make.”
Interest flared in Thirianna’s jade eyes. She indicated with a raising of her chin that they should stand.
“We should discuss this in my chambers, with something to drink, perhaps?”
“That would be most agreeable,” said Korlandril as the two them made their way towards the dome entrance.
Neither spoke as they crossed the dome. They walked a little way apart, the distance a compromise between companionship and decency. Korlandril’s heart beat a little bit faster than usual. He tried to contend with a mounting excitement, having not expected such an accommodating response from Thirianna.
It took some time to reach the dome entrance on foot and the night cycle was midway through when they came upon the silvered archway that led into the main thoroughfare around the rim of the craftworld. Here twilight was also in effect, the darkness broken only by a faint red reflection from the dying star and the will-o’-the-wisps of the infinity circuit around them.
The wide passage was quiet; they passed perhaps a dozen other eldar before they reached the turning towards Thirianna’s apartments. She had taken up rooms in a poet’s commune in the Tower of Dormant Witnesses. It was a place noted for its contemplative atmosphere, with views out to the stars and back across the whole of Alaitoc.
They were about to step onto the sliding walkway up to the towers when a large group appeared from the gloom ahead. Sensing something dark, Thirianna strayed closer to Korlandril, who put a protective hand upon her shoulder even as his own mood dropped, filled with foreboding.
The group were Aspect Warriors, and an aura of death hung about them as palpable as a stench. They were clad in plates of overlapping armour of purple and black, their heavy tread thunderous in the still twilight. Korlandril could feel their menace growing stronger as they approached, waystones glowing like eyes of blood. They had taken off their war-helms and carried them hooked upon their belts, leaving their hands free to carry slender missile launchers.
Dark Reapers: possessed of the War God in his Aspect of Destroyer.
Though their helmets were removed, they still bore the rune of the Dark Reaper painted in blood upon their faces. Thirianna and Korlandril shrank closer to the edge of the passageway as the Aspect Warriors passed, seeking the faces of their friends. Korlandril realised he had inadvertently pulled Thirianna in front of him a little and the realisation brought a small wound to his pride. For her part, Thirianna was calm but apprehensive. Korlandril could feel her trembling under his palm. It was not fear, it was something thrilling. She had walked the Path of the Warrior, did Khaine even now call out to her? Did the presence of the Aspect Warriors resonate with some part of her buried beneath the layers of civilisation the eldar worked so hard to maintain?
Thirianna pointed, directing Korlandril’s attention to Maerthuin. Arthuis walked a little way behind. The brothers stopped and turned their eyes upon Thirianna and Korlandril. Their gazes were empty, devoid of anything but the remotest recognition. Korlandril repressed a shudder as he smelt the blood upon their faces.
“You are well?” asked Thirianna, her voice quiet and respectful.
Arthuis nodded slowly.
“Victory was ours,” intoned Maerthuin.
“We will meet you at the Crescent of the Dawning Ages,” said Arthuis.
“At the start of the next cycle,” added Maerthuin.
Korlandril and Thirianna both nodded their agreement and the two warriors moved on. Thirianna relaxed and Korlandril gave a sigh of relief, glad to be free of their friends’ blank yet strangely penetrating gazes.
“It is inconceivable to me that one should indulge in such horror,” said Korlandril as the two of them stepped upon the moving walkway, still feeling a small aftercurrent of fear from the encounter.
They made a spiralling ascent, languidly turning upon itself as the sliding ramp
Interest flared in Thirianna’s jade eyes. She indicated with a raising of her chin that they should stand.
“We should discuss this in my chambers, with something to drink, perhaps?”
“That would be most agreeable,” said Korlandril as the two them made their way towards the dome entrance.
Neither spoke as they crossed the dome. They walked a little way apart, the distance a compromise between companionship and decency. Korlandril’s heart beat a little bit faster than usual. He tried to contend with a mounting excitement, having not expected such an accommodating response from Thirianna.
It took some time to reach the dome entrance on foot and the night cycle was midway through when they came upon the silvered archway that led into the main thoroughfare around the rim of the craftworld. Here twilight was also in effect, the darkness broken only by a faint red reflection from the dying star and the will-o’-the-wisps of the infinity circuit around them.
The wide passage was quiet; they passed perhaps a dozen other eldar before they reached the turning towards Thirianna’s apartments. She had taken up rooms in a poet’s commune in the Tower of Dormant Witnesses. It was a place noted for its contemplative atmosphere, with views out to the stars and back across the whole of Alaitoc.
They were about to step onto the sliding walkway up to the towers when a large group appeared from the gloom ahead. Sensing something dark, Thirianna strayed closer to Korlandril, who put a protective hand upon her shoulder even as his own mood dropped, filled with foreboding.
The group were Aspect Warriors, and an aura of death hung about them as palpable as a stench. They were clad in plates of overlapping armour of purple and black, their heavy tread thunderous in the still twilight. Korlandril could feel their menace growing stronger as they approached, waystones glowing like eyes of blood. They had taken off their war-helms and carried them hooked upon their belts, leaving their hands free to carry slender missile launchers.
Dark Reapers: possessed of the War God in his Aspect of Destroyer.
Though their helmets were removed, they still bore the rune of the Dark Reaper painted in blood upon their faces. Thirianna and Korlandril shrank closer to the edge of the passageway as the Aspect Warriors passed, seeking the faces of their friends. Korlandril realised he had inadvertently pulled Thirianna in front of him a little and the realisation brought a small wound to his pride. For her part, Thirianna was calm but apprehensive. Korlandril could feel her trembling under his palm. It was not fear, it was something thrilling. She had walked the Path of the Warrior, did Khaine even now call out to her? Did the presence of the Aspect Warriors resonate with some part of her buried beneath the layers of civilisation the eldar worked so hard to maintain?
Thirianna pointed, directing Korlandril’s attention to Maerthuin. Arthuis walked a little way behind. The brothers stopped and turned their eyes upon Thirianna and Korlandril. Their gazes were empty, devoid of anything but the remotest recognition. Korlandril repressed a shudder as he smelt the blood upon their faces.
“You are well?” asked Thirianna, her voice quiet and respectful.
Arthuis nodded slowly.
“Victory was ours,” intoned Maerthuin.
“We will meet you at the Crescent of the Dawning Ages,” said Arthuis.
“At the start of the next cycle,” added Maerthuin.
Korlandril and Thirianna both nodded their agreement and the two warriors moved on. Thirianna relaxed and Korlandril gave a sigh of relief, glad to be free of their friends’ blank yet strangely penetrating gazes.
“It is inconceivable to me that one should indulge in such horror,” said Korlandril as the two of them stepped upon the moving walkway, still feeling a small aftercurrent of fear from the encounter.
They made a spiralling ascent, languidly turning upon itself as the sliding ramp
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