Surviving battle by the skin of his teeth, Roger faces Farseer Alwyn's Council, investigating the ambush that killed one of their Exarchs. During the interrogation, he is faced with not only some uncomfortable truths, but an opportunity that is beyond belief...

The return of Biurans group of Eldar to their main camp was not expected, nor was the fact they would have to return a dead Exarch to the Craftworld. The gathered forces, possibly numbering less than five hundred in total, simply stared as Biurans corpse was dragged to the Webway gate. Kallen told Roger everyone in the late Exarchs group was to stand down and await further orders. Not wanting to argue, he gladly obeyed. But something had changed since they returned. The Eldar actually noticed him, and one or two of them actually greeted him. News had traveled fast, and the Mon-Keigh that faced an Exarch killer and won soon gained more notoriety than he ever dreamed of. There were even a few, for lack of a better term, admirers.

He had been offered more than a few of their ration packs, food that tasted better than anything he had ever had, and actually stayed in his stomach, unlike most of the garbage the Guard was issued, even some of what he assumed by the taste was their harder drinks. He at least knew his limitations, and only took a few sips, enough still to make him feel buzzed and a bit woozy. As he sat alone, propped against one of the smaller buildings in the Eldar encampment, he was approached by three helmet-less Eldar, all of them female.

"You are the Mon-Keigh who dueled the mutant?" their leader asked.

"Do you see any other humans around here?"

One of the followers cracked a little smile, but it quickly vanished when her companion responded with a hint of annoyance.

"I am Maela, of the Temple of the Howling Banshee. I heard you fought well with that dagger."

"I fought with my sword as well. And if you are calling my sword a dagger, I take offense."

"Enough that you will consider it a challenge?" she asked.

"No, but enough that it will make me hold you in contempt."

"I will see what you are made of, if not today, then another time. I have been told you fought with grace and skill that it is comparable to us. I would like to either prove any who say that wrong, or finally find a Mon-Keigh worthy of my time."

"I didn't know I had to prove to be worthy of you, Farseer Alwyn has already proven me worthy enough to be around here, and I would guess her judgment matters much more than yours, madam."

The Banshee scoffed, and bowed in farewell. Roger heard someone coming from behind, and relaxed when he recognized Kallen.

"I see you've met Maela. Feisty isn't she?"

"I think my Lord Edmund would, in less friendly terms, call her a haughty bitch."

"A fair and apt judgment. She is definitely one of the more… difficult members of our force here."

Roger watched as the three walked away.

"I thought you said their thighs were exquisite. I'm not impressed. I would say their rears are noticeable, at least."

"You should see them out of their armor. Khaine help me, but I should be strong enough to not fall for them."

"We all have faults, I suppose. Even your kind."

"Especially my kind, Roger."

He wondered if Anya had watched the entire confrontation. Maybe she finally had some competition for the superior Eldar stalker. Or maybe Maela was just trying to salvage her temple's pride after having their style compared to an inferior Mon-Keigh. Who was he kidding, of course she was watching. She always was, even when he couldn't see her. He shook his head, realizing he still was a little out of it from the drinks.

"Was there something you needed, Kallen?"

"Ah! I forgot. Farseer Alwyn wishes to see you."

"Am I being sent away already?"

"She has spoken to all of our forces that attacked the town. I think she is trying to figure out what happened. I just finished talking to her, and she asked for you when they let me go."

"They?"

"The Guardian Council. Five Warlocks that serve as the personal bodyguard and advisors to Farseer Alwyn, along with her second in command, Vandil, who is also a Farseer."

"Oh hell," he said as he stood up, brushing some of the crumbs off his surcoat, "It's not the first interrogation I've had in front of high ranking assholes."

"Your optimism never ceases to amuse me, Roger Wessyng," Kallen said as he escorted him to the Council's chambers.

"By the way, what is a Warlock?"

Kallen anxiously scratched his cheek.

"Imagine someone like an Exarch, a violent, dedicated warrior. But one day, they realize that they are capable of more than that, so they follow the Path of the Seer. Essentially, a warrior with the mind-bending power of a Farseer."

"Oh good. Maybe one of them will finally give me the death I deserve and fire lightning bolts from their hands to strike me down."

"They would find worse ways to kill you."

"Of course they would."

They were soon standing in front of the glowing, flickering Webway gate. Roger froze and stared at it.

"Oh Throne, you don't want me to go through that, do you?"

"That's exactly what I'm asking."

Roger just stood in front of it, trying to muster some kind of courage or defiance. He had no idea how the gates worked, or if a human could go through it. And where did it even go?

"I'm not sure about this Kallen."

"I understand your hesitation. Don't worry, we aren't just going to transport you into space and leave you there."

"I wasn't even thinking that. Thanks for making this worse."

"How about this, I go before you, and you just follow me."

Roger rubbed his chin and nodded.

"Fine. Let's do this."

"That's the spirit! Come along. Now some advice, take a breath before you go through."

Kallen vanished in a second, and with more than a little hesitation, Roger slowly moved towards the gate and stopped. He nervously tapped his foot, trying to build up the courage to go through.

"Roger."

He turned to the voice behind him, seeing a tall redhead in Ranger armor.

"Anya-"

"Take a breath."

He reflexively did so and looked at her in confusion before she put both hands on his chest, and with a strength that was surprising, given how lithe and thin she was, pushed him through the gate. Everything went dark for a second, and silence filled the air. For what seemed like an eternity, Roger hung in a sort of limbo. Was he dead? Did something go wrong? Was he now an aimless spirit, having lost his body but kept his soul? At least if that was what happened, he could haunt Anya and Kallen for getting him into this mess. Then light returned, and noise as well. Roger gasped as he came back to realspace.

"That was a rough one! I was worried you got lost!"

Panting and in a cold sweat, he looked up at the grinning Scorpion.

"Does that always happen? You just disappear?"

"Well, you're supposed to instantly be in another place. Kind of like opening a door to go outside. Why?"

"I felt… dead. No noise, total darkness. I couldn't even hear my own breath."

"Maybe going by the gate is different for humans. I mean we've never sent one of your kind through before-"

"Ah. Well that-what?! You sent me through and didn't even know if it would bloody well work?"

Kallen shrugged.

"I mean it worked, so we won't dwell on it. Follow me, the Council is eager to talk to you."

Wherever Roger was, it was sturdily built. The floor and walls reminded him of adamantium, but it was harder than that. Up ahead, he could see light drifting in through a few large windows. Kallen walked ahead of him, seemingly in his own little world.

"Kallen?"

"Yes Roger?"

They were passing the windows now.

"Where exactly are-"

"Did I forget to tell you? My apologies. If you want to know, we are-Roger? Are you all right?"

Roger was staring out the window, mouth agape.

"-we."

XXXXXX

It was unlike anything he had ever seen. There were hundreds, no, thousands of glittering white towers, in an almost endless line stretching over the horizon. The sky was like a painting, with a faint, glowing light at the end, leaving everything in an almost sun-like glint, but it was too cool and dim to be an actual sun.

"It is impressive, no? I had a vision that a human would step foot on Craftworld Ducaish at least once when I was on the path."

Roger turned away from the window, still processing what he had seen.

"F-Farseer Alwyn. I-I was expecting to be sent to some bunker or something far away. I didn't think you would actually send me to your Craftworld."

"The last time one of your kind stood here was almost three thousand Terran years ago. I was a young child then. I remember him being paraded through the streets. He was just an unfortunate trader who got lost and accidentally found himself here. The High Seer Council showed much restraint that day. I remember my father saying they should have killed him so no one would come for us."

"I take it you won't kill me?" Roger said as he turned back to look upon the Craftworld.

"We have no reason to. Do you know why you are here?"

"Because you want to know what happened to Exarch Biuran."

"Yes, but your actions yesterday have been quite… remarkable."

"I faced a bigger man and won, impressive, but nothing remarkable."

"I eagerly await your point-of-view. My Council as well. I shall see you soon."

The Farseer moved away, almost silently with her light and graceful steps.

"If you're wondering, I'm afraid the Council told me to keep you in these chambers. They don't want you going out and menacing the citizens of Ducaish."

"What, show off my ears? My teeth?"

"The High Council is, what was that one phrase I learned on Kulhei? "Abel-Repentant?" Something like that. It describes one who is obsessive about anything, in their case rules, and hates any breaking or bending of them."

"Anal-retentive."

"That's it! Now come along, we shouldn't keep Alwyn's Council waiting. It would be a bad first impression, right?"

Leading Roger to an open door, Kallen waved him in, gently grabbing his shoulder before he entered.

"Don't worry, it's nothing serious," he said before smiling and letting go.

XXXXXX

Inside were seven Eldar in chairs surrounding an empty one, Alwyn sitting in the middle, who he assumed was Vandil next to her, and the rest filled with grim-looking Eldar. Not one of them wore masks of any kind, so their scowling visages and piercing eyes all looked into what felt like his very soul.

"Serjeant. How nice of you to join us. Please, take a seat," Alwyn calmly said, her voice louder than he remembered. It must have been the room, or some amplifier.

Sitting in a seat that was obviously prepared for him, Roger sat down and nervously looked at the gathered Council. He felt a bit unprepared, sitting in his red and blue quartered surcoat above flak armor and some chainmail. The Council was in robes of various colors, almost rainbow like in their variations, some with inlaid gold patterns. He felt very low-born, a peasant among the nobles. It was not a familiar feeling for the son of a Yeoman, and it made him wonder if the Council knew this and was trying to put him on edge.

"Is your name Roger Wessyng?"

Roger snapped from his thoughts and responded like a good Guardsman, immediately and with confidence. He didn't recognize the voice, so it must have been one of the warlocks.

"Yes."

"Why are you with our forces?"

"I was given a Royal Appointment to Farseer Alwyn as plenipotentiary between her and the Lord-Prince Edmund."

"Tell us of the battle yesterday."

And so Roger told them all he could remember; the ambush, the duel, the final slaughter. It almost felt unreal, but he could remember every single little detail. It was like being asked about a dream you had, and it was vivid enough that you could remember every little detail. He could smell the blood, feel the pain in his sword arm, and see the lifeless body of Exarch Biuran. He blinked and came back to reality, and saw Alwyn look straight at him.

"Why do you think the Exarch died?" she asked.

Roger pursed his lips and took a second to think. He knew the obvious answer, his head was cut off. But knowing the Eldar, they wanted to know why he got himself into a situation where he was killed. He took a breath and gave his best answer.

"Two men killed Exarch Biuran. The first, and most obvious, was the mutant who beheaded him. He had come out of nowhere, and while focused on the rush of inexperienced fighters and keeping up fire on the group ahead of him, he was ambushed. I don't know why his armor didn't protect him, I saw blows that should have killed your troops be merely shrugged off, especially the Scorpions."

He saw one of the Warlocks straighten his back and give a little smirk. Kallen had told him before approaching the Council that Warlocks had come from the ranks of the Warrior temples, and Roger had a feeling he was a former Scorpion. Alwyn nodded slowly at this answer and continued her questioning.

"Who else killed the Exarch?"

"Forgive me for my brashness, but isn't it obvious? He killed himself."

The Council murmured, some of them looking at each other.

"Explain," one of them finally said.

"In his quest to find combat, he had thrown all sense of caution or fore-thought into the wind. He had gone into an obvious ambush, more than aware of it, and still went ahead and got himself, and nearly got his troops, and me, killed. And in his blood lust, he focused on the wrong threat, and paid the price. He was a bad commander, and the fact he was in charge of any troops, frankly baffles me."

The Council had the decency to listen, but Roger could tell more than a few feathers were ruffled. At least one or two stared at him in a way that he worried if looks could kill, especially with their powers.

"That is an interesting assessment. We have interrogated our warriors as well, and while none of them were as critical as you were, there was a consensus that Biuran was definitely not the quality of leadership we hoped for."

One of the warlocks got Alwyns attention and she nodded.

"Pardon, how do you pronounce your rank?"

"Serjeant, Warlock."

"Appreciated, serjeant. Your recollection of events does not match up with the testimony of the rest of our warriors."

Roger gave him a confused look.

"It only lasted thirty minutes from start to finish, I am fairly certain I didn't miss anything. The ambush, my duel, and the clean-up-"

"The ambush only lasted five Terran minutes. So did your duel. That means there were twenty minutes that you have forgotten."

"I- have told you all I can remember."

"So you don't remember the, as you say, "clean-up"? Nothing at all?"

"The last thing I remember was yelling "Kill them." And then it was recovering the Exarch's remains. I can't remember anything different occurring."

The Warlocks looked at one another, their faces actually showing discomfort. Even Alwyn and Vandil started seeming uneasy. Alwyn looked at him in concern and finally spoke.

"Roger, every single one of our warriors spoke very highly of your actions after the duel. For example-" she looked at what seemed to be the Eldar equivalent of a data-slate, and looked it over. "During the counter-attack, you personally ordered the Dire Avengers in the force to move and encircle any stragglers. You took command of the Striking Scorpions, and they all reported how you fought as hard as any of them. You personally slew ten of the foe. An impressive number even for a Scorpion, given the circumstances."

Roger gaped at this information. He remembered the order to kill and the recovery of Biurans corpse. But he didn't remember any of the fights after the duel. It was a blank space in his mind. One of the warlocks motioned to speak.

"Avenger Moire also spoke of you holding off attackers when one of her warriors was knocked down and vulnerable. You held a group off single-handedly with only your sword and shield, killing two before his brethren eliminated any threats and saved him. You also ordered the Rangers to engage any hostiles with heavy weapons before they would prove a threat to the rest of our forces."

His shield. That was what made him realize what happened. He had walked from the mutant with only his sword. But when he talked to Kallen about what Eldar burial practices were, he was wearing the shield he had thrown off at the start of the duel.

"This has happened to me before. I… black out. It happened when I was in a siege on a campaign before this. I was climbing a ladder over a fortress wall. I can't remember what happened, but everyone of my squadmates, even my commander, spent weeks telling me how brave I was. I don't know why. Maybe I have the same bloodlust issue Biuran had."

Alwyn nodded slowly and spoke.

"I would watch that. I have seen too many of my comrades and friends lose themselves in the violence. And more than a few have ended up like Biuran."

"Is this why I was brought here? To make me realize I have some kind of mental block?"

One of the warlocks, the same one that was most likely a former Scorpion, answered his query.

"It's because we want to know why our warriors spoke so highly of you. We will not deny it, human. Even if you don't remember, we have enough proof and on good authority to know that you showed great skill, almost suicidal bravery, and… more importantly, ability to command. Even if they aren't your kind. And the fact that they obeyed a simple Mon-Keigh-"

"Warlock Dafyd, restraint," Alwyn quickly cut in, her voice alone turning the room cold.

"Apologies, Farseer. You were supposed to be at best, an attaché between your command staff and our warriors on Haikk. You instead showed skill and ability that we cannot ignore."

Roger took a deep breath and shook his head.

"I was not expecting a compliment, Warlock. I will be honest, honorable Council, I was fully expecting to be either removed from my post, or just not come back from this meeting at all."

The Council took this statement with amusement, some of them even giving quiet chuckles.

"We know that humans are taught to fear us, and not to trust any not of their kind, but we are not barbarians, Serjeant," Alwyn said bemusedly.

"Are there any other questions you have for me?" Roger asked.

Looking at her Council, and seeing none of them move, she shook her head.

"You have questions for us," she said.

"I want to know what I'm going to do now. As you are aware, I'm supposed to be reporting directly and be a line of communication between you and the Lord Prince."

"You have been relieved of that duty and I have already asked for a replacement."

Roger blanched.

"If I go back there, I am a dead man. Why are you relieving me? I've only been doing it for what, less than a week? Did I do something wrong?"

"No serjeant," the one who could barely pronounce his rank now spoke. "You have done no wrong. And you will still be with us, and the same group you fought with yesterday."

Roger relaxed a bit. At least he wasn't being thrown back to the wolves, or more accurately, Commissar Lucan. He looked to the Farseer and asked the one question he really wanted an answer to.

"And who will be in command? Exarch Biuran is out, so who is replacing him? If I'm going to stay with Kallen and the rest, I want to know what kind of man, er, Eldar I'll be serving under. I don't want to be with another blood-hungry moron. All due respect."

The Council went quiet, some of them staring at him, others darting glances at one another or the Farseer. Finally, after a long, cold silence, Alwyn spoke.

"You haven't realized it, have you Roger?"

"R-realized what, Farseer."

One of the Warlocks looked at her and nodded before turning to Roger.

"We gave Kallen, Moire, Cruniach, and all twenty seven others of that group, suggestions for a new commander. A shortlist of the best Exarchs we know. They rejected all of them and gave, to a warrior, one name to us as to who should command."

"And that was?" Roger asked, still confused as to the line of questioning. More riddles instead of answers.

The Council now all stared at him, Alwyns calm, piercing eyes definitely looking into his soul.

"You-you can't be serious."

"We are," Alwyn said.

"I-I don't know if you all have realized this, but I am a human, what do you call us, Mon-Keighs? I don't know your language, culture-"

"And yet every single one of our warriors asked for you to lead them," the former Scorpion said, irritation in his voice. "You, a lowly human, who barely knows anything about us, and we had to sit and listen to thirty of our kin say they would prefer to be led by one of your kind instead of one of their own. Either our suggestions were poor, or they see something exceptional in you. And I know which choice is less embarrassing to the Council."

Alwyn shot the Warlock a harsh glance that he didn't notice, and looked back to Roger.

"I understand this is rather… odd circumstances to be in. But a man who is pulled from a firing squad, given a chance to serve with a species foreign to him, and ends up commanding them is not normal. And I approved of your promotion because the way you have weaved with, or around, fate itself is definitely worthy of attention."

Roger tried to process all of this. He wasn't being told to get lost, or he was no longer needed. They were asking him to actually lead their people, their soldiers, and it wasn't a joke or a trick. It would have been funny if he wasn't being stared down by several Eldar who could probably tear him apart with their minds.

"Do you accept the command, Roger Wessyng?" Alwyn said.

Roger didn't hesitate for a second and quickly regained his composure and ability to suck-up to his social betters

"Yes, Farseer. With the blessing of yourself and your honorable Council, and more importantly, the warriors I will command, I will serve to the best of my ability in this task."

The Council seemed impressed with his words, a few nodding, others still staring down at him from their high chairs. With a wave of Alwyns hand, the Council adjourned. And Roger Wessyng, serjeant of an Anglerre Imperial Guard regiment, was given command of thirty Eldar warriors. Not a bad promotion, but not one he expected, or really wanted. He got up from the chair and exited the room, feeling all seven Council members staring into his back. What could they be thinking? How could a Mon-Keigh fool their kin? What made him different? Did Biurans group make a mistake? Some questions, he assumed, were better off unanswered.

XXXXXX

Roger spent another half hour looking out the window he had gazed through earlier, wanting to see the impossible looking architecture and just admire it. It may have been less impressive to a Guardsman raised on one of the Hive-Worlds that populated the Imperium. But having lived his entire life on a feudal-world, where a city of five hundred thousand people seemed impossible, where the land was covered in small villages, its inhabitants sometimes only ever seeing the closest town a few miles away at best. Where everyone knew each other, their families, and their history, good or ill. Seeing the almost unending spires that stretched up into the sky, or what recreated the image of the sky, given he was on what amounted to a giant ship traveling the vast darkness of space, was almost breaking his mind. He at least had been left in peace, but could hear the quiet murmurs of visitors who had somehow heard about the Mon-Keigh that was invited on the Craftworld. Some guards stood at the other end of the hall, keeping the onlookers at a safe distance. He heard some higher-pitched voices, and realized there must be children among them.

"Causing quite a stir, aren't you Roger?" a familiar voice asked from behind.

"What can I say, I seem to make the oddest impressions on some people. Or Eldar, if we want to be specific."

Kallen chuckled and stood next to him, looking out onto the Craftworld he had been born and raised on.

"See that one tower, the white one?"

"They're all white, smart-ass."

"That's where my first mate lived. Well, at least, I thought she was. She happened to disagree and thought I was, what did she say? "A womanizing drunk," I believe. I was a bit wilder in my younger days."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"About coming to the Craftworld? I honestly didn't think about it, and it was a nice surprise, correct? Weren't expecting that! And look at that view, you've only been staring at it for almost an hour, I think that's the Terran time."

Roger turned from the window and looked into Kallens gray-eyes. He had seen that Eldar had the ability to change their eye color through sheer will, and wondered why he chose that color before getting back to his frustration with the Scorpion.

"I mean taking command."

"Oh that! Well if I told you, you would say, "Kallen, you knife-eared bastard, you have a terrible sense of humor! A human leading Eldar warriors, get real!" Or something like that. I thought hearing it from the Council would help you realize that it wasn't a joke."

"Why did you tell them you wanted me in charge?"

Kallen looked back at Roger, his genial smile that was always on his face vanishing and staring into Roger's eyes.

"You saved us in that town. You took command when me, Cruniach, and Moire faltered. You know the enemy's way of fighting. You know the land we fight in. We need someone who can lead. And you, despite not being one of our kin, are our best chance at fighting on that benighted ball of dirt and coming back here in one piece."

The jovial and polite Kallen returned a moment later, the smile back on his face.

"Is that enough reason for you?"

"A bit. I may just have to accept it. How were the others convinced?"

"We talk to each other, Roger. We are warriors, we listen and heed each other's opinions and advice. Do you not do that in your own armies?"

"We have more of a set organization than you seem to have. Ranks and such, but we do listen to each other. Our King ordered all his sons, Edmund included, to be protected by older knights who were experienced fighters, men at arms and serjeants like me who know the fighting trade. But why me?"

"I already told you. But you have proven your worth to us once, you need to keep doing that if you want us to follow."

"I won't fail. I can't afford to."

"Correct," Kallen said with a bit of confidence, "And you keep up the victories, and we'll keep you in command."

Roger nodded and stuck his hand out.

"Deal."

Kallen looked at the outstretched hand in confusion, and realizing what he was doing, grasped and shook it.

"Lead on, serjeant," he said and laughed.

"Oh Emperor, we have to go through that damned gate, don't we?"

"I won't tell anyone that going through a gate scares you to death. We have to keep up the façade of you being a fearless commander."

"Go to hell Kallen," Roger said as they walked away from the window, towards the gate, and towards his first action as commander.

XXXXXX

The thirty Eldar stood in a circle around Roger, all without their helmets, looking at the man, the human, who had somehow earned their respect and selection as commander. He stood, a bit nervously, at the center of the circle, having ordered them to gather for a briefing after returning from the Craftworld. He saw Kallen, Moire, and Cruniach standing at the front of the group, waiting for him to speak. Roger had never focused on it, but he realized Eldar were frighteningly tall, almost seven feet, maybe taller, and he had to slightly crane his neck to look at them, even though he was on the same level ground as them. He looked around, seeing many of his new troops faces for the first time, having only ever seen them helmeted and charging into battle, or reconnoitering in the forests. They seemed to be measuring him up, even though they had chosen him to lead.

He thought to put his best foot forward and use one of his skills, one honed after years of being a Yeomans son, a Guardsman, a serjeant: his ability to make long, good-sounding speeches. He noticed that Anya was watching him from the back, but instead of the blank, huntress-like glare that she normally had, she actually seemed to be looking optimistic for him. She even smiled and gave him a slight nod. That, for some reason, gave him the final push to say what he needed to.

"Right, listen up, all of you!"

He was a bit louder than he wanted, but it got their attention.

"I returned from your Craftworld, your very home, and I have been informed that I am to command all of you. Thirty Eldar warriors, the cream of your people in the art of combat. I am honored, and more than a little nervous, even frightened, of the prospect, I will not lie. I cannot imagine one of your kind being asked to lead men that I fought with back in the Guard. I didn't ever think I would be here, but I am. And I want to prove, to you, to your Farseer, to your Craftworld, that you made the right choice. You know as little about my people and our ways as I do yours. I hope that we can learn from each other, find common ground. We need to understand each other as soon as possible if we have any chance of getting through this. I know I will never learn your language in time to matter, so does anyone here not understand what I'm saying?"

There was a silence, with some of the Eldar shaking their heads in agreement. One of the Avengers spoke up.

"Your languages are easy to learn and understand, Mon-Keigh. Serjeant," he quickly corrected. "We will speak amongst ourselves, but if we have information you need to know, we will not hesitate to inform you."

"Thank you. I will learn your names in time, I apologize, Avenger. But what he said is all I ask. I'm not saying never to speak your native tongue again, but if I need to know, you need to say it in Low or High Gothic. I will not tolerate us being defeated or taking casualties because you couldn't tell me anything I can understand."
Nods, a few murmurs in agreement.

"We all are standing together in this. Your victories are mine. My defeats, yours. We have to work together, or we all fall together. I want you all to put any petty squabbles behind you. I don't know what temples are, or care what's better. You are all knife-eared Xenos to me, and if you think you're superior to your comrades, take that mindset and leave it in this forest. After today, we are a group, and none of you will hesitate to help one another or me, in the smallest or direst of ways."

He was fairly certain they didn't need this talk, but thought it would be a good one to have.

"I know there are three groups of three varying fighting styles among us. You need to teach me how to work at your best, and when to use those skills to the fullest. I don't want disaster because I didn't know where to send you or how to use you. As I said, we need to teach and learn from one another."

More nods. He was on a roll.

"I may not know why you chose me to command, or what you see in me. But I do know this-" he pulled his sword from his scabbard and lifted the crossguard to his nose, holding it inches from his face. He closed his eyes.

"I, Roger Wessyng, serjeant of Prince Edmund, Guardsman of Anglerre, and commander of warriors in service of Craftworld Ducaish, do swear, on my honor, on my blood, to serve as your commander to the best of my ability. I will lead you to glory and victory, and if so, will follow you into a gory and violent death. Because you are my warriors now. And I will serve you as you will serve me. I will give respect to you, as you have given it to me. I will not leave you wanting. I will not leave you on the battlefield, either behind to be lost, or your remains on the field. If I fail these duties, if I fail as commander, may I die in shame, may the Emperor strike me down, or send my soul to the Warp."

He lowered and swung the sword in salute, turning to look his new troops in the eye. He saluted and bowed his head.

"So help me, God-Emperor."

He raised his head, not sure what to expect in return. Then, he heard the clack of rifles thrown into shoulders, the drawing of swords, and the stamp of feet slamming together. Roger looked around at the grim faces staring at him, and realized he was being given a salute in return. Kallen called out something in Eldari, which was responded to by thirty voices as one. Whatever it was, it sounded very good to Rogers ears. He looked at Kallen, who smiled again.

"Roughly translated, it is an oath of camaraderie. You have shown us respect and honor, and we will repay it as best we can. We, the forces of the late Exarch Biuran, accept your command, Roger Wessyng."

Nodding and raising his sword high, Roger made one last call.

"Victory or Death!"

"Victory or Death!" the Eldar said in their tongue, a phrase Roger did not need translating. There were a few cheers and oaths yelled out, but the mood definitely improved. He didn't know it, but he had finally been truly accepted as their leader.

Moire spoke as the voices died down.

"What are your orders, serjeant? What do we need to do now?"

Roger frowned as he thought. He hadn't been given any orders by Alwyn, Edmund, or D'Uxford. Oh Throne, how would D'Uxford respond to this? He tried to imagine what the uncaring, stoic man would think. Maybe he upset some plan he had? He pushed it to the back of his mind, because he had one thought ahead of all the others.

"First things first. We aren't going to be running around calling ourselves "the Eldar" or "Exarch Biurans force." We need a name that sticks out, identifies us. I want something to yell and get your attention. Something we can rally behind."

A silence fell over the group as some tried to think of names. A few called out suggestions.

"Winds of Fate!"

"Too long," Roger said, "And it barely describes us."

"Bloody Thorns!"

"Hardly an intimidating name," Moire said. "Besides, I think the silver haired Mon-Keigh call themselves that."

"Avengers!"

"Not all of us are Avengers, my friend," Kallen hissed.

There was silence as no one could come up with a name. Cruniach shrugged and spoke.

"Dragons?"

Roger, Moire and Kallen looked at each other and thought about it.

"It's not a bad suggestion," Roger said.

Kallen frowned and shook his head.

"Fire Dragons won't take kindly to that."

"Who the hell are Fire Dragons?" Roger asked.

"Anti-armor specialists," Moire answered.

"Well something with an animal," Roger said in desperation.

The group was silent, thinking of the thousands of animals that would be a fitting name for a group of warriors. Then Anya spoke.

"What is the animal on your Prince's banner? The gold one on a red background?" she asked.

"It's a lion," Roger said.

"Generic," one of the Avengers said.

"I think there's Space Marines called the Lions of some sort. And the Lion, one of the Emperor's sons."

There was a wave of disappointment as what seemed like a good idea was quickly shot down.

"Well they aren't technically lions," Roger muttered.

Anya was a lot closer now, almost next to him. He flinched when he realized how close she had gotten so quickly.

"Then what are they?"

"Pards. Uh, leopards. Big cat, similar to a Lion."

One of the Scorpions snapped his head up.

"Serjeant, what's a leopard like?"

"Sneaks around a lot. Really territorial from what I'm told. Solitary too. Don't hunt in packs."

"Something that roams around on their lonesome, cut off from their own forces. Sound's a lot like what we're going to be doing." Kallen said.

"Leopards. I like it. Easy and to the point. Close to home for an Anglerre boy like me. Well, all in favor, say Aye!"

He received a loud reply.

"All against Nay!"

Silence.

"That settles it then! We are the Leopards! And don't let our enemies forget it!"

And in a forest on Haikk Four, Roger Wessyng became a leader, the Imperium-Eldar alliance on the planet was strengthened, and the Leopards were born.