Free Path of the Warrior by Gav Thorpe

the Path of Service. A dampening field kept the conversation quiet, though there were thousands of voices raised in greeting and debate, departure and conciliation.
    One area was sparsely populated, the other eldar leaving an indistinct but noticeable gap between themselves and the patrons that sat at the long benches there. Here were the Aspect Warriors, shorn of their warpaint, together in quiet contemplation.
    Korlandril approached cautiously. Even after much meditation and calming mantras, he was still jittery from his recent experience. His nervousness was not helped by the stares of the other eldar as he crossed the pale blue floor, heading towards the Aspect Warriors.
    He stopped and poured himself a glass of dawn-water and leaned against the curving counter top as he scanned the assembled Aspect Warriors looking for his friends.
    A hand was raised in welcome and Korlandril recognised Arthuis. On his left sat Maerthuin. Around them were several other eldar that Korlandril did not know. They sat with thin platters on their laps, picking at finger food, their voices quiet. Space was made on the bench opposite his friends and Korlandril sat down, agitated by the presence of so many warriors.
    “Greetings of the new cycle to you,” said Maerthuin. “Are you not hungry?”
    “I’d skin and eat a narboar if I could,” said Arthuis. His plate was heaped with food and he broke off speaking to cram a handful of scented grains into his mouth.
    “This is Elissanadrin,” said Maerthuin, indicating the female eldar sat to his left. She was perhaps eighty or ninety passes old, almost twice Korlandril’s age. Her cheeks were prominent, angular, and her nose thin and pointed. When she turned and smiled at Korlandril, her movements were precise, every gesture clearly defined and a little abrupt. She paused as she sensed the identity of the newcomer.
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Korlandril the Sculptor,” Elissanadrin said. Her tone was as clipped as her motion.
    Korlandril opened a palm in greeting. Other introductions were made: Fiarithin, a male just out of puberty; Sellisarin, a tall, older eldar male; others whose names and features Korlandril stored away for future reference.
    “There is something different about you, Korlandril,” said Arthuis, placing his empty plate on a shelf underneath the bench. “I sense something aggrieves you.”
    “It is hard not to feel your agitation,” added Maerthuin. “Perhaps you are uncomfortable with your company.”
    Korlandril looked around at the Aspect Warriors. On the face of it, they appeared no different to any other eldar. Without their war-masks on, they were each individual. Some were obviously distressed, others animated, most thoughtful.
    “I do not wish to intrude,” said Korlandril. His eyes strayed to one of the warriors, an old female who sat weeping, comforted by her companions. “I know that recently there was a battle.”
    Arthuis followed Korlandril’s gaze and shook his head disconsolately.
    “Several of us were lost. We mourn their passing, but their spirits were saved,” said Elissanadrin. There were approving nods from others at the benches.
    “I shall compose a verse to commemorate their time with us,” said Arthuis.
    “I wept like a babe when I unmasked,” Maerthuin admitted with a lopsided smile. “I think I shall miss Neamoriun the most. He was a good friend and a gifted singer.”
    The name flickered with recognition and Korlandril remembered attending a concert in the Dome of Enchanting Echoes.
    “I saw him perform,” said Korlandril, wishing to add something to the conversation. “He sang the Lay of Ulthanesh.­
    “That was his favourite,” Arthuis chuckled. “It is no surprise that he joined the Fire Dragons, so full of energy and excitable of temperament.”
    “It was only last pass that I saw him, I did not realise he was a Fire Dragon,” said Korlandril.
    “One cannot fight all of the time,” said Maerthuin. This