Esquire (Lost But Not Forgotten)

[Kopaka]

“Look, all I’m saying is that if I can stand to get out of my armor for a royal elven gala, you could stand to dress yourself in something.” Morene griped. There was a modest note of amusement in her voice, but Kopaka could tell her concerns were genuine. He had no real gauge for the decorum this situation required; he trusted that the knochten’s anxieties were genuine.

On the other hand, what would he cover himself with that would neither pinch in his mechanisms, nor freeze in place, or even fit his robotic girth?

“Oh, I have a scrumptious idea!” sang the harlequin walking next to them. Much to Morene and Kopaka’s disdain, Lieth-Shaec had somehow managed to insert themself into the quest for fancy clothes. The aeldari enby was just as striking outside of their ceremonial mask as when they were in-character. A shock-pink mohawk towered over a shower of facial piercings, strung together with electrum chains. They had exchanged their patterned holo-suit for a gaussian toga, draped over swishing parachute pants.

“Do tell.” Morene sighed.

“Teflon reinforced fabric, tailored into a simple, billowing cloak, my good fellow. Perhaps with a bit of metallic trim? Oh you’d look simply marvelous, swishing into-” the eldar playwright sang as they traipsed alongside the pair of knights. Kopaka gave the clown a hard stare. He was, by all accounts, still livid at the Harlequins’ interference with their evacuation of Raphaël from the auditorium a few weeks ago. At the same time, Arcadia was a city of freedom, and the Saedath technically hadn’t broken any laws either. These adherents of drama seemed to dance the thin line of legality with every step they took – hell, they outright enjoyed it.

But, Kopaka wasn’t about to give Lieth-Shaec the satisfaction of getting under his protodermis. On top of that, the biomech and Morene were attempting to navigate a new social circle that was not only culturally foreign, but poisonously regal. It would be foolish to spurn their insights, at least in the realm of aesthetics.

The trio stood at the threshold of a boutique shopping mall, nestled within the gilded heights of Arcadia’s Upper Quarter neighborhood. The roads, buildings and gardened dividers of this area were diligently manicured, almost to the point of being uncanny. It reminded Kopaka a lot of the richer districts of the City of Hope, except that the shop windows and eaves of the Nonan capital were choked with flirting ghosts and whimsical cantrip illusions. The sky overhead was also frustratingly perfect; the weather for the day had been scheduled for partly cloudy skies for the next three days, with a magically perfected rain-soak slated for Saturday.

The artificiality made Kopaka’s circuits crawl. In fact, he craved to be inside for once, and swept into the glossy, sliding doors of the clothier. Pleasant, soulless music trickled across a lobby filled with the latest Crossroads fashions, tastefully arranged by anatomical configuration. Kopaka’s armored feet trod conspicuously on the polished, marble flooring, prompting an eager attendant to glide towards them.

“Good afternoon! Welcome welcome to Adelaire’s Emporium. I am Pincushion, your trusty seamstress.” the kobold said with a polite bow. She stood at almost half of Kopaka and Morene’s height, and was dressed in a tail-friendly sundress with sparkling claw-shoes. Small, white tattoos adorned her green scales, and a streak of eye-shadow intensified her already deep reptilian eyes.

“Let’s get started. What’s the occasion?” she chirped.

“The Grand Ynnari Ball, to be held this Saturday evening…at the Lothwain Gardens, no less.” Lieth-Shaec hummed pleasantly. Pincushion’s tail slapped the ground in gleeful awe.

“Woww! So fancy-fancy! Alright. So new gowns for the ladies-” Pincushion started, but the elf and the knochten let out a simultaneous chuckle.

“No. No gowns for me. I am, however, looking for some new adornments for my chaperon hat. Maybe some nice cufflinks.” Morene said with a weary smile. Pincushion blinked softly, and swallowed her crop.

“O-oh! Sorry! Of course, how presumptuous. Haha, silly me! Ha! Silly!” the kobold meeped, taking a few nervous steps in place. Kopaka and Morene exchanged a non-plussed stare. Why was this creature acting like their clothing was a life or death situation? Luckily for Kopaka, he lacked the social tact to stay quiet.

“Why are you behaving so nervously? Is there some kind of threat present?” the bionicle droned. Pincushion almost jumped as she looked away from the icy warrior, and wrung her tail in a growing fit of panic.

“Haha! No! Not unless you count my sales quota to be an imminent threat. Ha!” she said with wide eyes.

A silence passed between the four of them.

“...riiiight. I’ll just look around for accessories. Kopaka will need…the most help.” Morene said, resisting the urge to pat the shaking lizard on her tiny little head. With that, the knochten and harlequin waltzed off into the racks, picking at expensive fabrics and generally sharing a nice time shopping for clothing and knick-knacks.

Kopaka, on the other hand, was not used to this type of service at all. He towered over the kobold with a cold glare. Pincushion smiled up at him and fiddled with the tip of her tail for a few moments. After a minute, she finally found the will to speak.

“So! What do…you like to wear?” she chittered.

“Nothing.” Kopaka replied. Pincushion nodded.
“Okay! Um! Well, what’s your favorite color?” she tried.

“I do not entertain such decadent preferences.” he buzzed.

“Of course you don’t! Hahaha!” Pincushion coughed. She took a breath to steel herself. She could do this. She had tailored clothing for demons, protoss, elves, even ghosts! At least, however, those customers had possessed some sort of concept of what made nice clothes…well…nice!

Kopaka watched the kobold fret for a moment, and took a breath of relaxation. The creature was trying her best, and he was perfectly aware of her difficulties.

“My elven acquaintance recommended a simple cloak, enhanced to resist my elemental output.” the Toa said in the gentlest tone he could muster.

“Oh! Certainly! We have a wonderful collection of capes and cloaks for all statures…I could bring you a few styles and then recreate those patterns in treated fabric.” Pincushion said, clapping her hands together.

“Very well.” Kopaka ceded.

He followed the bouncing kobold to a distant corner of the store, and the seamstress busied herself with grabbing a few flowing capes off of the rack. She spread four of them in front of Kopaka. One was a shimmering red, with shining floral patterns. Another was a simple, black matte. Two of them were different shades of white, but one had a shimmering velvet trim.

“Which do you like?” Pincushion smiled.

“What do you think is best?” Kopaka hummed.

Pincushion put a tiny hand on her waist, and gave the biomech a playfully stern look.

“Oh don’t play coy with me! I know you have some personal tastes somewhere in there! Just…go with your gut!” she smiled.

“I do not possess a-”

“You know what I mean!”

Kopaka rattled off a frosty breath, having been adequately chastened. He stared at the offered cloaks for a few more moments, and held up a hesitant finger. It was moments like these that he avoided social interactions as much as possible. The prospect of making a choice based on mere aesthetics or desires was terrifying. He knew that there was no such thing as an incorrect answer to the question laid before him, and yet, he turned against himself with self-doubt. He would take the whole world on his back and carry it without a moment’s pause. Why was this so difficult?

Was he simply designed to have difficulty with these things? He did not like to contemplate the circumstances of his creation. Perhaps it was that aversion, in and of itself, that repulsed him from examining his own desires.

“...this one.” he said, pointing.

Pincushion smiled, and clapped her hands together happily.

Three nights later, the three shoppers arrived at the Lothwain Gardens transported by a howling Harlequin transport vehicle, sleek and decorated with the Saedath’s trademark checkered patterns. It was a clear evening, with the clouds breaking up from the earlier scheduled rain shower just in time to create a stunning sunset. The botanical gardens were contained in a large, curving, geodesic structure.

Warm spotlights and strings of hovering LED drones lit the space in a constantly swaying cloud of flickering shadowplay. The rippling lights caught the fronds of majestic palm trees, orchids, and other alien plants as over two-hundred stunningly dressed Aeldari regents drifted along the cool, damp hydroponic pathways.

The trio disembarked from what Morene had affectionately titled the ‘clown-car’, and made their way to the entrance. A darkly-masked harlequin stagehand was there to announce them, and spoke in a thaumaturgically enhanced voice.

“Now arriving! Liege Lieth-Shaec of the Saedath Arcadia! Kopaka Mata, Toa of Ice! Dame Morene Fellon of Creedmoor!”

A short blast of harp and horn music sounded as they crossed the sliding, pressurized threshold. The blast of air ruffled their assorted finery quite pleasingly, and several elven aristocrats turned to behold the interlopers.

Lieth-Shaec had opted for a semi-transparent, lacy dress of almost ethereal lightness. Much of their slinky anatomy was barely obscured by patches of strategically placed filigree, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. Their shock-pink mohawk had been tied together into a ceremonial Aeldari topknot, which rattled with dozens of platinum chains and trinkets.

Morene, arguably the most understated of them, entered with a pleated gambeson, tailored slops and a fairly wide chaperon hat, decorated of course with a couple of local pins and ribbons she had acquired from Adelaire’s.

Finally, there was Kopaka. In the end, he had opted for the vibrant, red, floral cloak, and even spent to have a bit of gold trim hemmed around the edges. Lieth-Shaec and Morene had both confessed that he looked outright kingly in such a bold color, which had almost dissuaded the hermetic warrior from wearing the cloak at all. In the end, however, he had been convinced to exhibit Pincushion’s work, being that she deserved to have her wares exhibited at such a high profile event.

They filed past the gawking elves, and found a secluded corner to take in the atmosphere. A waitress glided past, and offered the group a strong, but refreshing cocktail of some kind. Kopaka simply stared at his glass as it slowly frosted over.

“Well! I think I’ll leave you two be for the moment, I have some of my own carousing to attend to. Oh…and try not to let any of the Craftworlder’s lord themselves over you. You’re guests of Lady Yvraine, after all. That deserves some respect.” Lieth-Shaec nodded. Morene nodded in return, sniffing her cocktail with a small sneer.

“And where is our host?” the knochten asked pointedly.

“Oh, she’ll arrive after everyone else. Don’t worry. I’m sure she won’t go unnoticed.” the Solitaire smiled. With that, the harlequin whirled off into the gently swaying circle of dancers, and vanished.

 

[Morene Fellon]

Taking a sip of the mixed drink handed to her, Morene decided to enjoy herself for the tiny moment her and Kopaka were by themselves off in a corner, like a couple of university freshmen that were technically invited to a party. Her face immediately scrunched for a slight moment, eyebrows raising trying to comprehend what taste this was, reaching for anything familiar.

“Oh, my,” she reacted, instantly, trying her best to keep an open mind. Somebody clearly put their heart into this free thing that was given to her, so being disrespectful about it would be in bad taste.

It was light, some sort of milk-based alcohol, if she had to guess. Probably entirely wrong, given that the recipe for this drink was likely two separate universes away from her comprehension. Regardless, it was okay, in her opinion, as was everything else around her. The only thing that really caught Morene’s eye was the assortment of pretty lights, which was to be expected at a gathering of this magnitude. Still, the knochten had to wonder what kind of person, or elf, would be entertained by any of this for more than an hour. Perhaps she was biased, considering her only companion here was Kopaka. She turned to him as he comically stared down his drink.

“You can’t even drink that, can you hun?” She snorted, continuing her scathing critique. “It’s… alright! You’re not missing much.”

He did not care to answer, registering Morene’s words as her dry humor. Instead, he scanned around for another staff member in the Gala, clearly intending to politely decline his cocktail. The Toa turned to her.

“We should look around for other Arcadian nobility and discuss further relations with our faction,” Kopaka continued, waving towards the same waitress that gave him the drink, placing it back upon the platter. “Remember, we didn’t come here for entertainment purposes.”

“I know,” Morene sighed, “I just don’t imagine we’ll find much in that regard.”

The biomech flipped his cape over his shoulder after nodding the waitress away, seeming to finally find comfort in wearing it now. “Still, standing around isn’t going to do us much good. We don’t have acquaintances here.”

“Aye,” Morene agreed. She decided to keep her drink, swirling it in the glass, clearly intending to take it slow. As the two knight-errants nodded at each other, they walked forwards into the crowd, Morene Fellon of Creedmoor taking charge. The crowd of abnormally tall Aeldari, whose elegant and alien clothing blended into each other before, made themselves more individually distinct as she excused herself further into the Elder Gala.

The men and women gossiping amongst each other were all clearly wealthy, outwardly pompous, and every time Morene exchanged a glance at one of them, they sneered at her. Consistently, every time, barring the few who didn’t seem to have the attention span to notice her. She completely expected this, however. Not like it bothered the knochten either; she was taller than every single one of them even without her armor. She almost felt pride in dirtying up their floors, but stopped to correct her brain’s immediate half-light response to the obvious passive aggressiveness being displayed towards her and her comrade. Kopaka, unsurprisingly, cared less.

As she looked around, Morene took it upon herself to finally take in the rather unique architecture of the Elder Gala itself. The massive, alien curves of the building and the rooms within came as no surprise to Morene, but they were rather intriguing upon closer inspection. Of course, their company was more prescient, but she slowed down to appreciate the elegant foundation she walked upon.

It was later in the afternoon, so the sun still reflected on the golden etchings of each curved wraithbone pillar, making them glisten almost as much as the lights flourishing on the scaffolding. The geometry of the structures and furniture were so sleek that they seemed to form holes at calculated intervals. Though, comically, from a distance through squinted eyes, the buildings looked like swiss cheese. Somebody more versed in architectural design in her realm, Morene thought, would critique these buildings for being impractical. Then again, she concluded, these were Aeldari. She saw what those Harlequins could do; it was nothing short of magical.

Magic that she wasn’t all too unfamiliar with. It reminded her very distinctly of the limbo-state structures that she wandered in the spiritual realms of Creedmoor, constructed by the minds of the ill, wandering souls of the dead. Less spiky this time, however; the Aeldari liked things far more sleek. If she let her mind wander, Morene might have compared these realities further, but she pushed the thought away upon noticing the Toa picking up his walking pace in front of her.

Kopaka in her peripherals practically reminded her of the job they needed to get done. Still, there wasn’t much to do now. In the immediate vicinity, muffled gossip about the two knights continued further, plus mentions of her majesty Yvraine being on her way.

Morene tapped Kopaka on the shoulder as they continued to walk into the main room, her eyes glazing over the beacon of arcane energy flaring in the middle, illuminating the middle of the space with a radiant blue. Its presence was authoritative, and something told Morene it had more purpose than purely decoration, like a power source of some sort. The knochten spoke to the Toa, in hushed tones.

“You hearing all of this?” She casually eyed him.

“Yes,” he replied, “of course. I assume you mean that Lady Yvraine will be arriving in a few minutes by car.” The huntress shrugged slightly.

“That too,” Morene alluded, prompting to keep mentions of gossip as vague as possible. Kopaka understood her regardless.

“Also the things about us, yes,” he nodded, getting the idea Morene found it more funny than anything. He didn’t have a penchant for jokes, but he fuelled the fire regardless. “I think one of them said something about the possibility of me being constructed of ‘wraith-bone.’ Everyone also thinks your hat looks, ‘silly.’” He repeated, matter of factually. Morene could barely stifle a chuckle. A quick witted response followed suit.

“They ought to know I didn’t need help with my outfit, forsooth~” She teased, nudging the Toa with her elbow and alluding to his extravagant cape. Kopaka didn’t bother entertaining that one. Regardless, both of them mutually agreed to walk back out towards the front entrance of the Elder Gala, awaiting the arrival of Yvraine and hopefully take time to discuss further plans with the Spirits.

The thought crossed Morene’s mind that she still hasn’t actually seen what this woman looks like beyond pictures on the Medium. The knochten knew it didn’t matter; every Craftworlder in the ball started to slowly migrate towards the entrance. Lieth-Shaec was right; picking out this royal Eldar woman in a crowd wasn’t going to be a problem, but the crowd itself definitely is. Still, just a minor nuisance. Even through all the gossip, it seemed as if Lady Yvraine had the respect of her people, if not slightly begrudging. When it came to political figures, that was a hard thing to come by. Morene at the very least knew that firsthand, even before Raphael came along, needing to be escorted through bullets whizzing by his head.

Why, though? The knight-errants didn’t know the extent of it, but the Craftworlders’ history was engulfed in a sea of blood. The Crossroads were a second chance, as they are for many who believe to be touched by the presence of Arbiters. The Aeldari had a presence on Erde Nona for quite a while now, without the all-corrupting aura of Slaanesh to drag them down to their knees. A fool would believe this was their downfall in their own realm, but that was only a fraction of it.

In their reality, a lesser being invited to their royal gathering would be grounds for immediate execution, one of the highest acts of treason imaginable. In the Crossroads however, they were humbled. Usually, travel between space and time was second nature to the Aeldari, but this time, they couldn’t go back home.

No more ancient histories of hedonism and idle luxury haunted them. Who deserved such a thing, after all? The Arbiters were a kinder lot, and besides, this reality didn’t work that way. They were weaker on their first arrival, as most souls called upon this realm were. They couldn’t wage war anymore without assured destruction, despite their vast knowledge of it. In the same vein, the Craftworlders have no desire to repeat their history of decadence. Perhaps not their only option, but their best option, was to slow down. The future is unknown, and no other Eldar symbolized this more than Lady Yvraine, looking to work together with kin other than her own, trying to combat the looming threat of the Unmade and Darkseid’s parasitic army.

Through the dense crowd, Yvraine’s car arrived on the side of the Gala. It very obviously wasn’t an oil-fueled car powered by an engine on the front, more resembling the building that it parked next to, but it still served the same function. Soon, she left her vehicle to a modest applause, contained, more formal than ritual.

Her most striking feature was her white hair, tied directly upwards with the assistance of her headdress, crowned with feathers in a crescent atop her head. Her red, flowing dress dragged gently beneath the ground as she walked towards the building, immediately shoulder to shoulder with what both the Toa and knochten presumed to be important nobles of Arcadia.

The Spirits looked at each other. Of course, Morene was the first to speak. She hesitated, enamored by Yvraine’s elegant form. Both of the outsiders knew that getting a chance to discuss relations with this high noble would prove to be an obnoxious task, but the sooner they could get things done the better.

“Shall we?”

 

[Kopaka]

Kopaka and Morene fell into an almost automatic step alongside the other Aeldari partygoers as the assembled host began to gather around a tall, curved plinth decorated with a variety of lush plants. Yvraine ascended up the steps with almost ethereal grace – her long crimson train rippling and sliding up the stairs without any attendance or carriers. A large, green feline with tufted ears walked next to her, curling its tail around her arms and waist as she walked, but without causing a single falter.

All eyes were on the sovereign as she summited the plinth, and tucked her hands over her breast before bending into a modest bow. She rose, and silence rippled outwards across the crowd as she took a moment to gather words.

“My kin…” she breathed, speaking with soft but indisputable authority, “...friends new and old…let us pause now to give thanks to our savior. The Almighty Ynnead, God of Death, who delivered us from assured destruction fifty cycles hence, and who has kept us safe all the while…”

A murmur passed through the elves in the room, apparently some sort of prayer or oath to this God of Death.

“Ynnead Ka-lis Neann.” Yvraine repeated. She began to turn and pace slightly on the plinth.

“For those of you who are guests of the Ynnari, or those of you who have been blessed to be born to us in this adopted universe, allow me to elaborate. We elves of the Aeldari came into the Crossroads from a dark, war-torn reality. Though we waged war with many empires and horrors of the cosmos, no battle was more fierce and deadly than those we fought against our own folly.” Yvraine continued.

Some of the elves in the gala began to adopt grim or confused expressions. Even Kopaka could tell that a history lesson, particularly one so grim, was out of place for what was supposed to be an evening of leisure.

“Rhani…or, in the common tongue, Chaos is normally an abstract concept to explain a disordered and entropic universe. Where we came from Chaos was a living, breathing, and malevolent force that threatened to devour the cosmos. Many doomed souls served this force, willingly or not, and to our eternal shame, we Aeldari are responsible for quickening the decay of that realm.”

Disgruntled murmurs began to run through the gala now. Small hisses and chattering whispers in a language that Kopaka and Morene could not understand, but betrayed a common sentiment – why would Lady Yvraine dare to even speak of such scandal?

The Toa and Knochten, however, looked at each other with a sudden glint of comprehension. Suddenly, the inscrutable theatrics and riddles offered by the Saedath Harlequins a month ago began to shine with new context. The revelation punctured Kopaka with particular clarity – here was an entire culture that had been thrown into the Crossroads from another world, like himself. Unlike him, however, the Ynnari had the full weight of their history and community brought with them. He wasn’t sure whether he should be jealous, or pity the Aeldari.

Yvraine went on, dispassionate to the growing discomfort of her captive audience.

“I know some of you here have felt it. Have we grown so decadent? Perhaps others of you chose to ignore the rumors…” Yvraine said. Her brow tilted down slightly, and a shadow fell across her flawless face. In response, the architecture of the botanical garden began to darken, and become jagged instead of smooth and sensuous. Flowers began to wilt, and the scent of sulfur began to waft from unseen sources.

Now the crowd began to actively protest, with some of the guests edging towards the various exits. The glass doors refused to open, and in the rising panic, Kopaka and Morene widened their stances instinctively. They had no weapons, and Morene was without their armor, but they would never be caught off guard.

“That’s right! Chaos has followed us! Ever hungry for the souls of the Eldar race! A blight upon our psychic gardens! The Seers have told you, and you waved your hands. Surely not. Surely not!” the elven woman began to shout. Her voice became amplified, and began to shake the very air which was growing increasingly stifling.

“Will you throw away the fruit sown by our ancestors, or will you fight?” the looming witch demanded. There were no responses over the shouting at first, but soon, a few clear voices broke through.

“We will fight, Yvraine!” shouted a dozen guests. Lieth-Shaec was among them, glaring at Yvraine with a fierce passion.

“Will you fight, Aeldari?” the Lady barked again, raising her hands above her head. More voices joined the chorus this time.

“We will fight, Yvraine!”

“Will you fight, Ynnari?” the aeldari woman begged on final time. Now even Kopaka and Morene were – begrudgingly – swept up in the fervor spreading through the reeking garden.

“We will fight!” the throng responded.

“Hunt the spawn of Chaos!” she shrieked.

“Hunt them!” came the chorus.

“Ynnead Ka-Lis Neann.” Lady Yvraine concluded. She immediately turned her back on the crowd and descended the plinth. All at once, the gardens returned to their former, pristine state, and the oppressive, smoky stench dissipated. Morene sighed aloud, and swigged back the remainder of her drink.

“I’m starting to have second thoughts about getting wrapped up in this.” she said sullenly. Kopaka glanced at her, and gave an uncharacteristic shrug.

“They seem to have a worthy foe. I can find cause to repel-” the biomech began, but Morene interrupted.

“Fighting chaos spawn is fine. It’s religions and Gods of Death that have me nervous.” she grumbled. Kopaka considered this, and then nodded slowly.

“The point is taken. Still. We should see what they have to say.” the Toa insisted. Morene offered another smaller sigh, but nodded and placed her drink on a nearby return tray.

As if on cue, an armored elven man appeared before them wearing ornately spined red armor. Kopaka had not seen him enter, and was slightly irritated to see that he was armed with a variety of eldar weaponry. This, of course, indicated him as one of Yvraine’s retinue, but it still chafed his stringent sense of fair play.

Double standards and Gods of Death were not enough to dissuade either of the Spirits, however, so Kopaka and Morene allowed themselves to be shown around to a smaller, more isolated reception room. Yvraine sat there on a long couch with her infinite, rippling crimson dress spilling out from beneath her. The sea-foam lynx lay on the floor next to her, and she passed her slender fingers through its sleek mane.

“Thank you, Laarian.” Yvraine said. Her tone had regained its soft composure, and she eyed her two invited guests over the rim of a wine flute. The red-armored guard, evidently named Laarian, took up a post just inside the door, and despite his apparent duty, was not above sampling some of the same wine.

There were others in the room, though Kopaka and Morene could not immediately place any of them. They were all, apparently, associated somehow with the culture and heritage of elven-kind.

“Allow me to make the introductions. This is Tynaren and Anchaban of the Dwemer Kingdom, here on behalf of King Kagrenac.” the Lady said, pointing at a pair of full-bearded but pale men sat in their finest, glittering silks.

“...and here are Cirocc and their two handmaids from the forests of Kraw and the Nora Tribes.” Yvraine hummed, gesturing towards another corner where a trio of tan-skinned and sun-spotted elves garbed in heavy brown fabric adorned with leaves and twigs.

“These are Padima and Bru of the Gerudo House.” the Witch concluded, nodding at a pair of dark-skinned women with veils and shocking red hair. They pair of warrior women lounged next to a trickling fountain, and eyed the newcomers with open distrust.

“...and finally, this is Dame Morene Fellon and Kopaka. They are members of the Spirits of Vengeance, and were instrumental in the defense of Nausicaa.”

“Defense? More like debacle. Wasn’t the entire district lost?” snarked the dwemer named Anchaban. Kopaka and Morene both immediately leered at the foppish cave-dweller.

“Many lives were saved by our efforts. Where were Kagrenac’s attentions when the city burned?” Morene clucked.

“That is Lord Kagrenac, you feckless mercenary! We-” Tynaren snapped, but was silenced as Yvraine raised her hand for silence.

“I consider myself to be a talented negotiator, so please do not insult me by making this harder than it has to be.” she said with cool dominance. The Ynnari matron sat her glass aside and stared at everyone in the room in turn.

“I suppose, though, that I will get straight to business. We of the Aeldari home universe are in great need of your diligence and assistance. The signs of a Chaos incursion into the Crossroads must be met without restraint. I have drafted letters of alliance, with negotiable terms, to each of your sovereigns.” Yvraine said. She gestured at a nearby platter, which lifted into the air. Several scrolls rested on the bone-colored tray, and each of the representatives took the treatise marked with their respective sigils.

“...we respect your warning of this darkness, Lady Yvraine…but the Nora and indeed the Crossroads as a whole are already occupied in the fight against Darkseid. There is only so much we can offer when we are stretched thin.” Cirocc said with a sad smile. The Lady returned the same sad smile, but was not persuaded.

“The Ynnari understand this. However, we believe that the resources needed to snuff this problem in its nascency are far more manageable than fighting both the Unmaking and Chaos at their full might. All we ask is transparency and access to information.” Yvraine insisted.

“The Spirits of Vengeance are ever-eager to snuff out evil where it takes root. Our policies, however, require an active target with associated bounty for pursuit.” Kopaka buzzed. Yvraine nodded patiently.

“Of course. I’m sure that the agents of Chaos will accrue such bounties quite quickly. All we ask is that the Spirits give priority to those when they arise.” Yvraine countered. Morene and Kopaka looked at eachother, and nodded their heads in consideration. They could certainly deliver the letter to Ezrihel, at least.
The Gerudo, apparently, had no words for the assembled coalition. A round of silence passed through the room before Yvraine abruptly clasped her hands together and offered another weary smile.

“Well. That’s all the Aeldari can ask for now. I am afraid, however, that my little display out in the garden has strained me for the evening, so I will be retiring now. Please feel free to stay and enjoy the gala as long as you desire, of course.” Yvraine hummed. She propped herself up on her chair, and offered a small wave of dismissal.

The two bounty hunters, who had never even bothered to take a seat, immediately turned to leave…but a small tug at the back of their minds seemed to ask them to linger for a moment. The other delegations filed past with small adieus and polite farewells, leaving Kopaka and Morene alone in the reception room with Laarian and the Lady.

“Is there something else, my Lady?” Morene asked. Yvraine tilted her head, and rose to her feet with a helping hand from her red-suited bodyguard.

“Yes, actually. I am afraid that I must entreat assistance from the Spirits of Vengeance, and specifically you two, in another more personal matter.” she sighed. The green cat began to pad its way into an even further, more private room as the Lady and her train followed.

“There is someone I would like you two to meet.”

 

[Morene Fellon]

“Oh?” Morene piqued, tilting her head at the inquiry. Personal matters in this context was an interesting proposition in a place like this, given the context. Going to a gala with an invitation that was, for the most part, an exceptional case, expecting professional negotiations and getting dressed up for such made it all the more surprising.

“Yes,” the Aeldari woman continued, cutting to the chase, “I wish for you to train somebody close to me. For a reasonable favor in exchange, of course.”

Kopaka eyed Morene for a moment, the latter not being able to help a coy grin plastering on her face. Low stakes training in something she was proficient at would be a cute change of pace in comparison to dealing with the flying jesters of thespian death. Kopaka however, as per usual, was hesitant to accept. He expressed his doubts, understandably concerned about his time that could be spent combating the forces of the Unmade.

“What kind of favors do you speak of, Lady Yvraine?” The Toa politely requested, glancing briefly at the exit of the room as the remaining nobility that was cordially invited to the gala left, presumably back to their homes. The room seemed to glow a dim gold through the elvish lamps and light fixtures, warmly embracing the negotiator and the two knights.

“Name your price,” Yvraine replied rather quickly, nodding her head in a gesture suggesting that whatever they’d ask, she’d at the very least attempt to meet the demands. Morene immediately recognized an opportunity here to gain more reputation with the faction. Still, as far as Kopaka was concerned, that deed was already done.

Morene raised her hand to grant her attention. “I presume the training in question is combat training, ma’am?” She turned her head to address the Eldar, to which Yvraine nodded her head in response.

“Yes. The person I’m referring you to is close to me, one I intend to inherit my position later on in life. I’d train her myself, but the return of Chaos and the looming threat of Darkseid’s forces put a strain on my schedule,” the Aeldari woman looks down, for but a brief moment, as if shamed by this rather sudden decision. Though she’d never show it, there was a hint of desperation in this action, asking for help from the knochten and Toa in particular. Forces were stretched thin, but Yvraine seemed to trust these two after the Nausicaa incident and their recent job defending sir Prétot from corrupt agents within the state. It flattered Morene, at the very least. Still, Kopaka wasn’t entirely convinced.

After all, there’s no way Yvraine couldn’t find an equally skilled warrior and teacher for this individual who still hasn’t been named. That wasn’t entirely it; Kopaka knew she wasn’t telling the whole truth. No, the Eldar saw something very particular in the both of them for this sort of job. She was still working off of a hunch, though. Kopaka decided to lay his offer.

“We don’t need any favors personally, ma’am,” the Toa began, “but more standing with the Spirits would be apt.”

Morene raised an eyebrow at this; he seemed to be speaking for her in this instance. Kopaka didn’t entirely think this was worth it for the both of them. Yvraine opened her mouth to speak, but Morene interjected for a single moment.

“Perhaps a bit of coin as well, yes? I have to actually feed myself,” Morene shrugged, the faintest of smiles on her face as she looked at the Aeldari noble.

Lady Yvraine nodded. “Of course,” she replied to both of them in unison. A silence fell over the room, Yvraine expecting questions to follow. Morene did too, but Kopaka just stood there. This time, the Eldar did not let herself be interrupted.

“Is this all that you two wish to inquire about this task? I appreciate your apparent trust in me, but,” she turned to Kopaka, “at least one of you seems uncertain,” Yvraine enunciated clearly. She stared at the Toa, eyes as cold as him. It was nothing personal, and Kopaka definitely understood that. Still, Morene felt the need to cut the ice.

“I think we’ll both take you up on this job, yes, Kopaka?” She turned to him, continuing her offer, “I’m sure if you had an issue with this task, you wouldn’t mind me simply doing this myself, no?”

He nodded. “Correct. I apologize, but if I seem hesitant, it’s that I don’t believe myself to be the greatest coach.” Morene immediately raised her finger at this.
“I am, so I’m told!” She almost bowed at this, seeming quite proud, comically so. Yvraine didn’t find it amusing, but she was relieved to hear at least one of them was better equipped to take a job like this. Kopaka continued, explaining himself.

“Still,” his voice pushed out, determined, “I will take this opportunity for the sake of my faction.”

“Good,” Yvraine replied, nodding her head in unanimous agreement. She took a step forward. “Would you like to meet this young lady tonight, or do you two have further plans after leaving the gala? I suggest so, I believe it’d be in both of your best interests.”

The two knights looked at each other, a very resounding ‘nope’ signaled from the gesture. If one of them tried to lie about suddenly having plans, Yvraine most definitely would have caught it. Still, both knochten and Toa knew there was no point in dawdling.

No words were spoken between the two warriors, now appointed by the highest nobility of the Aeldari present in the Crossroads. A rather sudden development, one of which neither of them truly had the weight of its importance compartmentalized. Ever since they got to this party of sorts, they were always the odd ones out, people commenting left and right how particularly honorable it is to be invited personally by Lady Yvraine, especially on such a short notice. She stepped forward, past the two knights she promised renown to. Yvraine didn’t bother to look back as she spoke again. “Come.”

Again, Morene and Kopaka shared a glance at each other. It was comforting in a way, to feel completely and utterly dragged along on something you have mild interest in and barely any information to inquire about, but to at the very least not be alone in it. They followed, stepping out into the hallways, wraithbone surrounding their every flank, alien architecture blending into the furnishings of the rooms, now slightly clearer of people. Mostly Eldar, found themselves out now that Yvraine had made her speech, their new purpose to once again combat the forces of Chaos revealing itself again.

As they walked, both Spirits pondered the identity of this mysterious young lady that Yvraine deemed important enough to need personal coaching. Both knights were especially caught up on this ‘young’ part as well; how young was Yvraine talking? Morene knew good and well that training a young adult was far different than somebody more mature, and she desperately hoped that she wasn’t going to have to start hitting teenagers. As for Kopaka, the immediate assumption for most people is that he probably hated being around kids, but in truth, he never minded them. Still, teaching them anything about anything was way out of his pay grade, at least up until now.

Eventually, the Eldar and her new hires approached a rather mundane looking room deep within the winding maze of this extravagant building currently undergoing the last dying light of a party involving a bunch of posh Aeldari nobles. This seemed to be the only part of the building one could reasonably sleep in during a time like this, the conversations winding down to a faint whisper; through a door, you’d have to truly listen in to be disturbed by the noise. It was a private quarters, obviously, and much more familiar in structure to things Morene and Kopaka had seen before. A guest room for ‘outsiders,’ perhaps?

“Here,” Yvraine reached for the door. Noticeably, her strange cat wasn’t with her all this time as they walked, as if there wasn’t a need to bring them along; it was as if they were trying to be deliberately careful as to not disturb a child in their sleep. The Eldar noble asked one final question. “Do you two wish to meet her yourselves? I’d accompany, but I have matters to attend to.”

Yes, the ever-so-elusive errands that rich powerful people seem to always have so many of. Morene believed it in Yvraine’ case. She turned to Kopaka for his input, and none was given, expecting the knochten to take charge in this rather peculiar situation.

“Sure, ma’am, you can be off on your way. I don’t have anything really planned, but…” Morene paused, mulling over her options, “I do have a vague idea in mind for something to start off with. Gotta meet her first, though.”

Yvraine nodded, and then walked away, back from where she came. In truth, Morene, beyond going to a nearby gymnasium and hoping to find sparring equipment, didn't have too much of a plan. After all, coaches required lessons, training regimens, schedules, which she didn’t have to worry about until what felt like fifteen minutes ago. As the great Lady Yvraine walked away and out of their line of sight, Morene bit her lip and began opening the door. Tensions were high given the ambiguousness of everything explained to her up until this point, but as she opened the door, Morene and Kopaka realized they didn’t have anything to worry about.

A room revealed itself, and its exterior didn’t lie to them about it being a familiar looking bedroom. Eldar have many of the same needs as humans and similar species, so functions of their architecture were similar, but their forms and aesthetics seemed the opposite. This room, however, was furnished top to bottom with wooden chairs, the occasional maroon cushions adding depth, gentle gold trimmings detailing things like mirrors, chairs and the rather large bed that was readily made before them. It was like the inside of a cabin. On the bed sat the Aeldari lady the two knights were referred to.

The first thing Morene saw on her were her boots, casual and form fitting, tightened up to just below the knees. A light blue shawl covered most of her body, as if she was huddling herself up in a blanket as she sat on the king-size mattress, feet dangling off the sides anxiously. Resting upon her hip and laying on the bed was what looked to be a sword, sheathed in a rather intricate scabbard. A saber, most definitely; it was sleek, thin, and had a sizable curve. Morene practically couldn’t help herself but stare at the sword, noticing how it wasn’t as ornate as it was augmented, for lack of a better word. Mentally shaking her head, Morene went back to look at the girl’s face instead of giving her weapon an unreasonable amount of attention. The Eldar girl had short, curly sandy blonde hair, and a face on her that gave the truest expression of ‘good God, I really don’t want to be here.’

A gentle creaking noise filled the otherwise quiet room as both girls locked eyes, first impressions bolting around in each other's heads like gunfire. Pushing aside biases, seeing who wants to say the first word. It felt like a foster child being introduced to their new parents. As weird of a thought that is to have, Morene found it somewhat apt given that this person was now basically under her care for the next… Wait, Morene thought to herself, I forgot to ask specifically how long this was going to be for. Damn.

As Kopaka entered the room alongside Morene, she could absolutely see the split second wide-eyed response to the both of them, especially Kopaka. Biting her lip in anticipation, Morene could see the girl try her heart out to keep an open mind. It was amusing, but realizing nobody else would speak up, the knochten decided to introduce herself first.

“Hi there,” she muttered, softly as she could. The girl replied, instinctively; society was truly working the cogs of social norms here.

“Hi,” she raised a single hand to wave.

Morene took a couple of steps forward, confidently. She lowered herself slightly. “What’s your name, miss?”

“Yria. Idrith,” she answered, briefly looking down for a moment, still vaguely uncomfortable. Her last name was delayed, obviously feeling obligated to speak it. Morene nodded back.

“So,” she drew out, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, “you wanna learn how to protect yourself out there?”

Yria nodded, once. Her eyes seemed like they had bags under them; her face looked like she was about to take a state mandated test at school. Complete despondency. Not bored per se, but Morene could practically peer into her soul and pull out a guaranteed random assortment of personal issues that this Yria girl was probably bottling up. Probably; it was rude to assume things about people. Looking behind, Morene glanced at Kopaka, and she knew for some reason that he had the same assessment of her.

“Alright, well,” Morene huffed, winging her plan into action, “my name is Morene Fellon, and this is my associate, Kopaka. Not sure how long we’re gonna do this, but if you’re going to learn the art of combat from anybody…”

The knochten looked at her comrade, cracking a smile. He nodded, trusting her judgment as to how to start this off. She finished, “...then we’re probably the best ones on this side of the Crossroads to teach you. Do you know maybe if there’s a gymnasium around here, by chance? An empty one, preferably? I don’t want to keep you too long tonight, I just want to see what you can do.”

Yria’s mouth was open slightly, compartmentalizing her new coaches’ names. It took her a second to register the question considering Morene took charge as hard as she did. Taking a moment to map out the locale in her head, the Eldar girl thought of something that might work as an answer.

“Okay,” she mulled, “I can show you a place, I think.” The uncertainty in her voice was palpable, enough to make the Toa tilt his head in doubt again. Morene quickly nodded, looking at the setting sun outside before agreeing.

“Sure, Yria, do you mind showing us? How far is it?”

“Not far,” the Aeldari answered, quickly, slightly more confident in her answer. Slowly, uncertainly, she slid off of the bed and on her feet, her light blue cloak dropping down to her knees and covering most of her body. Even though she was leading the two of them, Yria still waited for both of them to start moving before getting in front of the two knights.

Gesturing out the door, Yria made herself out, then followed Morene, then lastly Kopaka. As they left the Elder Gala, the trio noticed pretty much all of the partygoers taking their leave, which was sensible considering how late in the night it was getting. There was still light outside thankfully, enough that nothing could really pop out and ambush them in some sneak attack attempt. Admittedly paranoid, Morene noted mentally, but reasonable given their recent antics. The walk to this gymnasium was quiet, slightly awkward. Nearly every time Morene tried to strike conversation, responses from both Kopaka and Yria were brief, and dull.

---

As they arrived at their training grounds, the knochten briefly caught a glimpse at what the place called itself. ‘Steel Fitness;’ quite possibly the most local-gym sounding name for a local gym in existence. It definitely fit the bill too, signs posted for slightly overpriced memberships, decent gear to train with, and at the very least, a cleared out court for some ambiguous ball-game outside that the two knights couldn’t possibly theorize the rules to playing outside, presumably for free use. The asphalt beneath Morene’s boots felt soft under the weight of her body, unassisted by her cerantium plate armor. These kinds of courts, at this time of night, dimly lit by nearby lamp posts, were in her humble opinion, the objectively best place to learn greatsword drills.

Nostalgia aside, both Morene and Kopaka knew they weren’t here for that. At least, not yet. On that note, Morene took charge immediately as Yria eventually showed the both of them a backroom with loaner equipment, realization dawning on the Toa and knochten that this Aeldari probably used this gym quite often, enough to get a key to gain access to these sorts of gated-off areas. As if a divine calling, Morene could make out fencing gear in a dark corner of the room, blunt trainer swords of various shapes and sizes hanging on the wall. The huntress had a feeling Yria was responsible for that somehow, getting that vibe from the Aeldari.

Regardless, Morene began her first evaluation of the girl’s skills with light sparring, only gloves, just to see how she moved. This session was brief, and it was stiff. The huntress took initiative at first, letting her new student know that this was seriously happening. Yria, on the other hand, was very much used to training by herself. Nerves struck her instantly, even as Morene Fellon held back with her pulled back strikes, simple jabs to gauge distance making the Eldar girl reel backwards. Still, the Aeldari girl didn’t falter or trip; there was promise in her footwork, just not a fire enough in her soul to take risks. In these brief interactions, the short words of encouragement spoken by Morene would stick in her mind for the coming months.

“Go. Don’t be scared. You can take me down.”

Kopaka, in his many years of combat experience, also noticed the nuance in the way Yria moved. He didn’t like to mull over and analyze these things, knowing full well how different his biomechanics are in comparison to other humanoids on the Crossroads, but he knew full and well what the path of learning to swing a blade with perfect edge alignment was like, committing to learning correctly rather than easily. It’s hard, discouraging, and slow. Still, anybody that’s actually good would tell you that there’s a moment that you don’t notice where everything just clicks.

Eventually, Kopaka had his turn with the sparring, using a spongier set of gloves so as to not harm the Eldar girl with his biomech hands. He figured a tougher approach to try and see where he stood with this teaching thing would be a good place to start. This was the first time Yria was actually toppled onto the floor, Kopaka practically locking the girl’s arm in place as he goaded her to take a knee with an effortless counter into a grapple. It was extremely discouraging to her, and upon realization of this, the Toa’s words of encouragement prevented Yria from getting too frustrated.

“Rise. Do not lose morale. Your foundation is strong.”

Stars began to form above Erde Nona. As the night sky suffocated the sun, Morene figured she could call off the training session soon. Still, the knochten felt this wasn’t the most satisfactory note to end on, considering every bit of advice from both of the Spirits was met with a resounding “okay” from Yria, every time. They knew she was listening, but still very discouraged from getting practically put in the dirt by two people double the size of her. Leaning over, Morene eyed the saber that the Eldar girl let rest upon the nearby bleachers. As the Toa lessened the impact of his training, Morene had the idea of sneaking back into the equipment room inside of the gym. Kopaka noticed this.

When she returned, Morene was fitted in a thick fencing coat, barely fitting her massive body. Not matching her color at all either; the gambeson was a dark red, stitches wearing at the seams of the dense linen. Walking up to Yria, the knochten had two fencing helmets hoisted under her arm, two blunt sabers in one hand. On the other, was a similar jacket to hers, but much smaller with the distinct light blue of Yria’s shawl. It was easy to piece together the puzzle of the peculiar amount of historical fencing equipment upon seeing the hue of the coat. At that moment, Yria’s training-brain turned off, expecting to be judged for whatever reason. She listened as Morene spoke, looking up at her throwing a metaphorical, yet friendly gauntlet down.

“Wanna do a few bouts to wind down, hun?” Morene smiled. The Eldar gulped in response, hesitant to say yes despite her very soul screaming the need to swing the simulation of a nimble blade. Eventually, she replied.

“Okay,” Yria said, slightly more enthusiastically this time. Kopaka crossed his arms, nodding in seeming agreement.

Finally geared up, the girls fenced, light contact still. Though less familiar in saber treatises and techniques, Morene was still very obviously out-matching Yria. From an outsider’s perspective, it seemed like a repeat of the last situation with the hand-to-hand sparring. Both of the knights knew better, though.

Yria’s muscle memory to get in proper guards was immediately noticeable to them, especially Morene, who was actually approached with the first move on some bouts. Still overly defensive for the most part, there was a distinct flow to her actions, the wide swings of Yria’s training saber actually threatening the limbs of Morene’s padded body a few times. Morene was still two steps ahead however, consistently tapping the wrists of the poor Eldar girl every time she tried something proper.

Still, Morene was actually trying here. It was damn thrilling. Eventually, as Yria’s breathing audibly indicated her exhaustion, Morene attempted to sneak a hand-snipe between a very obvious riposte, lunging out after their blunt blades smashed against each other, sparks slamming against the asphalt below them. Yria finally caught up to Morene’s antics, stepping back and slashing Morene’s forearm while covering herself. Yria almost felt like it was an accident, too light of a contact to be counted, but immediately, Morene stepped back and patted her arm, indicating a clean hit. She took her mesh helmet off, nodding to Yria as she suddenly spoke.

“Good. Let’s call it there.”

 

[Kopaka]

Over the ensuing two months, Yria, Morene and Kopaka would meet regularly to move the young Eldar woman through various forms and fitness routines. The training became just as much an exercise of introspection as it was physical, at least for the Toa.

Morene had herself been trained through long experience and by a range of tutors growing up. She had studied under other Knochten, campaigned at the side of heroes, and of course, had stumbled through her own resume of misadventures.

Kopaka, on the other hand, had no memories or countenance for where he had learned his techniques. The shadow of mystery that he had chosen to leave aside - that of his forgotten past life - once again loomed at the threshold of his anxieties. On the other hand, the cold warrior found quiet satisfaction in watching Yria improve, and she improved quickly. When she arrived at their lessons, she was attentive and obedient to a fault. In fact, during a mock skirmish of ‘no yield’ combat, the Lady had still demanded a yield from him after positioning a killing blow. It was the rule, after all, to demand a yield from your opponent. The mere fact that the duel did not require a yield was not a de facto override of such standing policy.

Morene expressed some concern over this fact. After all, they could run Yria through drills endlessly and relentlessly until she was superior in form to both of her teachers…but that would still never truly prepare her for actual combat. On the other hand, Lady Yvraine’s close monitoring of the lessons had made the Ynnari matron’s intentions clear; Yria was never to be put in actual harm. No exploratory forays into the Hinterlands. No use of sharpened, edged weapons.

One day, during a sparring match, Kopaka tackled his iron shoulder into the girl’s face, and split her elven lip. They had called off the violence immediately, as the Toa went to go create an ice pack and Morene tended to the wound. The student and Morene sat in the slanted, late afternoon light, in the quietness of the gymnasium, with only their breathing to listen to.

“I pray your mother doesn’t rip her frock over this…” Morene grumbled as she dabbed at the girl’s bloody pout. Yria squinted slightly, and tried not to grin.

“Lady Yvraine is…ah…not my mother.” she slurred. Morene tilted her head, and turned the damp cloth over before blotting some more. Frankly, there was no reason Yria couldn’t do this her damn self, but something about her just compelled tenderness.

“No? She certainly shows the fussiness of one.” the knochten chortled. She breathed, and caught herself. Though they were doing all of this for the favor of Yvraine, she should not be too glib towards the noblewoman. Such bad habits tended to come around eventually.

“I would not know, Dame Morene. My parents were slaughtered in the coup. I was barely twenty at the time, barely enough time to know them.”

Morene stopped dabbing at the bloody lip and sat backward from Yria with sudden, involuntary revulsion. The knochten raised an eyebrow at the elf, and for the second time since their first meeting, it dawned on the mercenary that she was dealing with an alien. She opened her mouth, and caught the words before they escaped. Based on what she knew of Arcadia’s history, that would make this…stringy little fop almost fifty years old! Morene cleared her throat, and stood up.

“Ahem. Well, I ought check on what takes Kopaka so long. I’ll-” she started, but Yria tugged on her arm.

“Wait…Morene.” the girl’s small voice called. Morene looked down into her dewey, mammalian eyes and relented.

“You…you and Kopaka. You share a room, do you not?” Yria asked. Morene made an uncomfortable face.

“We do. It is efficient.”

“Is it not…scandalous? To share chambers with a…man?” Yria pressed. It was a strained whisper, and a blush was rising on her blanched face. Morene could not stifle this particular laugh.

“Hah! Ah…nay, ‘tis more alike to sharing a room with an icebox, but with less personality.” Morene said. She was humored by Yria’s prudish question, but it was certainly surprising. The knochten had always thought the Eldar to be fairly…bohemian in their ethics-especially in the matters of sex and pairing. Although…could it be that Yria was kept apart by Yvraine in both body and spirit? An orphan girl, kept in a box and protected with strangling, if loving, obsession.

“Yria…” Morene said, more softly. She took a seat on the bench next to the elf and placed a tutor’s hand on the girl’s shoulder. Morene pressed the bloodied kerchief into her hand, and Yria began dabbing at her mouth automatically.

“Yria, what are your…ambitions? You learn the Path of the Warrior, as Yvraine calls it. You certainly have the knack for swordplay, but…is this where your heart is?” Morene murmured. The elf returned her gaze, with a long, entreating stare. Yria seemed to be mustering the courage to say something, but at that moment, Kopaka trudged back into the sparring room with a small box of supplies.

“I have located ice packs, as well as pain killers, suture, disinfectant, and several other-” Kopaka droned, but Morene cut him off.

“Just the ice will do, thank you Toa.” Morene grumbled, snatching the plastic, frozen brick and wrapping it in a fresh towel. Yria took this graciously, even as she smiled at Kopaka, and spoke through the muffling cloth.

“Your…diligence is quite appreciated, Master Toa.” Yria said, bowing her head slightly. Morene watched as the blush continued to grow, and the girl…or rather, woman…shyly averted her eyes from Kopaka’s commanding observation. Could it be that Yria, of all things, was developing a crush on her frigid, robotic swordmaster? Surely a woman of her age should have better taste in men at this point- oh.

And then it dawned on Morene.

“Yria…have you told your friends about your lessons? I suppose they’re jealous of your skill.” the mercenary ventured. Yria shook her head.

“I do not keep close company with others, by Lady Yvraine’s command.” the Eldar hummed.

“So Kopaka and I…we have been closer to you than anyone in…thirty odd years?” Morene asked, now openly aghast.

Yria nodded solemnly. A very long silence settled into the gym, interrupted only by breathing and respective clicking of cybernetic machinery.

“I do not often encounter…someone more alone than myself.” Kopaka droned. Morene shot him a warning look, but only out of a sense of propriety. Kopaka ignored it; he had grown protective of his student, regardless of noble etiquette. A glittering tear rolled down Yria’s cheek, and he grew concerned that his attempt at empathy had landed poorly. By all objective standards, it had been rather brusque, but coming from the normally detached biomech, the significance had not gone unrecognized.

The injury to her body, and the blatant revelation of her heart’s pain ripped the Eldar woman open, and she began to shudder with soft, silent weeping.

“I-I am…I am a kept thing. Like a statue, chiseled and perfected. But…but I do not live, Mistress Morene. I do not breathe unless I am here with you, Master Kopaka. I…” Yria began to blubber.

Morene and Kopaka looked at eachother again, and silent understanding passed between them.

“We’ll just end the day early, Yria-”

“NO!” the Aeldari shrieked. There must have been some sort of latent Eldar psychic force behind the scream, because both Morene and Kopaka reeled backwards as Yria rose to her feet.

“I will not…I will NOT go home to that BITCH.” Yria shouted again. The scream caused the room to rumble and the lights to flicker. Morene held her hands up, and chose her next, plaintive words very carefully.

“Yria…we are sworn both to you and to Lady Yvraine. I understand your pain, I…feel it tenderly. But let us resolve the path forward with calmer minds.” Morene pleaded. Yria shook her head the entire time.

“Yria. Control. The most basic Form to master. You know this.” Kopaka chided. Yria shot him a confused, conflicted glare.

“I can’t…I have seen the city beyond my room. I have read, and listened! You would cage me again! No!” Yria barked. Morene watched as the Aeldari flung her hand towards a nearby saber, and the weapon went sailing into her hand.

“I am…leaving. Through that door. Stop me if you must, but I will fight-” she continued to seethe. Her words were choked silent as a ripple of icy power crackled up her body. Morene gawked in horror at Kopaka, as the Toa entombed the elf in a nearly-complete pillar of ice. There Yria stood, rooted, with her sword held in perfect form. Her head had been left uncovered, and thus, the maddened woman could still sputter out broken words.

“Y…you…that…wasn’t swordplay…you…” she choked.

“No. It was combat.” Kopaka hummed. He stared back at Morene with his eternal, inscrutable scowl.

“I will contact Lady Yvraine. Try to soothe the student. You are more skilled in this.” the Toa said flatly, before turning on his heel and walking towards the gymnasium exit.

“Master Toa, p-please! I…I feel for you! I…I…” she shouted, and then silently sobbed as Kopaka marched outside without a look behind him.

Outside, Kopaka took in a deep breath and stared at the communications orb in his palm. He didn’t have a direct line to Lady Yvraine, per se, but he was certain that if he called the Aeldari Consulate, there would be Ynnari here to reclaim Yria in mere minutes.

And then what? Would the lessons continue in such a fashion if they inspired such rebellion in the young woman? Kopaka doubted it.

Perhaps it was for the best, however. It was not his place to doubt the machinations or intentions of Yvraine’s court.

Still…Yria was a spirited fighter, and her skill was growing quickly. He yearned to let her wild spirit run free into the world of Erde Nona, and the Crossroads as a whole…but then what?

Then what?

His hand hovered over the orb.

Inside of the gymnasium, Morene was trying to soothe a frigid, apoplectic, and hopelessly sheltered child of fifty years’ age. Yria could barely hear the knochten over her own chattering teeth as she mumbled in broken strings of Eldar cursing.

“Yria, please. We will figure something out. I swear to you, I shall not abide this…abuse any longer. You must breathe, though, you must…” Morene pleaded. It was no use. The long suffering child inside Yria had finally broken out into the open, and could not be forced back into the bottle.

The ice pillar shattered in a spray of prismatic, tinkling shards. Kopaka walked back into the gym as Morene caught and held the now limp form of Yria in her heavy arms.

“Kopaka, you…!” Morene began to shout at him, but he shook his head solemnly.

“I am sorry. My reaction was…emotional. Yria. We will take you home.” Kopaka said firmly. This seemed to revive the stricken Aeldari into another fit of denial.

“No! Please, I-!”

“But we will not force you back into the hands of Lady Yvraine. The loyalty of the Spirits of Vengeance is not to noblewomen, but to the cause of justice.” Kopaka continued. He looked at Morene, who returned an equally fierce stare.

“...the cause of compassion.” she finished.

“This, however, will be a fight for you. Turning you loose into the world would be harmful as ignoring your suffering under Yvraine’s suffocating care. You must plead your own case to her, make your own voice heard.” The Toa commanded. Yria looked at both of them, and down at the sword next to her feet.

“I…I can’t. No Eldar can stand against Yvraine.” Yria whimpered, turning her face into Morene’s chest.

“Oh…I wouldn’t be too sure about that~” came a new voice. Kopaka, Morene and Yria were all cut off from the gravity of the moment as the Harlequin Lieth-Shaec dripped into the room from a shadowy utility closet.

“Some of us Aeldari make a point of thumbing our noses to such…oppressive scripts.” the Solitaire giggled. As much as Morene wanted to tell the chuckling clown to kindly shut their damn honker for once, their help certainly would be a boon in their imminent audience with the Lady. Morene and Kopaka turned to look at Yria again, who had wearily taken a seat on the floor, and was thumbing the edge of her practice sword with false fixation.

“There, you see? Yvraine is not a monolith. Whatever fate she intends for you, surely having you in…this state will not be helpful.” the knochten said with a consoling smile.

“Nor will you be alone.” Kopaka droned.

Yria finally broke her sword-trance and looked up at her two teachers.

“Aye. If you are there. I think then…maybe. I will speak my mind to the Lady.”

 

[Kopaka]

Events happened in quick succession once Yria had collected herself and cleaned up. A secure taxi reserved for customers of nobility - one of the many elite services native to Arcadia - hummed to a quiet halt outside of the gym. Morene, Kopaka, and the two Eldar piled into the plush seating in relative silence. As it took off into the sky, the Toa looked his student up and down. She was shaking, though not from her recent freezing. The noblewoman kept her gaze fixed on the passing cityscape. Ripples of neon color washed over her consternated expression as they passed entertainment districts and lavish hotels.

Yvraine's abode, and Yria's erstwhile prison, was not actually in the aeldari botanical gardens, but in the royal district centered around Castle Arcadia. It was notable for being walled off by impressive granite battlements – not so much for tactical defense but a social statement: riff raff was unwelcome.

Kopaka did not approve of the division between nobility and the people of the city. His memories of his native universe were vague, but he intuitively knew that while certain elders could be venerated, they were not kept exclusive from their ministry. Here, the duality between Lords and Vassals glared at him everywhere he looked – even in his subordinate relationship to General Althaus. Such divisions were, it seemed, endemic to the Crossroads.

Kopaka breathed softly in the quiet of the plush cab, and allowed himself to relax. Lieth-Shaec was murmuring some Harlequin ballad, but the Solitaire's ballad somehow accentuated the liminal silence rather than fill it. The toa mused that the clown doubtlessly had some Eldar play or tragedy in mind that the current situation mirrored. Lieth-Shaec had once told Kopaka that "life imitates art". The biomech felt that he was beginning to understand the wisdom there.

Yvraine's estate was just as much a basilica dedicated to her graven god as it was an ornate royal house. Spires made from psychoactive wraithbone pierced into the gloom of dusk, and each corner was festooned with wicked spines and blades. The taxi pulled into the round carriage circle in front of the main gate, which was lit by free-floating orbs of turquoise radiance. Morene personally found the whole place to be rather ghoulish, but her beknighted manners held her tongue.

The quartet exited the vehicle as quietly as they had boarded, and stood staring at the gate. Yria instinctively shrank to the rear of their formation, but Morene gently pushed her to the front.

"Hold fast, my lady. Your battle begins now." Morene clucked. Yria laughed nervously, and fretted with her blouse.

"I wish I had my sword, hah." she laughed to herself. No one else chuckled. After another moment of hesitation, she swallowed her nerves and began marching towards the gate. Kopaka idly glanced back to notice that Lieth-Shaec had vanished once again. Evidently the stage was theirs.

The doors, flanked by solemn, faceless golems of some kind, swung inwards without a sound as they approached. The interior was moody, but well appointed with wooden furniture fashioned from living trees and vines. A robed eldar soon entered the foyer, with his hair pulled up into a crenelated topknot.

"Good evening to you, my Lady Yria." he said with a bow. His cool, sylvan gaze flickered to her two sword masters, appraising them.

"Ah, did you intend to let your teachers stay for supper, perhaps? I can let the cook know their preferences…" he trailed off, as if he already knew Yria's answer.

"No, Baatel, thank you. I must have business with Lady Yvraine. With all haste, I am afraid." Yria said flatly.

Baatel returned her flat look, and shifted vaguely. He queried her in the Eldar language, with an air of sharpness that caught Morene off guard. It was not a tone that a manservant should normally take with his betters.

Yria responded in kind, and with a psychic note of punctuation that rippled across Kopaka and Morene's brow. Baatel took a step back, genuine shock on his face, and hesitated for a moment.

Yria repeated her apparent command. Baatel straightened up, turned, and motioned for them to follow.

"We do not normally allow…guests to enter Lady Yvraine's inner sanctum. But. Since Lady Yria assures me that this a matter of life or death…" Baatel trailed off. If the eldar butler thought he was being subtle, Morene could have given him some pointers.

"We are sworn mentors to the Lady Yria, Master Baatel. Is she not a noble of this house? Do we not share the privilege of her auspice?" Morene chided. Baatel clicked his tongue, and did not respond. Yria looked over her shoulder with an apologetic look. Aeldari hospitality was skin deep, it seemed, and her two best friends were now being shown the shallow limits of the Ynnari's grace.

Regardless, they were soon shown to an interior audience chamber of some kind. More silent wraithbone golems, bedecked with Eldar runes stood at attention in the long hallway. Yvraine's large, green, lynx-like creature was lounging drowsily next to a flickering brazier lit with blue flame. It made Yvraine's cold features seem all the more grave as she regarded them from a skull-capped throne.

"Yria…" Yvraine said the name with a heavy note of bitterness and fatigue.

"You must really work harder on controlling your mental projections. I'm certain the damn gardeners could hear your fervor when you arrived."

Yria seemed more annoyed than anything…but she still bowed to the Lady. Kopaka and Morene followed suit.

"All the same, your Grace. I am here to request allowances to my residence within Ynnead's Hall." the lesser Lady said. Her voice was not quivering, per se, but Yria's trepidation was quite evident.

"Hmyes. Quite gratuitous allowances, I gather." Yvraine said with mild boredom. Yria paused for a moment, searching for an effective response. The high nobleman suddenly scoffed, as if hearing something amusing.

"That's no way to talk to your mother." Yvraine said in a gentle lilt. This, it seemed, was more than Yria could bear.

"You are NOT my mother, and my thoughts are NOT yours to read!" Yria shouted. Yvraine had no visible reaction to the outburst.

"I took you in as a WHELP, even after losing my own TRUE flesh and blood in the war, you ungrateful cur." Yvraine shot back, and then sighed in resignation. "Well. You are at that age, I suppose. Thinking yourself a grown eldar, but still so much to learn." Yvraine sighed. She stood at long last, gathering her train about her.

"Master Kopaka. Lady Fellon. Your tutelage to young Yria has been valuable, but, I release you now from my service. I shall contact General Althaus and inform them that-"

"I challenge you to a duel, Yvraine!"

All heads in the room swiveled to look at Yria, who stood red-faced but staunch. Yvraine held a look of surprise on her face for the first time that night, which swiftly twisted into a mask of sheer scorn.

"YRIA." Yvraine screeched. She began berating the younger Eldar in venomous, alien strains. Yria matched her in this duel at least, shouting over her matron at the same time. Morene got the impression that it was not their first contest of this nature.

"So be it!" Yvraine said, abruptly switching back to the vernacular. She held a hand out to her left, and one of the looming faceless golems handed her an oversized, swooping greatsword.

Yria seemed stunned. Kopaka nudged her, and handed her his frigid broadsword. The young eldar immediately fumbled with its awkward weighting, but seemed to find a comfortable grip after a moment.

The two began to circled towards the center of the long chamber, exchanging seething sentiments in their native tongue – a discussion of terms, it seemed. Morene idly noted that it was quite absurd that they would both be fighting in such long dresses, but, at least it would be an even handicap.

At length, they came into reach of each others' blades, and bound them together in a crossed, duet stance. Morene suddenly felt a surge of panic in her throat.

"...and what decides this duel? First blood? Knocked off-guard? Death?" the knochten fretted. Yvraine offered a polite, noble chuckle.

"Poor mon-keigh…did you forget already? Ynnead…is the God of Death!" Yvraine screeched. And with that, they fell into battle. Yria was immediately on the defensive, parrying large, sweeping jabs from the matron. Yria was not used to this level of aggression from an opponent; Morene and Kopaka could immediately tell that Yvraine hopelessly outmatched their pupil.

The heavy swords rang out like a symphony of gongs in the graven hall. Both the Ladies footwork was a bit slow and ponderous in their trains…but not without skill. Yria's lithe frame was able to wend its way through Yvraine's domineering sweeps with room to spare. For all her defensive acumen, however, the younger eldar simply had no room to retaliate.

Yvraine pressed an attack which, against an equally skilled opponent, would have left her quite exposed. Against Yria, however, the long, crushing thrust was easily enough to knock the junior Lady on her back.

Morene sucked in a breath, and Kopaka clenched a hand on his shield.

Yria rolled to the side, but rather than retrieve the Ice Sword from the ground, the young Lady stomped on the trail of Yvraine's dress and clamped her own frail hands over the matrons.

Yvraine swore something in Aeldari.

"This…this is not how a duel is conducted!" Yvraine grunted through bared teeth.

"That's because…this is COMBAT." Yria roared gleefully.

Morene flinched as she heard Kopaka chuckle, once, for the first time since knowing him.

The student put her own stringy weight behind Yvraine's hip and tried to wrestle the Lady down; a move that Morene had taught her just that day. In that moment though, Yvraine demonstrated why she was the matriach of the Ynnari people. The duchess bent over backwards in a contortionist handspring, and threaded her self around and over Yria’s body like some kind of skink lizard.

Having twisted away from her young charge, Yvraine wrenched herself upright in a flurry of billowing gown. Her eyes began to glow a fell green color, and she stretched a grasping hand towards Yria. The younger eldar gasped as she was lifted by invisible force and suspended ten feet off the ground, rigid and unmoving. With cool intention, Yvraine telekinetically called the greatsword back to her freehand, and poised it at the base of Yria’s navel.

“Combat, hm? You think you know battle, young one? Nothing could prepare you for the horrors I’ve-” Yvraine seethed, but caught herself. She glanced over at Kopaka and Morene, who were visibly poised to intercede. There suddenly came a light clapping from above the group. Yvraine looked up to see a fully dressed Harlequin Solitaire dangling in the rafters, applauding the gravitas of this drama. The leering mask of She Who Thirsts stared down at Yvraine with wicked amusement as the screenplay unfolded with perfect timing.

Morene may not have known Yvraine terribly well, but the knochten knew the look of a noble who had suddenly realized they were embarrassing themselves. The fact that the Lady had been coerced to use her full strength at all was a deeper injury than any blade could have cut.

Yvraine blew out a sharp breath, and all at once, Yria and the sword fell to the ground. Yria landed like a cat, and immediately surged for Yvraine, who casually sent the younger woman sprawling to the ground with a cracking backhand.

“Enough, Yria.” Yvraine said with pained boredom. “You have made your point. I’m not surprised the mon-keigh and her construct pressed you into a dualistic solution. Things can be more nuanced than Victory or Defeat.” Yvraine said, trotting back to her throne looking all the world like a harried mother. She pinched her nose briefly, and muttered something in the warbling eldar tongue.

“So be it. I cede the point, with the Spirts of Vengeance as Witness. You shall have your…freedoms increased, and your protection…withdrawn. I will not turn one of the Ynnari’s most crucial nobles loose on Erde Nona ad hoc, but…” Yvraine’s lips tightened as she tried to search for her next words.

“...it seems your training has provided unforeseen lessons in survival. Though your attainment of restraint may need strengthening…I see that your force of will has been honed as well.” Yvraine went on. She was clearly growing tired of this younger lady and her tantrums.

Yria, who had since regained her footing and was clutching her cheek, stood silently aghast at the matron before her. Kopaka and Morene were equally silent.

“You may go.” Yvraine snapped. Kopaka collected his sword, the three of them bowed again, and they departed the audience chamber in a humbled shuffle. Once the great hall doors had been closed, however, Yria squealed with unbridled glee. She hugged and clutched at her two masters in turn.

“We did it! Oh! To think of the scandal of it all, I can’t believe-”

“No, Yria. This was your doing, and yours alone. Your pride is warranted.” Kopaka said firmly. Morene nodded in assent, and grabbed her young pupil by the shoulders.

“This has been quite the day, my Lady. Consider it an ideal graduation, bar none.” Morene said, smiling softly. Yria’s radiant jubilation dampened all at once.

“...Yes I…suppose you’re no longer charged with tutoring me, hm?” Yria said solemnly. Morene nodded, and offered Yria a squeeze on the arm.

“Charged, no. But…well Kopaka and I are stationed on Erde Nona for a while yet. We wouldn’t say no to…private lessons?” Morene said, looking up at her frosty ally. Kopaka blinked his cool blue optics and nodded curtly.

“...of course! Hah! Of course, I have the freedom to seek the company and court as I please. I could…oh…I could go to the Saedath Theater without chaperone!” Yria said, clasping a hand over her mouth.

The emotional saturation in the room was, frankly, beginning to become a bit too intense for the Toa of Ice.

“Freedom is a valuable thing, and it comes with a high price. Be careful not to squander it, Yria.” Kopaka droned. Yria gave the biomech a somber nod, and gathered herself. She offered both of her tutors a graceful curtsy, and a slightly more restrained smile.

“I won’t. I have been…humbled today, in many many ways. One more lesson of many. Master Kopaka. Dame Fellon. It has been an honor.”

"The honor is ours, Lady Yria. We are glad to have the Ynnari and their noble Ladies in good graces with the Spirits of Vengeance." Morene said, returning a solemn bow.

For Kopaka, however, no number of niceties and parting words could quell the growing concern in his core. An alliance with the Ynnari Eldar was a powerful boon, yes, but a seemingly fickle one. General Althaus had sent their two knights to Erde Nona in search of stalwart contacts. With everything he had seen here, and the everything from the past few months, Kopaka was no longer certain they had made the right choice.

Still.

At least one of the Ynnari was indebted to them, if not an outright friend. That had to count for something in the increasingly complex landscape of Unmaking politics.

Only time would tell if the Arcadian Eldar could be bothered to muster genuine support when the need arose...