit adorable.
Then it got worse. And worse.
It soon turned into him being constantly watched by her. Then it was waking up in his tent to find her watching him through the night. It got to the point where he tried to avoid bathing in the nearby stream in fear of her seeing things he would prefer private. But eventually his BO bothered him to the point he finally broke, and sure as the saints, when he moved back to land to get his belongings, she was watching him in the top of a nearby tree. He wasn't sure if it was some misplaced affection, a desire to find him in a moment of weakness and kill him for some unknown slight, and every time he approached her for an answer, she would vanish entirely. Kallen patted his shoulder.
"Mon-Keigh, in my culture, to have a woman follow and watch you the way she does is a rarity. You should feel honored."
"If she was human I would, but frankly she has started to freak me out. It's bad enough she's a member of your species- no offense, but your kind are mysterious and frighten us humans. But it's gone beyond stalking, I feel…hunted."
"Rangers are good at that. And no offense taken. We think your kind is brutish, simple, and stupid. For the most part."
"And frankly you're correct. Where's that excerpt-exemplar- whatever it is, you were talking about? The one in command here?"
"Exarch Buiran? Why?"
"I want to know why we're sitting here. There's a difference between sitting on your arse and doing reconnaissance."
"I don't think Buiran will like your assessment."
"I don't think anyone but you and Anya would, so he'll be in good company."
The two sat in silence as Roger continued to look at the small town. It seemed to be one of the standard, pre-made fabricated towns that were scattered across Haikk. If it wasn't a Hive city, like the two that grew like tumors on the planet's poles, it was some form of small town that provided food or other service to them. But from the trees, Roger couldn't tell where the streets led, if there were any hidden buildings, anything other than a basic idea of what the town looked like.
"What's your ideal woman, Roger?"
Roger snapped out of his assessment and turned to Kallen.
"What?"
"Your perfect woman. Everything you desire. Or maybe you prefer men?"
"I do prefer women, and it's none of your damn business."
"Fair. Mine is a shapely blonde, with a slight show of musculature. If she came from any of our temples, she would be a Howling Banshee. You should see them outside of combat. Their thighs are exquisite."
"I'm starting to regret talking to you."
"You're no fun. I'll get the Exarch and see if he will get a council of war put together."
"Kallen!"
The Scorpion turned back as he started to walk away.
"Redheads. Tall ones."
Kallen grinned.
"Oh dear, that describes Anya to a fault."
"Human, redheads."
Kallen laughed as he vanished into the trees.
XXXXXX
Half an hour later, the thirty or so Eldar were gathered in a semi-circle, the imposing figure of Exarch Buiran in the center. There was much discussion between the three groups of warriors, all in the chittering, baffling Eldari tongue. From what Roger could tell, there was not a clear, agreed upon consensus. The Dire Avengers, the group Buiran was from, fell in behind their leader. The Striking Scorpions did not seem to agree with his plan, and were making their dissent known, while the Rangers sat back and watched. Except for Anya, who was staring at Roger, causing him to try and ignore her. And as suddenly as they gathered, the group all went their own ways. Kallen moved to Roger, his face twisted in what seemed to be frustration.
"Well?"
"He wants to attack now."
"But we barely have any idea what the towns like, let alone if anyone, or anything, is in it!"
"He's an Exarch. He has followed the warrior path so long, that all he desires is combat and to spill blood."
"That is hardly the qualities of a good leader."
"But he has been a warrior longer than anyone, so we obey."
"I can't imagine why your people are barely surviving."
Roger was baffled that such a knowledgeable and haughty race that seemed to flaunt their wisdom and intelligence would be so willing to follow someone who was downright dangerous in his position, especially when it came to leading others into the horrors of combat.
"He is one of the finest warriors our people can provide, and he has survived countless battles with odds beyond hopeless. He is the best we have on the path, following the words of Khaine to the utmost a warrior could dream of."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I'm not. My temple teaches us how to surprise and get close. We are meant to fight prepared and our enemies none the wiser. Going in blind like this goes against my creed and path. He wants us to fight like Avengers. Even those who have no idea how to do that."
"We'll have to adapt, I guess. I still think it's a bad idea."
"You'll join us?"
"Of course. You think I want to sit here in the forest, all by my lonesome?"
"You wouldn't be alone, Roger."
"Yeah. I…know," Roger grunted as he strapped his bowl like kettle helmet on, following the Eldars example as they equipped themselves, leaving his Lasgun and rucksack behind, hopefully not needing either for a quick sortie. At least the rain had finally stopped. Creeping from the trees, the Eldar moved on the town in silence, their weapons, the mysterious Shuriken Catapults and Chainswords at the ready. Roger wore his own, cruder, but effective, sword at his side, trying to keep up with his graceful and speedy comrades, with little success. Then, much to his surprise, he was finally made useful. The Exarch signaled with his hands, summoning Roger.
"Mon'Keigh, what can you tell me about places like this?" he said, in a Low Gothic barely understandable with his accent.
"Standard pre-fab. Church in the center, houses around it. Probably a jail or something similar. Maybe a barracks for the local Planetary Defense Force. If anyone was trying to defend this place, those would be the three big defense points."
"Understood," he growled, and turned to what seemed to be the chosen leaders of the three temples in the group, and whispered behind his helmet in Eldari to them. He received nods from each of them and began moving again. Roger guessed that he had assigned each of the three ten-man squads to the three buildings he suggested, if they were there. Roger simply stayed next to the Exarch the best he could, not finding a reason to break off and join the strike groups. Within half an hour, the town square in front of the church was populated by an empty-handed Eldar. Kallen moved next to Roger.
"You were right on the defenses. Nothing. All three. Nothing in the jail, the church is obviously empty, and the barracks were just as deserted. It seems we've been lucky to find an abandoned town."
Roger shook his head and nervously looked around the square.
"This is too easy. Even if we snuck up on them, there had to be sentries. Someone must've kept watch. You don't just leave a place like this, so close to a frontline, abandoned. Even an idiot would try to hold a place like this. We're going to be ambushed."
"Then let them come," the Exarch growled again. "Let them come and face our steel and shuriken's."
"Your arrogance is showing, Exarch," Roger muttered as he looked around the square again. The sound of a sword being drawn made his hair stand on the back of his neck.
"I will not be patronized by a Mon-Keigh," the Exarch snarled as he pointed his fearsome blade at Roger. Kallen and a few of his Scorpions soon voiced their anger at his action, the Avengers watching to see if they made a move on their leader, while the Rangers took vantage points in apparent disregard of the serious matter below them.
"I meant no offense Exarch, but you seem to be more focused on finding and killing than leading."
"All I am good for is killing, human. I follow the path Khaine has set me on. Our enemy is cowardly, hiding from us. I want them to come to us. I want to cut them down when they think they have the upper hand."
"Are you saying you led us into a possible ambush just because you want a fight?" Kallen said in Low Gothic, wanting Roger to understand. The Exarch responded in Eldari, and an obviously tense situation was already getting more and more heated. Roger lifted up his hands and tried to calm the two.
"Both of you need to stop this. We're all on the same side. I don't know much about your people, your way of fighting, or even how to talk to you, but I know that the only way we can survive an ambush if it happens, is if we stick together. We're looking at being hit from all sides now, and none of us took the defensive positions I told you about, Exarch, we are now-"
Roger saw it in the corner of his eye, a dark figure, barely perceptible, moving in the simple church's bell-tower. Then all hell broke loose.
XXXXXX
The figure started ringing the bell in what must have been a signal to begin the attack on the unprepared Eldar. He rang the bell twice before his head was obliterated by a Rangers long-rifle, unfortunately too late to delay the attack. Hundreds of screaming, barely armored fanatics seemed to burst from all sides and directions. Some were armed with Lasguns, Laspistols, basic melee weapons, even a few stubguns. It would have been a devastating attack, had they not been facing even unprepared Eldar. Everyone of them instantly sprung into action. The Rangers cut down the most serious threats, leaving the Scorpions and Avengers to take the rest. For every Eldar, there must have been ten or twenty attackers. Roger almost felt sorry for the damned idiots, thinking they had even a slight chance of beating the Xenos.
The Scorpions and their brutal chain-swords tore men to pieces in an eye-blink, where three men stood, the next moment butchered corpses tumbled on the pavement. There was no grace to their movements. Some Eldar took pride in their movement and almost dance like actions in combat, Scorpions just tore and killed. Worse still, their armor was some of the finest the Craftworld could offer, capable of taking Bolter rounds, meaning what seemed like an easy attack for the Heretics was little more than sword practice to their targets.
The Dire Avengers also struck back hard, but with their shuriken weapons instead of up-close combat. Roger was reminded of the Gasceaux sharpshooters, men who even under the worst fire could focus on only their weapon, aim, and the final pull of the trigger. Heaps of men who never got close to the Scorpions lay dead, their bodies torn by almost invisible shards. They too had little fear, protected in their armor, attacked by what amounted to a mob of gutter-trash rebels and the desperate. Exarch Buiran, armed with an improved Shuriken, a token of his rank, killed countless attackers. He was howling with glee as he did so, finally getting the fight he had been almost foaming at the mouth in anticipation of.
Roger, meanwhile, in simple flak armor and with only his sword and compact shield, was notably away from fighting. He had found safety in the abandoned church, diving in as soon as the fighting began. On the one hand, he felt weak and cowardly, running from a fight. On the other, was his survival not important to the cause? To Prince Edmund? What use was a plenipotentiary that was dead? He looked out from the large wooden doors, cracked enough to see the fight. Countless heretics died at the Eldars feet, cut to shreds, gunned down, or picked off from afar. But they kept coming. Where were they hiding? Where did they come from? Is this all they had?
He got an answer to that last question in a terrible way.
The Exarch, focused on his weapon and the enemy, did not notice the massive, 8-foot tall mutant warrior, clad in a mockery of steel plate armor and leather with a horned, hideous helmet, careening towards him. He had barely turned to face the brute when his head had torn clean off his shoulders in a clumsy swing of a massive, crude blade. The battle seemed to stop, the heretics watching their champions triumph, while the Eldar, in what must have been unimaginable horror, had seen their vicious commander killed in an instant by a human, worse, a mutated abomination of a human. No glory, no final stand, a second and a blade swing ending his illustrious and violent life. Roger, seeing the Eldar frozen by the shock of the Exarch's death, either out of disbelief or some sort of psychic connection that the troops had been severed, decided he would stand and fight. Swinging the church door open, he gathered up his courage and made his play.
"Hey! You! Yeah you, the tall ugly bastard! You just killed a good warrior, and I can't stand for that! If you're even a man, you'll duel someone who actually knows you're coming, you coward!"
The mutant snarled in rage at this insult, especially one coming from a tiny, little man.
"I'll cut you down and send your soul to the Dark Gods screaming, insect!" it howled in a slurred mockery of Gothic.
A few of its companions tried to go at Roger as he approached, but were cut down or warned off by the mutant. Kallen and a few of his Scorpions broke out of their daze and also moved to help, but Roger waved them off. If this abomination could understand the idea of a duel, why couldn't the Eldar? And so, in a little spot of the town square, Roger Wessyng faced off against a giant, a follower of the Dark Gods who had killed one of the finest warriors of Craftworld Ducaish in a single blow. Seeing it had just the massive two-handed sword, Roger took his helmet and sword off, tossing them to the ground, out of the way. Pulling his sword from its scabbard with a metallic hiss, Roger saluted, as he had been taught before a fight like this, and readied himself.
It was almost parody. A small Guardsman, surrounded by hundreds of enemies, facing off against a giant monster, while his Xenos allies, who could cut all of them down in mere minutes, were forced by his own command to watch. Roger hoped Anya wouldn't intervene. Maybe she wouldn't bother. He hadn't seen her since they moved into the town, but she had to be somewhere, watching this spectacle from afar. The mutant huffed like a grox, but hadn't struck yet. Realizing the mutant was awaiting permission to attack, a shockingly professional and chivalrous action, given what he was and who he served, Roger coughed and spat at him.
"Well? Are you moving, or will I just gut you before you try?"
And so the duel commenced.
XXXXXX
Kallen Socher, son of Kaen, had seen many things in his short life as a Striking Scorpion. He had barely passed young adulthood, barely three hundred Terran years old. He had seen boarding actions against his Dark kin while stars went supernova, threatening to kill all in a system. He had fought a ten year long war alongside the Mon-Keigh, where he had picked up a basic understanding of their views, cultures, and a masterful grasp of their languages. He had seen two close friends die horribly in front of him, and the slow, painful death of the only woman he had ever truly loved. But he had never seen anything like the duel his human friend had demanded.
The shock of Exarch Buirans death had shook him and his brethren, but somehow, the battle had stopped as suddenly as it started. Mon-Keigh who stabbed at him and his comrades stopped, and seemed to abandon their interest in them, moving towards the massive brute who supposedly was their champion. He heard Rogers voice, and could barely believe the challenge he gave the mutant.
"What is he saying?" one of the Dire Avengers asked.
"The Mon-Keigh is challenging the tall one to single combat."
Even under the war masks the Scorpions and Avengers wore to protect themselves, disbelief and surprise echoed through their ranks.
"He's going to get himself killed," Gwyndair, Kallens second-in-command grumbled.
"I have the brute in my sights, I can cut him down now," Cruniach, the leader of the Ranger squad whispered over their communications net.
"No," Kallen hissed. "The Mon-Keigh must have something planned. He wouldn't do something as stupid as this with no reason."
"That describes most of the Mon-Keighs actions," one of the Scorpions said flatly, wiping some of the gore off his chainsword.
"This one is different, and we will not intervene, Cruniach."
This voice was different, a soft, female one. It was Anya. No one seemed to disagree or correct her for speaking out of turn. The Eldar, being at least seven feet tall on average, could see over the crowd of fallen Mon-Keigh to see the dueling ground. Roger threw his shield and helm away, seemingly not needing, or thinking he needed, the protection. This baffled the Eldar even more, but no one said anything. Then, with a final insult, the two charged at each other. Under the masked helmet, Kallen would never admit to anyone, but he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the most likely result of an uneven duel. He heard a clang, and a gasp. He sighed, and made a silent prayer for Rogers' soul to go wherever the humans would hopefully find peace after death. Then he heard another clang. And a massive grunt. And yet another clang.
"Ishas tears."
It came from Gwyndair, who had apparently watched with interest. But he hadn't said it because of a brutal, horrid death. It was because Roger Wessyng, a simple human, was fighting with utmost grace. Opening his eyes, Kallen watched in amazement as what he had thought a simple human soldier, barely able to fight with a laser rifle, was fighting with sword in hand like a Banshee.
He dodged every swing thrown at him, deftly parried the ones that were unavoidable, and almost danced around his massive opponent. Light on his feet, he was never in the same place for more than a few seconds. He was able to get more than a few stabs and swings through, causing little harm to the brute, but enraging him more and more that the little mouse had been tearing at him, bit by bit. The brute became sloppier, throwing badly timed cuts, or missing entirely. The blows to his sword, that should have toppled a man, were almost being pushed back. It seemed unreal to Kallen. And what struck him the most was Rogers face. It wasn't filled with anger, pride, or even self-aggrandizement. It was apathy. It was as if he had no care about the razor-edge battle he was waging. This man, Kallen realized, was a skilled professional in the art of the blade.
"Maybe a Banshee taught him this," one of the Scorpions muttered.
"A Banshee wouldn't teach us anything, let alone a Mon-Keigh," an Avenger replied as another blow was parried.
"I think we all underestimated him," Kallen said, followed by a few grunts of agreement.
The two duelists seemed to move back, avoiding each other, as if to catch their breaths. Then, the brute charged. He struck down the blade, and then let out a horrid scream. Rogers surcoat twirled behind the mutant, blood dripping from his sword. Kallen and the Eldar tried to figure out what had just happened when one of the Rangers almost shouted in their helmet comms.
"The Mon-Keigh cut off its left hand!"
XXXXXX
Roger, despite his performance, knew he was fading fast. His breaths became more and more labored, his sword arm was screaming in agony, and the pain in his calves from moving so much, so quickly, in such little time, was enough to nearly drive him to tears. But now, pardon the pun, he thought, he had gotten the upper hand. The mutant reminded him of the days he had spent in Moressley manor-house, where his liege lord, Roland, had watched him train with his knightly sons under the supervision of Esteven de Balois, the finest swordsman in all of Anglerre, maybe the system. His Gasceaux accent echoed through his head the entire fight.
"Do not give your enemy a target, pup!"
"Any moron can strike, but a true professional knows the secret to beating a man in the art of swords is by parrying."
"If you must sleep with a young woman, know the identity of her lover. Or her husband. That one is from personal experience."
Good old Estevan, the old knight who had fought countless tourneys, more than a few duels, and more importantly, became a walking dictionary on the art of swordsmanship. Roger had begun training under him as an above average man at arms, but he had finished as an expert swordsman. It had saved his life more than a few times, and today was no different. Snapping from the nostalgia that had hit him, another sign he was tiring in letting his mind move away from the fight, he looked at the huge, scarred and pock-marked severed hand of his enemy. He took a deep breath and looked at his opponent.
"Leave now, and I will let you live, and let your men walk away. This duel is over."
The mutant stood up and charged, bashing Roger to the ground before standing above him with his one good hand wrapped around the massive sword he had killed the Exarch with.
"Lickspittle scum! I will never surrender to you! And I will send you screaming to the Warp! And for my hand, I'll rip yours off before I kill and wear it on my neck as a trophy!"
The mutant lifted its blade, aiming at the left arm of the stunned and sprawled man below him. Roger had no chance. At least, that's how it seemed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the severed head of Exarch Biuran next to its feet. He shot his leg out behind the head, and kicked it into the mutant's shins. Unprepared for this, the brute stumbled and fell next to Roger, flat on its face. It tried to turn over, and at least got on their back before Roger straddled its chest. Grabbing the left horn on its helmet, Roger forced the mutants head down as his knees pushed down on its shoulder joints, unable to move their arms. Their legs kicked and swung helplessly as it snarled and howled in fury.
It was time to finish this, Roger thought. He grabbed at the belt on his surcoat, and quickly pulled a dagger. It had been the first weapon his father gave him, a present for a hunting trip they went on when he was young. He had put it away when he had begun training at the Manor, but the day he left, as he prepared to enter the troop transport that would take him away from all he had ever known, his father had stopped him and placed the blade in his son's hand before embracing him.
"I don't think I'll need this dad."
"I know you think that son, but I know one day you will."
His father, as it proved so many times, was right. And the dagger that he had made his first kill, a deer in the one of the Royal Forests his father had permission to hunt in, made his first kill in the service of the Eldar. He drove it through one of the eye-slits in the crude horned helmet, and almost lost his hearing from the inhuman, animal-like squeal that came from underneath. He drove it deeper, but it didn't kill the mutant. The squeal ended, replaced by a pathetic gurgling and mewling noise. Pulling the sickeningly wet dagger out, Roger drove it into the other eye-slit and pushed again. This time, the noises stopped, and he felt the body underneath his knees tense and go limp. Pulling the dagger out for the final time, he stood and looked at the faces of the heretical crowd around him.
None moved, either in shock, much like the Eldar had been minutes ago when the Exarch fell, or this was the final blow to their morale, considering the horrific losses they had taken for no gain. Picking up his sword and sliding it back into his scabbard, he limped over to his Eldar allies, his legs still recovering from the overexertion he had put them through. None stopped him as he moved through the crowd. A few stepped away from the group and started to run away from the town. They were completely broken. Panting, he finally reached Kallen. Looking into his helmet, he frowned.
"What are you waiting for?"
"What?" Kallen asked.
"Didn't you see what that mutant bastard did? He refused my offer to surrender. That included sparing his men."
"Roger, I don't know-"
Pulling his sword from his scabbard, he pointed it at the slowly thinning crowd watching him.
"Kill them. KILL THEM!"
The Eldar obeyed.
XXXXXX
It had seemed unreal, but the entire battle, from the ambush, to the duel, and finally the slaughter of panicking and broken heretics, took only half an hour. A few hours later, as dark fell, the Eldar force established a defensive perimeter. The town had turned into an abattoir, bodies in various states of butchery lying where they fell, except for one. The body and head of Exarch Buiran were quickly recovered by the Eldar.
"Do you bury your dead?" Roger had asked Kallen.
"I never have been sure. I only know that the bodies are returned to the Craftworld. I'm not sure what will happen afterwards. I don't want to know, frankly."
"I hope his spirit will find peace."
"I'm afraid it won't," one of the Dire Avengers nearby said.
"What do you mean?"
"Have you ever noticed the stones we wear? Our souls enter them when we die. They are then returned to the Craftworld, where they enter the Infinity Circuit. Even in death we will serve a purpose for our people. Except-" she frowned, "the Exarchs. Their spirits are too unruly and damaged by war. It would upset the Circuit. His soul will be trapped in that stone for a long time, I'm afraid."
"He deserves better."
"We all do, human," she said as she walked away.
Kallen blankly looked at the piles of corpses that littered the square. Roger politely coughed to get his attention.
"I need to know who I should report to now."
"I'll try to get a council of war together and give you an answer by tomorrow."
"Can you convene it now? I have a plan for tonight."
A few minutes later, Cruniach, Kallen, and Moire, the Dire Avenger who had explained the state of Eldar souls and had been chosen by her squadmates as their leader, had gathered in the abandoned church. Roger sat on the altar, his legs still giving him terrible pain.
"I don't want another ambush hitting us. I especially want to know who will be in charge now. Do we have to wait until another Exarch arrives?"
Moire shook her head.
"We'll work together until we return to the Farseer and know what she has planned for us. We should probably return within the morrow."
"Agreed. Any objections from you two?"
Kallen and Cruniach shook their heads.
"How long do your people need to rest? I need at least a few hours of sleep, I don't have any of the amps or other materials to stay awake for a full 48 hours."
"Only an hour or two, if that," Cruniach answered. "I already have my Rangers watching out for any counter-attack or another ambush."
"Excellent. Kallen? What is the plan of the Scorpions?"
"We've set up a few chokepoints in case of an attack. One of my men was wounded in the battle today, so I'm not going to force him into duty unless we are besieged and desperately need him."
"No argument, let the man recover. Moire?"
"I want to investigate how all those enemies arrived as fast as they did. We reconnoitered this entire area and found nothing, and still at least a thousand followers of the Dark Gods attacked us. I'm taking four of our squad, and leaving the other five here as a garrison."
"Very well. I'm going to get some rest, but I'll be in the bell tower here if you need me. Otherwise, goodnight. I shall see you all in the morning."
The three nodded as Roger slowly, painfully, limped up the steps to the bell tower. He had gone back to the forest and got his equipment, most importantly, his bedroll. The body of the heretic who had signaled the attack, its headless body standing where it fell, seemed to be watching the square in a ghastly vigil. Roger grabbed its rigid legs and threw it over the simple stone railing, where it crashed onto the roof, before shouting to the startled Eldar below it was just him cleaning the trash. It had been one of the worst, most painful days of his Guard service. Thankfully it was over. Spreading the bedroll out, and using his rucksack as a pillow, he laid down and began to fall asleep.
He heard footsteps, and quickly grabbed his dagger before looking at the intruder. He shook his head and sighed.
"I should've known. You can at least let me know when you are coming."
"You seem to notice things quickly. I thought you would have already seen me," Anya said.
"It's been a long day. Is there something you want?"
"I want to know why you challenged that monster to a duel."
Roger looked up into the bell, trying to remember what felt like years ago, in those brief moments after the Exarch was killed.
"I had to do something. And you all seemed to have completely froze. If I hadn't acted, you all may have been killed."
"The Scorpions and Avengers would have. Us Rangers would have been fine."
"You're all with me, and that's enough to want me to give you help."
Anya placed her rifle on the railing and sat next to it, almost hanging off the side.
"Most humans would have let us fall, with no concern. Some would have been happy to see us wiped out."
"Well I don't know if you've noticed, I'm not like most humans."
"I'm aware."
There were a few uncomfortable moments of silence.
"Can I ask you something, Anya?"
"Yes?"
"Why do you keep stalking me?"
This was met with another silence, and Roger thought she ignored him and simply vanished. He was almost startled when she answered.
"Because you fascinate me. And I don't know why. And that makes my interest all the more baffling to me."
"That doesn't explain the constant observing, coming in when I sleep, and-"
She moved off the railing and picked up her rifle. As she moved down the steps, she stopped.
"I'm watching you because I'm trying to figure you out. And I feel I'm no closer to an answer than when I first met you despite all my observations."
She moved down the steps and stopped again.
"Goodnight Roger."
"Goodnight," he said involuntarily.
He closed his eyes and finally started drifting to sleep. He wasn't shocked with her answer. All Eldar seemed to be like that. Ask one question, receive three answers, two questions, or a horrible truth. Darkness took him, and he finally fell asleep.
