Editing Fallen from Grace (section)

===Chapter One===

Wiping the sweat from his brow that had accumulated from a hard day’s work, Adeon stared at the heavens above the Pellietier plantation as he took his customary place under the apple tree. The light from the red giant was slowly dimming on this section of Sehella, allowing the faint twinkle of countless other stars to begin pulsing against the darkness of the void. As Adeon allowed his gaze and thoughts to wander, he begin envisioning shapes forming between the celestial objects above. Though his parents never cared to teach him anything more than what was required to run the plantation, the inquisitive mind that normally hid behind a simpleton-like drawl couldn’t help but wonder what mysteries the heavens contained. 

Losing all track of time, Adeon soon found his comfortable spot growing cold, and the plantation around him turning into a myriad of shadowy stalks that waived in the light breeze. Shaking his head, he stood, dusting himself off as he began to head back to the house. Taking one last look at the stars above, he couldn’t help but notice a single star in particular. Something about it seemed off, and, the longer he stared, he realized why: it was growing. Frozen in a mixture of terror and wonder, Adeon watched as the plummeting, unknown mass streaked overhead, disappearing on the horizon with a muffled thunder.  Shortly thereafter, he could feel a small rumble beneath his feet, which had the added effect of snapping him back to his senses. 

Running to the rustic shed to the left of the two-story house, Adeon quickly flung open the doors to gaze at the ATV inside. Though it was nothing special, merely a civilian-variant of the Tauros, it would get him to where he needed to go. With a quick swipe of his hand over the hook where the keys hung, followed by a swift slide over the hood of the ATV, Adeon found himself taking the wheel and rocketing out of the shed. Something had fallen onto his serene Agri-World, something alien and unknown, and he was determined to find out what it was…

Searing jolts of pain throughout her entire body was the first sensation that T’riss became aware of. Each breath threatened to send her back into the haze of unconsciousness, cementing the fact that whatever had happened to her was far worse than the normal sorts of injuries she was used to getting on Commorragh. Forcing herself to remain calm, as per her training that had begun shortly after birth, T’riss began testing her limbs, as if only to assure herself that they were still attached. Neither her arms, nor legs, could do naught but twitch, with any attempts to move her torso being met with cries of distress from her shattered bones and bruised organs. Steeling herself, she opened her eyes, wanting to see her slayer before her life was fully extinguished. 

Rather than a weapon held in front of her face, or a towering figure, T’riss came to stare at a wooden ceiling. The bare-bones architecture exposed the rafters, which cast shadows in the flickering light, given off by a lantern somewhere outside her field of vision. If it were possible to frown without wincing, she would have done so, resigning herself to a soft sigh instead. Wherever she was, it was safe, for the time being. Closing her eyes, she suddenly came to realize what the surface below her was: a bed. Though she had the covering of a blanket made of some crude material, she could feel that she was naked, save for what must have been wrappings and stints across her chest and ligaments. Whoever had gone to the trouble of caring for her was obviously an idiot, though, as the bindings were a hand’s width lower than they should have been. 

As T’riss found her frustration growing at her current state, her ears began working once more, bringing the soft sound of drizzle against a window into her realm of awareness. Something about it was oddly soothing, and soon the silver-haired Kabalite found her mind drift away from the anguish of defeat. Regardless of her “caretaker’s” incompetence, they had at least managed to keep her alive, for which T’riss was grateful. Though, in her experience, half-born like her were only kept alive to be used as slaves, or worse. Why, then, was she here resting on a bed, rather than hanging in the hold of a ship? Try as she might, the memories of the past few days eluded her, adding to her underlying anger at being useless. Though, any proper warrior knew which battles to fight, and the one currently waged by her mind against the pull of slumber was one she could not afford. 

A sharp thud and reverberation through the bed woke T’riss, which ensued by a muttered curse and clattering of tools against the floor. Her first thought was of the sheer embarrassment of being tortured by a clumsy fool, though that quickly faded as a strange language drifted into her ears: Low Gothic, the language used by the Mon-Keighs. No Eldar, dark or otherwise, would stain their tongue with the filth when among their own kind, but this brought a whole new slew of concerns to the front of her mind. Why would a mon-keigh, a human, be caring for her? Had she been captured so as to be a source of information on her people? A sacrifice to their corpse emperor? A play-thing? None of these brought comfort, least of all the later. But, much as she wished she could do otherwise, there was naught T’riss could do but listen, and wait.

Adeon found himself cursing as his big toe slammed into the bedpost, causing the medical kit to go sailing out of his hands and splaying its’ contents over the floor. Though this had been his original room, before he took over the plantation proper, he still somehow managed to be just as clumsy around it back then. As the pain subsided, Adeon began muttering to himself, “S’good thing she’s not awake. Reckon I might look a right fool right now.” After reassembling the kit’s contents into their proper container, he came to regard his patient proper. She was an odd one, but, then again, most women falling from the stars would be. His upbringing hadn’t been the most pious, but Adeon couldn’t help but wonder if this being was one of those saints his father had talked about. She was certainly striking enough to be an angel, but something about those pointed ears and angled features didn’t seem quite right to him. Regardless, she was his charge for the time being, and her bandages needed replacing.

Much to her dismay, T’riss found her covering removed, followed by the sensation of firm hands removing the bandages around her chest. This was it, she thought, the disgusting mon-keigh was going to violate her, much like they always did to those women they captured in the stories told by her parents. She wanted to cry out, offer some resistance, but the pain of her injuries only allowed her to emit a sharp gasp as the last of the bandages was removed. “Hrm… that rib a’int healin’ proper-like, wonder if I should take her to see a real doc,” the sub-eldar spoke, causing T’riss to momentarily feel a twang of frustration. “Of course it’s not healing right, you idiot, I’m not a mon-keigh. You need to set it higher,” is what she wanted to say, but couldn’t, due to a mixture of fear and pain. The human sighed, and began dabbing something wet against her side, each application of the light pressure sending a twinge of sensation up her spine. Once the wound was “clean,” new bandages were carefully wrapped around her, before the process was repeated on her arms and legs. All the while, she could do nothing but lay there, faking unconsciousness, hoping that this embarrassment would end quickly. 

It took the better part of an hour to re-dress most of her wounds, by which time the rain had ceased falling. After setting the medical kit aside, Adeon strode over to the window and threw it open, bringing in a myriad of scents on the breeze. Rather than leave his charge without company, he decided to remain and keep a small vigil, in case she regained consciousness. After all, he knew how frightened he’d be to wake up in some stranger’s home, and it just wouldn’t be very gentlemanly to leave a gal like her to fret alone. Thus, he removed himself from the room for a moment, returning shortly with a chair and book from downstairs. Angling himself so as to face out the window, Adeon leaned back and began his sojourn. 

T’riss debated with herself whether to chance opening her eyes, knowing that the moment the human noticed, she’d more than likely be brought to his superiors and tortured.  That was what she had been told from her first breath, that these apes were savage, incapable of decency. Such was why her kin raided their supply shipments and worlds so often – why allow such a blight on the universe to continue unabated? She knew what she had to do, and could feel enough strength in her arms to know that it would be enough for the task ahead. All that was left was to catch her captor unawares, which, judging by the sudden snoring that permeated the room, would be easy. 

Snapping her eyes open, gritting her teeth for the onrush of pain, T’riss turned her head about the room, coming to face Adeon in his chair. Pushing herself up slowly, she gauged the distance between the bed and her opponent. Yes, she could make it, though only if her legs cooperated. Unfortunately, both were bound in splints, leaving the only option to swing them out, hoping the momentum would allow her to rock upright. Sitting up was strain enough, she would only get one shot at this. 

Adeon’s dreams of grox grazing were interrupted by the sensation of being hauled upright and leaned out of the window. Adrenaline already coursing through his veins in response, he came to, ready to fight off his attacker. But, as his eyes ceased to water and his vision blur, he realized that his assailant was none other than the woman. Yet, something was wrong, more so than the fact he was hanging-half out the window, the only thing keeping him from falling being her grasp on his shirt. Her eyes seemed to pool with liquid as the rest of her frame began to tremble. His first thought was that she had hurt herself in the exertion, but suddenly he found himself flung onto the floor, the woman dropping to the ground, weeping.

“Why?! WHY CAN’T YOU KILL HIM?” T’riss screamed at herself, as the tears cascaded down her cheeks, her face hidden behind her silvery locks. When she had grabbed Adeon, memories had come cascading down on her, overwhelming what little mental strength she had remaining. The first was of her teenage years: She was 18, leaving the slaving pens of her family on Commorragh, after her first “feeding.” She had been prepared for that moment for many a year, for it would be the means by which she would keep her eternal youth. Nothing had gone wrong, not on the surface, at least: she picked a slave that had seemed fitting, and proceeded to drink his soul after performing a myriad of techniques to make it ripe with terror. The problem was that terror now seemed to permeate her veins, leaving T’riss shivering in fear. 

The images whirled, and then she was with her Kabal, receiving instructions from the Sybarite who was gracious enough to take her under his wing. Yet, she had no respect for this man, a lesson which the Sybarite chose to teach by hauling her up by her neck, choking the life out of her. As he went on and on about the values of loyalty and devotion to him, T’riss couldn’t help but recall the very first soul she had ever tasted, that same terror returning and leaving her powerless. Just as she had consigned herself to death, the hand which had been around her throat was removed, leaving her gasping for air as her “comrades” had a laugh at her expense. 

Adeon stayed where he landed, trying his best to think of something to say. Try as he might, nothing came to mind, leaving him staring rather dumbly in silence at the being before him.  A small part of his mind offered a suggestion, “Her problems ain’t yours. She just tried to kill you! Should be getting’ rid of her post haste like.” Yet, Adeon couldn’t bring himself to throw a defenseless gal like her out into the fields alone, with not another soul for hundreds of kilometers. So there he sat, waiting for T’riss to make the next move.

…the hatch blasted open, screams of terror and anger from the Mon’Keighs inside reaching her team’s ears. These were followed shortly by laser bursts from pathetic weaponry that did not even graze their armor, which allowed them to proceed unhindered. For a passenger ship, they were rather well armed, but maybe they were just getting smart about it. This thought amused T’riss for a moment, before she tossed it aside and proceeded before her kin. The job was simple: locate a human girl, then ransom her off to her noble-blooded father for supplies. They had done this before to great success, though it was T’riss first time being on point. After dispatching the humans in the green armor, tossing their flayed corpses aside like napkins, they had combed the ship, searching for the target.  

T’riss was the first to find her, cowering behind tanks of coolant in the engine room. After coddling the ape out into the open, she quickly bound it and began dragging it towards the designated meeting spot. As they passed by the airlocks to the escape pods, T’riss’ prisoner began writhing against her bonds, eyes frantically darting about in a desperate attempt to escape. After staring at the target’s eyes, the terror within them caused something in T’riss to break, and she found herself letting go of the lead to her subject, who promptly dove into the nearest pod and departed. Standing dumbfounded by her own actions, T’riss turned to find herself face to face with her Sybarite, who had witnessed the entire affair.

What followed was a haze of pain, blurred motions, and the sound of explosions. The memories finally stopped, and T’riss was able to regain a semblance of self. Weak. She was weak. She allowed “morals” and “compassion” to stay her hand, and now she was worse than an outcast. For all intents and purposes, she would be assumed dead, but the shame of her acts would follow her to the grave, even if it was a shallow one. Wiping her face of the accumulated tears, she became aware of an outstretched hand – the human’s, “S’alright now. I ain’t mad. Let’s get ya back up into bed.” T’riss turned, eyeing his face for any signs of deception, finding none. It was then that her body decided to revolt against consciousness, sending her reeling into the darkness of a pain-induced slumber. Her last act, before giving into the void, was to reach out her hand, weakly.  

T’riss found herself staring out of the window, the curtains blowing ever so slightly in the cool breeze. It had been two weeks since her…death. In the time since, she had only spoken enough to communicate how to properly bind her injuries, much to the dismay of her caretaker. But what he felt hardly concerned T’riss, given that she hardly understood herself. By the end of the first week, she had healed enough to no longer need Adeon’s assistance in changing the bandages and visiting the restroom, and he quickly gave her the space she seemed to silently cry out for. Occasionally, he would stop in to bring her food, or shout up to her window from outside. For the most part, however, T’riss was left alone, mentally tearing herself to pieces, the only betrayal of which was  a small frown on her face.

Luckily for Adeon, his guest’s arrival coincided with the end of the harvest season, heading into the colder months. This left him with very little to do to maintain the plantation, and just as well, given that he only had a few servitors to rely on, other than himself. That was how it was done though, ever since he lost his entire family ten years ago, thusly leaving him the sole inheritor of the generational estate. He managed, somehow, mostly through the sweat on his brow and the sun on his back. The one thing all the manual labor did for him was allow time to think, and Adeon did not waste a second of it. 

On the second weekend, Adeon went on a trip to the nearby outpost, some 250 kilometers away. There, he did his best to find out what little there was to know about the mysterious woman in his care. Much to be expected, only one other person had even noticed the escape pod coming down, and that was his neighbor, who assumed it was simply a meteorite. No ships had been in the area recently, leaving Adeon wondering how long T’riss might have been drifting through the void. He wasn’t exactly the most knowledgeable when it came to anything that wasn’t his plantation, but he knew enough to guess that it might have been weeks. No human he knew of could survive with those injuries for so long, and it didn’t seem wise to tell anyone else such. “Maybe she’s a right saint after all,” he thought to himself, “and if that’s the case, I’d be doin’ the Emperor a mighty disservice to let an angel frown like that.”
	 
Returning to the plantation, Adeon was slightly surprised to find T’riss hadn’t moved an inch. He had half-expected her to run away, given the look of guilt that she’d given him when he told her about his departure. That evening, rather than departing immediately after bringing her dinner, he remained with her, taking up the chair by the window with his book in hand. Opening it to somewhere in middle, he began telling T’riss a story, one of a man with two souls, each fighting for control of his body.

At first, T’riss barely registered the fact that the mon’keigh was reading to her, lost in another spiral argument with herself over how pathetic she was as she picked at the meal in front of her. Something about Mr. Nyde caught her interest, though, and she soon found herself listening with rapt attention as Adeon carried on. However, something bothered her, and she couldn’t figure out what it was until she noticed that the human hadn’t changed the page he was on for some time. In fact, as she stared closer, it might have been the same page he started on.  Yet, there he was, staring down at the page, reading off text that could not possibly be contained on those two pages. 

“H…How are you doing that?” she whispered, surprising herself just as much as she did Adeon, the latter of which nearly jumped out of his chair. Turning to face her with a smile, “Ah, ya mean readin’?” She nodded, staring into his eyes with an unwavering gaze. “To tell ya the honest truth, I can’t actually read. I just have a real good memory, and I sorta remember stories better when I hold their books.” This was met with silence, which began to stretch into awkwardness before T’riss put out her right hand, motioning for the book. Looking between her and the book, Adeon gingerly placed it on her palm, of which she slowly drew back to regard the title proper. It was then she again did something neither of them expected: she laughed.

“It’s Mr. HYDE, not Nyde. You really weren’t kidding, were you?” she giggled, for some reason finding it simply hysterical. At first, Adeon’s mouth opened to retort, but then he joined in with her laughter, “No ma’am, couldn’t even tell ya if it was even the right book till ya checked.” Rolling her eyes, she began leafing through the pages, trying to find where he had left off, “You also got Hyde and Jekyll reversed, maybe your memory’s not that great after all.” This actually did produce a frown from Adeon this time, and something about it made T’riss’ stomach fill with dread. Sighing, she quickly closed the book and motioned to give it back, “Sorry.” “S’alright, suppose you being a saint and all, I must look mighty dumb to you.” 

This gave her a moment’s pause – a saint? He thought she was some part of their misguided corpse god’s court? Well, if that’s what was keeping her alive, far be it from her to correct him, “Only slightly, but you show promise, mon’keigh.” “Mon’keigh?” “It’s a word we saints use to describe you common folk.” “Ah, I see. Makes sense, bet you have names for lotsa things and people like that.” As they stared at one another in the following silence, Adeon found himself shaking his head and standing, making to leave hurriedly, “Sorry if I bothered you, ma’am.” Just before he closed the door behind him, she found herself calling out after him, “Um… could you leave the book?”

My. Hyde turned out to be a far more intriguing mon’keigh than T’riss had expected. Though the story was crude, filled with childish notions native to the humans, it couldn’t be said that all were without merit. After all, there were definitely two forces waging a war within her, much like with the dear doctor. Though the roles were reversed, in her instance, T’riss found herself devouring the text as if to find a means to come to peace with herself. She had always been a quick study, and soon found that she was turning the last page of Dr. Jekyll’s letter. The abrupt ending left her staring down at the page with a strange sense of calm. She knew now what she had to do, but it didn’t make actually doing it any easier.
Following his embarrassment with the saint, Adeon had difficulty relaxing and falling asleep. Each time he would get close to slipping into the void, T’riss laugh would echo throughout his mind, causing him to jolt upright in a cold sweat. All he could think about was how much of a fool he must look like to her, and it was deep in the evening when he finally drifted off. His dreams were swirls of silver-haired goddesses, dancing about his head and chastising him for his sins. 

Needless to say, this left Adeon rather tired when he eventually awoke in the morning. Stifling a yawn, he proceed through his normal daily routine: shower, shave, then breakfast, all before checking on the servitors and grox. It wasn’t until he was half-way through scrambling eggs that he came to realize that T’riss was slouched over his dining table. Turning slowly, as if not believing his weary eyes, he came to regard her proper. Strewn about her were various bits of paper, with many symbols and glyphs that didn’t seem quite right to Adeon. “Maybe they were High Gothic,” he thought, “would fit a gal like her.” Shrugging, he deftly finished preparing his meal, and was just about to walk out of the kitchen with his meal when T’riss spoke. “No…come…sit down. Sorry I…drifted off…” 

Turning around once more, Adeon watched as she slowly pushed herself upright. After rubbing her eyes a few times, T’riss nimbly gathered up all of her scribblings, save one. Leaving that particular parchment on the table in front of her, she calmly picked it up and crumbled it between her clasped hands. After placing these on the table before her, she stared expectantly at Adeon. He might have been a simple man, but he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to eat at the same table as one so beautiful. The chair made a small scrapping sound as he pulled it back, taking his seat with as much dignity and grace as he could muster. It wasn’t until the fork was half-way to his mouth that he realized that he hadn’t even bothered to ask if she wanted anything. Almost dropping the utensil, Adeon quickly stammered, “Oh..I er… Sorry your grace! I shoulda asked if ya wanted me t’make ya something!”

Rather than the rebuke he was expecting, Adeon received a smile in return. “It’s…okay. Go on eat,” T’riss said, waving a hand as if to dismiss his notion. Still feeling rather ashamed of himself, Adeon could do little but bring himself to pick at his food in the ensuing silence. What did one say to a saint? Were you even supposed to speak to them? His thoughts swirled about, only interrupted when T’riss’ sweet warble met his ears once more. “…I hope you have some free time later. I’d like to teach you how to read…”
As the words left her mouth, T’riss grasp on the paper beneath her hands tightened. Scrunched up inside was written, in Eldar glyphs, “I bring the life of that unhappy T’riss Treewae to an end.”