Free Path of the Warrior by Gav Thorpe Page B

does not destroy you, it could harm others.”
    Korlandril looked pleadingly at Maerthuin. His friend nodded silently, affirming what Elissanadrin had said.
    “This is part of you, part of every eldar,” said Arthuis. “It is not a judgement, not something that brings you shame.”
    “Why now?” moaned Korlandril. “Why has this happened now?”
    “You must learn to understand your fear and your anger before you can control them,” said Maerthuin. “Always they have been with you, but we hide them so well. Now you must bring them into the light and confront them. Your rage is growing in power over you. It is not something you can fight, for such desires fuel themselves. Nor can you expunge them from your spirit, no more than you can stop breathing. It is part of you and always will be. All you can do now is find the means by which you can contain it, turn its energy elsewhere.”
    “And keep it contained when it is not needed,” added Arthuis.
    Shuddering, Korlandril took a deep breath and looked at the faces around him. They showed concern, not fear. He was surrounded by bloody-handed murderers, who not more than a few cycles ago had slain and mutilated other creatures. Yet he was the one that was weighed down by his anger; he was the one who felt a bottomless hatred. How was it that they could indulge that dark part of their nature and yet stay sane?
    “I do not know what to do,” said Korlandril, slumping forwards with his head in his hands.
    “Yes you do, but you are afraid to admit it,” said Arthuis. Korlandril looked at his friend, not daring to speak. “You must come to terms with Khaine’s legacy.”
    “I cannot become a warrior,” said Korlandril. “I am an Artist. I create, I do not destroy.”
    “And that is good,” said Sellisarin. “It is the division of creation and destruction that you need, the split between peace and war, life and death. Look around you. Are we not peaceful now, we who have killed so many? The Path of the Warrior is the path of outer war and inner peace.”
    “The alternative is exile,” said Maerthuin. A sly smirk twisted his lips. “You could always follow Aradryan, flee from Alaitoc.”
    The thought appalled Korlandril. To abandon Alaitoc was to abandon all civilization. He needed stability and guidance, not unfettered freedom. His spirit could no more survive without the protection of Alaitoc than could his body. Another thought came to him. To leave the craftworld would mean parting from Thirianna—in shame, his last act towards her one of anger.
    “What must I do?” he asked quietly, resigning himself to his fate. He looked at the warriors. Each had chosen a specific aspect of the Bloody-Handed God to become: Dark Reaper, Howling Banshee, Shining Spear. How did one know which Aspect thrived within? “I do not know where to go.”
    It was Elissanadrin that spoke. She crouched in front of Korlandril and held his hand in hers.
    “What do you feel, at this moment?” she asked.
    “I just want to hide, to be away from all of this,” Korlandril replied, eyes closed. “I am scared of what I have become.”
    The Aspect Warriors exchanged glances and Elissanadrin nodded.
    “Then it is in hiding, in secrecy, in the shadows that you will find your way,” she said, pulling Korlandril to his feet. “Come with me.”
    Korlandril followed her mutely as the other eldar parted for them. He could feel their stares upon his back and cringed at their attention. So much had changed so quickly. A cycle ago he had craved the interest of others, now he could not bear their scrutiny.
    “Where are we going?” he asked Elissanadrin when they had passed out of the Crescent of the Dawning Ages.
    “In the darkness you will find strength. In the aspect of the Striking Scorpion you will turn fear from enemy to ally. We go to the place where I also learnt to hide: the Shrine of the Deadly Shadow.”
     
    Quiet but agitated, Korlandril allowed Elissanadrin to lead him to the