Pride of the Aisonian Eldar

Chapter Two-Chosen Path

I could barely contain myself, years of etiquette and manners that my mother ingrained into my psyche threatened to burst over in this one moment. It was finally time; the day had at long last reared its mighty and majestic head. Gliding down the passageway from my room to the main living area, I tried my best not to bolt into the room and exclaim my profound excitement. The archways that hung over the corridor in intervals appeared to speed past me as I almost rushed down it. I had dressed myself in a sombre grey tunic, tight grey pants clinging to my rapidly moving legs. I burst into the room with child-like excitement, my family giving me reproving looks as I practically danced towards them. Xyleria wore a white silk dress which billowed out a bit from her hips, her auburn hair tied into an ornate bun with a crystalline band. My mother had dressed plainly in a midnight blue dress, her blue-black hair tumbling down her right shoulder to rest at her breast. She got up when I neared her, an expression on her face as sombre as my chosen outfit.

"Joyous Life Anniversary my son" I could tell that the tidings were trying to be honest, but the prospect of another one of her children possibly becoming an exarch, or a ranger for that matter, saddened her deeply. I gave her a bow of thank you, my hand flickering in a position of apology for a split-second. She notices and smiles wryly; she can't really help who we are. Despite the differences between him and my mother, I notice Quinque sitting on a soft green chair at the edge of the depressed area at the centre of the circular room. I can see he's still wearing his yellow cloak that I gave him, covering parts of his muted yellow tunic and hose. He nods at me, tapping the Dream Sitar resting against his chair. Lastly I notice Persevrin raiding our food stores, using everyone's distraction upon my arrival to obtain some from of comestible. He's dressed in only two colours today, a crimson shirt and trousers, with a bright lilac coat that dragged on the floor as he saunters up to me, a half-eaten dumpkin fruit clutched lazily in his hand. I raised an eyebrow at him when he takes another bite, a single drop of fruit juice hitting the pristine white floor.

"Persevrin, continue to eat that without a plate and you'll find parts of yourself stuffed in one." Xyleria growled, apparently fountains of blood getting everywhere don't phase her, but a single drop of juice gets her blood to boiling. He gave my sister a sideways glance, finding a plate and gently placing the now almost eaten fruit upon it. He backed away from her in an exaggerated manner, holding his hands out in mock defence. I roll my eyes at him and head to the depressed area of the room, sitting as calmly as I am able in a green chair much like Quinque's. My mother and sister follow suit, sitting next to each other on a longer pale green loveseat. An awkward silence hangs among us, the meaning behind the occasion drowning out much of the happiness of me being one pass older. Xyleria, being the blunt girl that she is, breaks the silence with the most obvious question.

"So, have you decided what aspect you are going to follow?" My mother has a twinge of pain flicker in her eyes, talking about this when we are supposed to be celebrating isn't exactly good.

"Yes…but I think it best to start on a happier note don't you" I say after a few seconds of thinking.

"If it's happy you want, then I think Quinque and I better start tonight's entertainment." Persevrin pipes up, producing a few brightly coloured sticks from his cloak. Quinque sighs and picks up his Sitar, tuning it quickly before strumming it a few times.

"Persevrin, it's the middle of the day" He says with a sigh.

"That's beside the point" he proclaims loudly, twirling the sticks in one hand. He activates them with a thought command, the colours mixing and vibrating up and down the shaft of the sticks. With a theatrical flick of his wrist he sends the sticks into the air, catching them in one hand and spinning them to land on the other.

"So gather round and I'll tell you tale, one that's quite dark and desolate. But remember to go before the show otherwise you'll get quite desperate. Let me begin as you always should and that's right at the start. For it defeats the purpose of the tale to mess with its art." And so he told us a story that he'd learnt from one of the Harlequins, a story of the pain of an Eldar hero who fought against his own family. I loved the contrast of his comical performance and the tragic tale. He did say it was supposed to make me happy though and I wasn't feeling all that much better once I really got to thinking about the story. We laughed and talked for another few hours, trying to ignore the thing that sat the back of everyone's mind. But we couldn't ignore it forever and sooner or later I had to face what needed to be done.

Starting up a skyrunner, I left my home for one of the aspect shrines. The slender vehicle darted up into the air with my command, readjusting it engines to a microscopic degree when it reached the right altitude. I listed to the right or left as I passed each tower, glimpsing occupants through balconies. Some argued with each other and some laughed with each other, all of their moments coalescing into a mosaic of fragmented lives, some interweaving and connecting, others never even touching. I swerved onto the Path of Wayward Dreams, adjusting my course and altitude to fit into one of the organised transport lanes. Drifting along, I had a chance to really think about where this path might take me. Not that I hadn't done so before, but the sobering process of flying to the place were warriors trained to kill still got me thinking. The fates that awaited me were manifold; I could die as a warrior, become an Exarch, or leave the path free of my anger. Or I could choose another aspect and continue the bloody path I had chosen. I knew that one of those things would never occur, could never occur. I would not become an Exarch; I would not let battle be my only solace in a world of fire and hate. The skyrunner hummed to a stop as I reached my destination, the shrine of the Infernal Cadence. Slowly, I got off the skyrunner and sent it away, breathing deeply as I edged towards the entrance of the shrine. A simple white doorway was all that separated me from my path; perhaps it was enough to deter me. Taking one last deep breath and steeling myself, I opened the door.

The air felt oppressive inside the shrine, it clung to my skin and made it itch like it was held close to a flame. I could see only metal, walls bordered me in all directions. Is this a trick? Have I been bared entrance to the shrine? I glided up to the wall in front of me, opposite the door of the shrine. I let my fingers run over the coarse metal; it was built of material that the Eldar did not use. A hole in the wall caught my eye, a blast hole the size of my fist. The metal around it was warped and twisted, like it had folded away and melted as the blast hit whatever the metal in this wall once belonged to. A grating sound made me jump, snatching my hand away from the hole. The wall begun to slide, revealing the space beyond it. I squeezed through the rapidly growing gap in the wall, only to be met by others blocking my path. I turned to go in a direction now available to me, grating and scraping accompanying me as I walked along the rough floor. Soon I figured out that the walls were not made all of the same material or by all the same people. An Imperial symbol glinted slightly from the light in my waystone, the living gem growing brighter as I delved deeper. A star with eight points jutted out from one wall, causing me to duck as it swept past me. This place was a maze, an ever-changing labyrinth of iron and steel and whatever else that made me twist and turn and go back on myself countless times. As I floundered within that endless maze more and more, my fear of being trapped grew in equal measure. The spike of a construct's armour made me roll, only to have and identical spike slide towards my feet. I jumped just in time to dodge the bloodied ornament, praying that the blood was not of an Eldar. At last I saw a light glint at me from a distance, an orange glow that beckoned me. I ran towards it, diving as a wall threatened to close off my access to it. I felt the wall brush my toe as I landed with a thud, meeting the floor in an ungraceful manner. I heard the sound of air being cut and twisted my head to see a set of blades moving towards me, housed within the recesses of a wall. I ran towards the light, hoping to reach it before the blades reached me. When I reached the glow, disappointment sunk into my heart. It was not an exit nor was it an entrance, simply a fire that burned from the only Eldar structure within the shrine. If this was not the end of this mind-draining labyrinth, what end was there? I frantically looked around for another way through, but I was enclosed on all sides, the distraction of the fire meant I did not notice the walls moving to trap me, locked within an iron cage.

I heard a rustle behind me, one that sounded like cloth, but what is cloth in a world of steel? I spun to see an Eldar warrior, leaning against part of the scorched chassis of a Leman Russ. The warrior wore an orange bodysuit, a shawl of a lighter shade clinging to her waist. Her long hair was an ashen grey and her weathered features spoke of age. What scared me the most about her though, were the crimson red eyes that looked at me like I was no more than meat, a sacrifice to be brought to battle.

"I am Exarch Myuria" She said, her voice echoing in the small chamber.

"I am Critus" I reply, bowing to the Exarch to show respect and submission.

"Why do you fumble through my shrine, do you desire Khaine's gift?" She inquired with a measured tone; she has done this countless times before it seems. I hesitate to reply, is the rage I feel a gift?

"Or do you seek freedom from Khaine's curse?" She offers, knowing the reason for my hesitation.

"Yes, I wish to be rid of my rage" She laughs coldly at this, pushing herself off of the wall and sauntering up to me.

"Our rage is not something that can be removed or forgotten, it can only be controlled" I gulp as she brings herself close to me, her breath fiery in a way.

"Then teach me to control it" I manage to croak, her closeness somehow causing me to sweat.

"Very well, I will show you how to don and remove your war-mask, you will learn how to become a killer without remorse, so that your soul might find peace" I nod, kneeling before my Exarch. She barely gives me a glance as she walks to one of the walls, passing her hand over an Eldar rune embedded in it. The rune glows with a deep red light and the wall begins to move. Beyond it I see a swirling dark portal, the way into the inner sanctum of the shrine. Myuria gives me an impatient look as she turns towards it, gliding past the opened wall. I quickly get up and follow her, hoping the wall doesn't close in my face.

"When do we begin my training" I ask her when I catch up to her.

"Tomorrow, welcome, Fire Dragon of the Shrine of the Infernal Cadence."