Sands of Change

[Bandit With No Name]

“When the fuck did this desert get so hot?” the woman demanded, a dry breeze the only response the sands and sun offered.

Her heavy metal-studded boots sunk into the sand more than she remembered. The sun bore down on her thick, poorly ventilated armor more than she remembered. The dunes, spanning in every direction as far as she would dare look, seemed more infinite and unforgiving than she had remembered.

“Hnnn,” she groaned in frustration and pain, “I should have had Caret pick me up. This is such utter bullshit.” She held her hand out and began to focus on a nice, cold glass of water, envisioned the condensation dripping off the chilled glass. The space between her fingers began to glow, rapidly oscillating between all the colors of the rainbow.

Then, she stopped in her tracks. The light stopped shining, and she clenched her fist. A scowl crossed her eyebrows and her lips twisted into a frown. “What the fuck am I doing?” She shook her head, the anger of her expression deepening. “What in the ever-living fuck am I doing?” She threw her hands up in exasperation, the light glinting from the worn points of her spiked shoulder piece. “Becoming a Prime has made me so SOFT!”

Letting out a long, pained sigh, she shook her head and continued to trudge onward. “Back in the day if you were uncomfortable, that’s just the way it was. You couldn’t summon up a nice frilly drink. You couldn’t make a car by thinking real hard. You didn’t get to take off your gear because if somebody shot you, you fucking died. That was it. Poof! You’re gone forever.” A harsh, sand-thick wind ravaged across her already chapped body. “You were hard because you had to be. Forgetting that is a disservice to every Secondary that’s ever fought and died for the entertainment of some asshole Prime.”

She glanced up at the sky, feeling there was nowhere else to look. “You hear me, Omni? I’ll never forget them.”  She looked away from the sky and muttered under her breath, saving her next words for herself. “And I ain’t ever gonna go soft.”

---

Caret wiped her brow with her sleeve, a streak of grease spreading after it. She squinted and squeezed the trigger of her impact wrench, the cacophonous sound of it bouncing around within the enclosed sheet metal garage. She pulled it away from the bolt and moved it to the opposite side of the wheel rim, hammering it down with practiced ease. The others on the hub submitted just as quickly and she stood, wobbly for a moment, then gave the tire a firm kick. Satisfied with it, she walked to the compressor and flicked a switch to turn it off, the engine dying and finally leaving her in silence.

She pulled the large earmuffs from her head, careful not to distort the wire that she had wrapped around one side to keep the scavenged pair from falling apart. She took a step back and looked over the massive, imposing vehicle that she had been working on.

Large sections were still the bare minimum of functionality. Huge, unsightly sheets of steel were hastily affixed to the outside (though she had unscrupulously cleaned up some of the welding), the body was in shambles, and the paint was peeled and cracked where it hadn’t been chipped away by bullets and collisions.

She hated the look of it. You'd think it was unfinished, lazy work. This is how she had wanted it though. "Let it have battle scars," or something like that. So Caret would do the best she could to keep it this way: in disrepair and ugliness. Besides, it was one less thing to overhaul in the long queue that awaited her.

The junkyard spanned around Shepherd’s house, which was much less the centerpiece of the compound than it had been two years ago. Speeder bikes, motorcycles, a few dune buggies, and even a fully loaded war boy rig surrounded the meek home and the garage, with a few small mountains of parts and scrap littered amid it all.

“Damn girl,” the woman drawled as she strolled through the yard, kicking over a rusted hubcap. “You did good for yourself in six months.”

Caret froze in place, unwilling yet to turn around. She opened her mouth to say something, but she realized that she couldn’t think of anything to say.

The bandit stopped a few meters away, still idly admiring the collection. “All this shit? You must have been kicking ass and taking names while I was away.”

The mechanic gathered enough courage to turn, her heart slamming in her chest, her spine chilled even in the pounding sunlight. Her eyes landed on the woman, and another bolt of ice shot through her. “Bandit?” she barely managed to mutter.

The woman shook her head and sighed. “You know, if everyone calls me that, it’ll basically be a name. That defeats the point, don’t ya think?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Caret’s voice was sharp.

A slurry of confusion washed over the marauder and she blinked it away. “What do you mean, kid? I said I was coming through the gate. I didn’t have a ride, I just walked.”

The demeanor of the young woman shifted from one of of shock to one of anger. “Get the fuck out of here, bandit!” she shouted, her voice cracking. “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Tears were already streaking down her cheeks.

“Woah, woah, woah!” the woman held her hands up in the air and took a step back. “What the hell, kid? What’d I do?”

Caret took an aggressive step forward, her knuckles white and balled into a fist. “You fucking left me! You left me here!”

Frustration was evident on the nameless woman’s face, and her shoulders rolled forward. “I told you, I can’t control that! I’s just omnitime, there’s nothing you can fucking do!”

“It’s been TWO YEARS, bandit! TWO FUCKING YEARS!” Caret snapped.

The woman stood there, just staring for a moment. The moment filled with a dry quiet, neither knowing what to reply with. “Two years?” the usually rambunctious warrior asked meekly.

“Yes!” Caret sobbed back. “How could you just leave like that?”

She opened her mouth only to close it. She eventually wrestled her tongue into cooperation and replied, “I literally came through the gate a half a day ago. I… I don’t know what happened. I’ve never heard of such a crazy time difference. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“We looked for you, bandit. We spend months looking for you. Months.” Caret threw her arm up, gesturing at the truck. “I drove this piece of shit around the fucking dunes, getting shot up by raiders and whackos, and you were just gone.”

“Listen, what do you want me to say?!” the nameless yelled back, emotion choking her. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! I didn’t [/i]do[/i] anything! I just woke up, called you, and walked here! That’s it! That’s all I did! That’s all I had the time to do!”

Caret pushed her hands into her chest and leaned forward accusatorily. “Well I’ve had plenty of time. Time enough to get my leg blown off by some warlord psycho. Time enough to get a gun held to my head and be told that I’m gonna fix all these fuckers’ stuff of they’ll literally kill and eat me.”

She backed away slowly, her cheeks still flowing with tears, until she hit the war truck. She covered her face with her hands and slid down the ragged metal, her sobbing too heavy to speak through anymore.

The woman stood there, staring at the now-evident metal replacement for the young woman’s left leg. A simple metal plate hung loosely from the bottom of her pant leg, but the rest wasn’t visible. It was in horrible condition, and she was terrified to think of what was going on under her overalls. “What the fuck happened?”

Caret didn’t look up, but she managed to maintain her composure enough to explain. “Some crazy ass warboy wannabe told be to fix his rig about a year and a half ago, I said no, and he blew my leg off.“ She pulled up the pant leg, revealing a jury rigged shock system that had been fashioned into a crude prosthetic, strapped to an inflamed stump that terminated just below the knee. “Shep nursed it back to heath, and I made this work. He jacked the las turret from the back of your truck and put a huge hole in the passenger side. I’ve been working on fixing it since then, but, you know, it hasn’t really been a priority.” She glared up from her hands, “Because I figured you were dead.”

The warrior’s eyebrows slowly cinched, and her expression changed from one of concern to one of fury. Without a word she spun on her heel and stormed towards the house. She reeled her left arm back when she met with the door and slammed her metal fist into it. It exploded into a million tiny squares with an ear-splitting explosion, a thousand cuboid shards spilling onto the ramshackle kitchen floor.

“Shepard!” she screamed, an inconsolable rage filling her voice with brass and splinters. “Shepard get the fuck out here!”

When there was no response, she stormed into the structure through the cloud of dust, the sun at her back. Her eyes scanned over the room quickly, and she stomped from the relatively new kitchen addition and into the old portion of the home which was still little more than a shack with a couple of beds and an old wooden chair. Shepard sat there, quietly reading a book to himself. “Hello,” he said calmly. “I see you’re back.”

Her fists were as tight as her jaw and she glared down at him. “How could you let this happen?”

He paused, closed his book, and sat it on the short table beside him. “Let what happen, exactly?”

“Caret!” she barked, “How the fuck could you let this happen to her?”

“I didn’t ‘let’ anything happen to her. I tried to come to her defense, but they just wouldn’t listen.” He smoothed over a frazzled bit of his white, cornrowed hair, his expression still stiffly placid.

“Listen?” she snapped back. “You tried to fucking talk a warboy down? Really?”

He steepled his fingers. “Yes.”

She slammed her hand into the wall behind her with a thud, thin trails of dust slipping from the ceiling. “You could have stopped this. You should have.”

He took a long, slow breath. “With what? What could I have done?”

Her eyes went wide, “You can control omnilium! You can make, literally, WHATEVER YOU WANT! You could have made guns, you could have made weapons, hell, you could have fixed his little shitty car if you wanted to! You are a Prime. This world was made specifically for you. You can do whatever you want!”

An edge finally found its way into his tone. “The power to create is not a power that any man should have. That is the realm of God, and only God.”

The bandit let out a short, bitter laugh. “God? Really? The only god that exists here is Omni, and he gave you these powers. He gave you the power to change this world to be whatever you want it to be. That’s the entire point! That’s why this hellhole exists!” She waved her hand over the half-rotted building around her, “But instead, you choose to live like this. You choose inaction while horrible shit happens to the people without that power. You just sit there.”

“Didn't I take you in? Didn’t I patch you up?” he retorted.

And sharp guffaw. “You used some old shitty bandages when you could have literally just put your hands on my chest and thought real hard. You let Caret build herself some half-assed peg leg instead of just giving her a new leg.”

“That’s not how life works!” he finally exploded. “That is not the world that God intended, and it is not the world I will be a part of!”

“Fuck you, man,” she spit back. “You are given the power to make this world a better place for the people who don’t have that choice. You’re the god here, and this is your creation. Anything that happens to the little guys while you sit here with your fuckin’ book is on your head.” She didn’t wait for a response before turning away from him. “If this is what you’re gonna do as a prime, a person that will never face the consequences of your own inaction, then you’re worse than the marauders that did that to her. At least they’re fighting to survive.”

She strode back out of the house, and towards the still sitting Caret. “Hey kid. We’re getting out of here.”

“What?” Caret asked.

“You and me. I’m never letting anything like this ever happen to you again. We’re gonna get in my truck and I’m gonna take you away from here. If you stick with me, this omnitime bullshit shouldn’t happen.”

“I can’t just leave! Shep needs me!” she retorted.

The hulking figure kneeled down beside her and placed a hand on her leg. She closed her eyes and after a few moments a bright white light shined from between her fingers. “No. He doesn’t.”

[Bandit With No Name]

Caret flexed her leg back and forth in the passenger’s seat, running her hand over the fresh, new flesh that had replaced the heavy chunk of metal that had been there only hours before. The desert whipped by her window, sand and a cloud of dust kicking up from behind the massive truck. As a wheel fell into a deep hole the entire cabin swayed, a large metallic clank following after. “I’ve really gotta get the suspension in this thing fixed,” the young mechanic chimed passively.

“Yeah,” the driver responded, “we can get it soon.”

Caret looked at the bandit, who wore a look almost devoid of emotion. It was strange, seeing her like this, oddly serene. Seeing her at all, really, after all this time. “So where are we going?”

No response this time.

Caret sighed and looked out into the sands. Wreckages, which she would have begged to stop at only a few weeks ago, whizzed by. The badlands stretched in every direction, and there didn’t seem to be any sign of life in the immediate area. Still, long plumes of smoke streaked up into the sky, reminding her that she could never escape the truth of the marauders that were nestled into almost every nook and cranny of her accursed homeland.

“We’re gonna get the hell out of here for a little bit,” the woman said finally, her eyes still locked on the road. “I had never left the Dunes before I got brought back. I’m sure I never would have. I woulda lived and died in this fuckin’ place.” She let off the gas and shifted, the angry roar of the truck filling the cab for a moment. “You deserve to see what else is out there.”

“I mean, no, don’t worry about that,” Caret said softly. “Don’t make travel plans for me.”

The woman smiled softly. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I’ve got any plans.”

Caret stared at her lap. “I guess.”

“There are whole other verses out there. Whole new worlds.” Her gauntleted hand drifted from the stick shift and landed softly on Caret’s knee. “Just because some jackass made you here doesn’t mean you’re stuck here forever. You’re free now.” She turned her head towards the woman, her age unknowable and unimportant and looked into her eyes. “We’re finally free, and we’re gonna make a life of it.”

“Ok,” Caret responded, still unsure. “So where to, then?”

The woman shrugged. “Well, not Camelot. Not for a little bit at least. I dunno, what sounds good to you?”

“Hell if I know. I’ve never really thought about it.” She drummed her fingers on the sill of the window. “Where the hell did all that… stuff come from? Why are you carrying around a head, and what the hell happened to your arm?”

The bandit grinned broadly. “Souvenirs. I took a little something from everyone I beat in that tourney.”

The first smile since the nameless woman had returned appeared on Caret’s face. “I would have loved to see that. You smashing up on some smug little primes and ripping off their arms and stuff. Was it a robot?”

The bandit shook her head. “Nah, wizard. It was fuckin’ awesome.”

“A wizard?” Caret laughed, “Really? Why did a wizard have a metal arm?”

“Hell if I know! Dude was tough though. I’d love to catch up with that him some time.” She turned the truck in a wide, lazy, U and started back towards the gate.

Caret nodded. “Cool. It’s good to hear you’re still out there making friends.”

“You know me, a real socialite.” The truck jumped and lurched as she corrected their path, and she made minor turns to align herself with the compass.

Caret glanced at the dashboard. “We headed for the gate?” She fiddled with her fingers and found them back on her new leg.

The woman nodded. “Yup.”

“You have a place in mind?”

“Nope.”

---

The night sky was cool and dry, a waning moon dangling in the cloudless sky. The city was busy, as it always was, and a gentle din of voices and machinery drifted in from not too far away.

The M35 roared angrily as it mounted a practically verdant hill that lead into Carrefore. It coasted through the air for a short distance before slamming down and fishtailing in the dirt. The several armed stormtroopers glanced between each other and primed their weapons, their nightvision easily spotting it before it could get too close. It had been a while since any raiders had been stupid enough to attack their encampment, but they were more than happy to oblige anything that came knocking.

“Unidentified vehicle, decrease speed and proceed to the checkpoint,” a booming voice called from the watchtower. Amazingly, the truck followed the commands and slowly approached them, coming to a complete stop a few meters from the soldiers.

The troopers stared for a moment, expecting something less than nice to pop out at any moment. After a pregnant pause, one of them with a red shoulder plate tapped an inferior on the shoulder and pointed. “Go check it out,” his distorted voice ordered.

The soldier, in his dirty white armor, obeyed without a word. After a short jog, he stopped in front of the driver’s side door, blaster rifle still held firmly in front of him. “Open up.”

The driver’s side door swung open, and the woman looked down at him. “What up?” she said as pleasantly as she could muster.

“We need to inspect your vehicle before we can allow you into Carrefore,” the trooper’s voice was practically without emotion.

The bandit rolled her eyes. “Yo man, I just wanna get to the gate.”

Without moving, behind his unblinking helmet, the trooper responded, “We have to inspect your vehicle before we can let you into town, ma’am.”

The woman sighed heavily. “Fuck man, alright.” She looked over to her passenger. “Caret, are there still any guns or any other shit in here?”

The pink haired young woman shook her head. “No, I didn’t manage to keep anything when the warboy jacked everything.”

The woman was clearly some kind of wasteland warrior, covered in heavy armor and a huge hammer sat beside her. “I’m going to have to ask you to disarm and step out of the vehicle, ma’am.”

Again the titan of a driver rolled her eyes. “Dude, whatever, let’s just get this over with.” She swept up the hammer with a single hand and tossed it down into the sand besides him, sending a spray up when it landed. She snatched a laser rifle and he instinctively lifted his weapon, but she only sneered and dropped an energy magazine from the bottom. “Chill the fuck out. If I was here to fight, you’d better bet you and your squad would already be road kill.” The trooper ignored the comment and kept his blaster at the ready until she had dropped it from the door.

“Please disembark,” he commanded.

“Holy shit,” she said dryly, hopping from her seat, “’disembark.’ I am so glad I’ve never had to hold an actual conversation with a trooper before.” The pink-haired passenger cautiously clambered down from her seat as well, and the pair stood off to the side while the subordinate ushered his squad over.

The troopers began a systematic search of the truck, peeling back carpet and checking the undercarriage. Caret winced as they tugged at delicate wiring, but the bandit put her hand on her shoulder to quiet her. “You hungry, kid?” she asked, transparently attempting to distract her.

“I could eat I guess,” Caret responded.

The woman held her hands together and the familiar glow of omnilium flowed outward. The guard captain looked back to the pair and walked towards them. “You’re a prime?” he asked flatly.

“Yeah,” the bandit responded, “Have you ever seen a secondary with this much layering? Motherfuckers have no concept of character design when they making throwaway people. Why, you hungry too, dude? I’m trying to concentrate on some chips, here.”

The captain pressed down a button on his helmet and began walking away. “HQ this is Red 4, I have a prime at Checkpoint Bravo. We’re inspecting their vehicle now, please advise.”

He moved outside of the duo’s hearing, and the bandit shook her head. “I hate the Empire so much,” she grumbled. The bag finished materializing and she passively handed it to Caret. “Always so fuckin' uptight.”

“They’re screwing everything up,” Caret complained wistfully.

“Whatever, just- just let them do whatever. We’ll fix it once we’re out of here.” She stared out at the city, taking note of the lights and the distant, subdued crowds. “I heard there’s a nice bar here.”

Caret followed her friend’s gaze. “Yeah, like Mick’s or something, right? I’ve never been into a bar before.”

The woman laughed, “Oh shit, are you serious? Well I know where we’re going as soon as this is d-“

“What is this?” a trooper approached them and barked accusatorily, holding a metallic canister.

“That’s the nitro you idiot!” Caret shouted. “Did you really just take out the goddamn nitro? Really? You had to literally physically remove that from the engine!”

The heavily armored juggernaut strode forward and pulled it from the trooper’s hand, her shoulder slamming into his as she pushed past. “Alright fuckwads, get off my truck. You’re done here.”

The guard captain marched just inches in front of her, standing several inches shorter and far less broad. “We’ll let you know when we’re done inspecting the vehicle.”

“The hell you will,” she boomed, “I’m telling you you’re done now. Nobody else has to put up with this horse shit.”

The empire commander stood his ground. “I decide what’s necessary, and this vehicle seems suspicious to me. I can’t allow you to bring anything dangerous into the city.”

“I’m a prime, moron. The city is full of other primes. We’re not smuggling anything in, and even if we wanted to do something crazy in town, I wouldn’t bother making it ahead of time. I’d just use my magic goddamn powers to make whatever I needed while I was in there.” She leaned down, inspecting his battered head piece. “How long have you been in the Omniverse anyways? Did somebody make you yesterday or something?”

“Was that a threat?” he growled back.

“No,” the bandit snarled, “you’d fucking know if it was a threat. Now get your jackass troopers off of my truck so I can go and spend omni in your stupid town before we roll on through.”

For a moment, the captain said nothing. In that time, the woman’s patience fizzled out. She shoved her way past him, pulled a trooper from the driver’s seat and called after her companion. “We’re getting out of here Caret, come on.”

Several of the troopers pulled their blasters on her, but she ignored them, gathering up her things from the ground and putting them back inside. Caret sheepishly jogged back around while the bandit climbed back into her truck and sat down just as the engine started back up. The remaining guards stepped away from the wheels as they spun out and the truck sped into the town.

“HQ, watch out for two suspicious individuals, one prime and one unknown status. Descriptions incoming.”

[Bandit With No Name]

In its earlier iteration, Rick’s Café Americain had been an upper class place for upper class people. It was respected, and exclusive, and most importantly: it was expensive. Finely dressed sirs and madams had wandered its halls in fine suits and elegant dresses. The patrons would laugh politely and talk, and even on wild nights you could trust every one of them to do their best to maintain a level of demeanor. Not as much these days.

The Café, or rather the “bar” as the people of Carrefore insisted on referring to it, still had its wait staff in vests and suit jackets. Upbeat but respectable jazz still played in the background. And while there were no Nazis trying to overrun the place, it was filled with miscreants and one of the closest things the Omniverse had to Nazis: Imperial Troopers. While it wasn’t a wretched hive of villainy, it wasn’t the cordial, stately place it had once been. Therefore, it wasn’t much of a shock when a towering woman barged through the door wearing glowing, heavy plate armor with a gigantic hammer strapped to her back.

“Holy shit,” she gasped, “this place is amazing!”

A short, skinny woman with bright pink hair and grease stained overalls followed after her. “Wow!” she beamed, “This place is so well constructed! Look at all the detail! And the object layers! It must have taken so much omnilium to get this place up and working!”

“And look at all this fancy glass shit,” the bulldozer of a human noted, “They have to have amazing security to keep this place intact. We only ever used metal cups ‘cause you’d never keep glass in one piece for longer than a few hours.”

Caret beamed, “And like, hardly any of these people are armed!” She pointed to the bartender, garnering a concerned look. “The guy with the goods doesn’t even have any armor! You could just shoot him in the face and take all his fancy booze. That’s amazing.”

The had-been raider blinked as a server walked directly in front of her, food and drinks held high as he bussed them to a table. “And they just like… trust you to not take their food while they’re walking around with it? These people fuckin’ spoiled.”

“For real,” Caret concurred. “Well, uh, you wanna get some fancy people food?”

“Hell yeah,” the nameless woman said with a grin and a nod.

The walked up to the counter of the bar, gathering some sideways glances as they did so. The bandit plopped down with a rattle and Caret stepped over the stool and perched on it like a small bird. “Yo, uh, bar dude!” Caret shouted, waving at him. “Give me some booze!”

The man condescended to walk over to them, his greased back hair and thin pencil mustache catching a bit of light from the overhead crystal chandelier. “How may I help you?” he scoffed.

“Like I said, booze please,” Caret said, having lost none of her enthusiasm.

The nameless woman lifted her hand, “Me too.”

The bartender stared at them for a moment, then half turned and looked at the literal wall of liquor and the beer taps below it. He then turned back to them. “Ah. And what kind would you like?”

“Uhhh,” Caret stalled, then looked to her compatriot. “What do I get?”

Quickly glancing over her options, the woman squinted. “What were these made in? I don’t want anything from a barrel. It always still tastes like guzzoline.”

As the barback opened his mouth, presumably to have them removed from the premises, a towering, graceful woman stepped up beside them and simply stated, “They will both have your house lager, barkeep. Thank you.” She slid a glimmering bit of omnilium onto the bar, which the tender snatched instantly with a sly smirk.

The pair looked to the woman that loomed over them. She was thin, inhumanly proportioned, and her clothes were certainly non-standard for the dunes. Sleek and form fitting wine red dress that split on both sides, with a few silver runes stitched along its centerline. A single, bright red, oval crystal was set into the sternum of her clothing, gleaming with an oddly reflective surface. A strange, opalescent white material arched up the sides of her neck and curled around the edge of her chin. Perhaps the most striking feature she wore was her two, large, pointed ears that extended well beyond the peak of her head. Long, sleek black hair tumbled around them, cascading from a high ponytail on the rear of the crown of her head.

“Balanlara of the Altansar,” she said, her words somehow echoing ethereally. She extended her delicate hand to Caret, who took it up gingerly. “I empathize with being out of your element.”

“I, uh, I don’t have a name,” the woman replied awkwardly, still staring.

Caret grinned wide and shook her hand softly. “And I’m Caret.”

Peacefully Balanlara smiled and nodded. “It is good to meet you.” She gestured fluidly to a seat beside them. “May I sit with you?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” the nameless bandit barked, unable to stop gawking.

“Thank you,” Balanlara replied, even the gentlest of her words hanging in the air like a reverberating string. She glided into the chair effortlessly, her every movement almost seeming to be guided by an unseen breeze.

“Yo, what are you?” the bandit asked, the wonderment of the moment snatching the tiny fragment of tact she had away from her.

Caret elbowed her firmly, “Jeez, at least pretend to not be a jerk!”

Balanlara smirked and politely tittered. “I am an Eldar from the Craftworld Altansar. My people, even from other craftworlds, are exceedingly rare in this universe. Especially in this particular sector of it.” She gently swirled a long flute of light green fluid, which had been unseen until now. “I am actually visiting from Coruscant.”

“I don’t know much about anything else of what you said, but the Coruscant part tracks,” the nameless woman remarked.

Caret wondered unabashedly, “Yeah lady, you are really fancy. What even is that material?” She gestured at the flexible, flowing white shell that surrounded her neck. “It looks like some kind of metal, but it’s moving along with you so easily!”

Balanlara’s fingers ran over the smooth surface of her neck. “This is wraithbone. It is psychically attuned to me. It hardens instantly upon impact, but can move with me. The rest of the suit acts similarly.”

Caret leaned in to get a closer look. “How do you even work with a material like that?”

Balanlara smiled in full, allowing a glimpse at her perfect and slightly pointed teeth. “You sing to it.”

“Holy crap,” the bandit said flatly. “Ya’ll on some crazy shit.”

Genuine laughter bubbled up from Balanlara’s chest, the sound of it seemingly filling the space of the room despite its volume relative to the crowd’s noise. The bartender stepped back and put the two cups down beside the unkempt patrons and quickly whisked himself away. “Try your drinks and then tell me why you’re visiting us, will you?”

The two lifted the soft yellow beer to their lips almost simultaneously and took large swigs. The battle hardened warrior recoiled in horror while Caret’s eyes lit up with shock and joy. The nameless woman all but slammed the drink back down while Caret quickly guzzled down the remainder.

“Ugh fuck, what is this?” the bandit asked in disgust. “It’s like beer but with more water in it!”

“I have no idea, but if you don’t want yours I’ll take it!” Caret happily chimed, then snatched it up without waiting for an answer.

A phantasmal giggle flew from Balanlara, and she waved back to the man behind the bar. “Instead we’ll try… hm. A rye whiskey. Old Overholt.” She turned her attention back to her new friends. “So what brings you into this domain?”

“Just passing through,” the woman replied, practically yanking the small glass of liquor from the snobby man with his vest and tie. She sniffed it cautiously then grinned. “Aha! This is more my speed. Smells like tequila but less… I dunno, tequila-like.” She drank the entire glass, the ice clinking as she shotgunned it all at once. “I don’t know why they wasted ice on this, but otherwise I really like it.”

Balanlara smiled to the barkeep. “Another. Neat.” She craned her neck and focused her brilliant violet eyes. “Where are you headed after this?”

“No real plans after this,” Caret sighed. “Just… away.”

Balanlara nodded. “Yes, I too know what it is to wander. I feel so untethered from everything in this universe. All my memories, everything important to me, seems so far away now. Unreachable.” She took a prolonged sip from her green beverage. “It seems better to simply forget it all now.”

“You a prime?” the bandit asked and took only a moderate gulp from her rye.

Balanlara’s expression seemed lost in an ocean of sadness for a moment, and everyone near her almost believed they could feel it themselves. “No. Even my memories are borrowed from another. A Warp Spider Exarch named Amondiar brought me into this place. I suppose other Eldar was all he knew, and so that is what created in me.”

“We know the feeling,” the haggard raider commiserated. “Well, uh, where you headed?”

Balanlara looked wistfully towards the door. “I was hired on to aid some Imperial patrols, though I have just now finished.”

“Oh wow!” Caret said, already halfway through with her second pint. “That sounds really cool. What did you do? Do you sing them some new armor or something?”

Balanlara smiled softly. “No, I am a Dark Reaper. I aided in long ranged support fire for high density enemy engagements.”

“Holy shit, what? That’s awesome!” the nameless woman said excitedly. “What does that even mean? Are you artillery or something?”

“I employ a psychically attuned missile launcher called a Reaper Launcher. It generates and deploys armor-penetrating, explosive salvos that are still effective at long distances. It is also constructed of wraithbone, and independently tracks my foes, feeding their information to my helm. When I am ready to unleash it, I can see through my weapon, making it very easy for me to aim.” She took another sip from her drink. “Though I cannot employ some of the more sophisticated features of my weapon without my armor, it serves well in any scenario.”

The two badland survivors stared with bewilderment and glee. “That is the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever heard,” the nameless woman said, picking her jaw up off of the floor. “I just hit things with a hammer.”

“You seem to be a very effective combatant, nameless one. Do not disparage yourself.” Balanlara gently pointed to the head at her waist. “I do remember watching your contest with Magus.”

She grinned, “Holy shit, you saw that?”

The eldar confirmed wordlessly, and then said, “I managed to catch part of the recording from Coruscant.”

“Well, uh, where are you headed now that you’re done?” Caret asked timidly, putting down her empty glass.

“I had intended to go and witness this year’s Dante’s Abyss tournament. I have enough omnilium to live for at least a short time without working.” The final sip of her drink flowed over her dark lips and she too placed it on the table.

The bandit looked to Caret and shrugged. “I’ve never been. Wanna do it? Go watch?”

“Yeah!” Caret replied emphatically. “That sounds really cool. I’ve never been to any live events where I wasn’t at risk of being brutally murdered. That would be nice.”

She nodded. “It’s settled then.” She turned back and looked to the elder, “Cool if we go with you?”

Balanlara smiled, again showing the rows of barely inhuman teeth. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

[Bandit With No Name]

The lithe eldar swept her cloak around herself, consumed by a sea of red that graduated from crimson on her shoulders to nearly black at her heels. Etched in glistening metallic white runes, the clothing seemed to defy logic; at once it was impossible to make out any individual characters, seeming as though they shifted and pulsed, retreating from your vision, and yet they never moved. A series of deep red oval gemstones studded the bone white shoulder piece that she placed over the cloak, spanning from two long, pointed pauldrons across her collarbones and meeting the similarly colored neck armor.
 
She glided to a large pack that was propped in the corner of the room, which was covered in a complex skeletal motif. A vertebral column rose of the top, and a large skull was seated beneath it.  She hefted it in the air and it merged with the torso piece, hanging it from her back. She pulled from it two straps, which sealed around her waist without a sound, a large rune at its center.
 
“Man, we got ripped off,” the nameless woman said with a hint of spite.
 
Caret despondently plucked at her greasy blue denim overalls. “The dumbasses that thought us up couldn’t have even fathomed anything that good looking.”
 
“Clearly,” the badlands survivor said, uncrossing her arms. “We ready to go? You got your armor in that pack?”
 
Balanlara gestured to the large thing on her back. “This is my armor. It can be collapsed for easy carrying if I do not wish to make my presence as a combatant known.”
 
The bandit shook her head. “Fuck, man.”
 
“Right?” Caret spat, “I bet I wouldn’t even know how to fix it if it got broken.”
 
Balanlara smiled in that soft, distant but all consuming way she did. Pangs of sorrow, loss, humor, and intimacy were all spoken with the tiniest lift of the corner of her mouth. “Unlikely.” She slid towards the rough, brass handle of her door and took it up in her hand, a strange juxtaposition of perfect elegance and crude utility seeming to grind against anyone who paid too much attention to it. “But let us move on, shall we?”
 
The woman stood, her bulky steel armor clattering as she did so. “Yeah, I don’t wanna hang out in Imperial territory any longer than I have to. Dudes are absolutely hell bent on throwing me in jail, even if they ain’t got shit on me.”
 
Caret strolled through the door, her mind still lost in wonder, unable to peel her eyes from Balanlara’s outfit. “Just not fair.”
 
---
 
The trio of women marched out into the darkness of the night, the streetlights of Carefore offering dim illumination and deep shadows as they made their way over the clean but under maintained sidewalk.

The bandit’s truck was parked, awkwardly askew, beside several less impressive vehicles a half block away from Balanlara’s lodging by Rick’s Café. The eldar paused in front of the vehicle and looked at it with mild amusement. “Such wondrous, terrible things this universe offers.”
 
“Hey!” Caret snapped, “That truck is in peak performance! I worked my ass off to keep that thing in service.”
 
Balanlara gently placed a hand on the mechanic’s shoulder. “I meant only to compliment your work. It recalls memories of the Imperial Guard. A resourceful and terrible opponent of my people.”
 
“Oh,” Caret stuttered. “Thanks.”
 
The bandit lugged herself up the side railing and threw open the passenger door. “Ah shit. We don't have any more seats up front. You’ll have to squeeze.”
 
“Unnecessary,” Balanlara said, swooping up into the bed of the truck, as if by some unseen force. “I will make due in this section of your vehicle.”
 
“Uh,” the woman called back, still standing on the side step, “my driving can be a bit, uh, aggressive. You’d get thrown out of there in a half mile.”
 
Two massive spikes thrust out from the bottom of the eldar’s large boots, embedding her in place with the thunder of piercing steel.
 
“Oh,” the woman replied. “Yeah that’s fine.”
 
With a slamming of doors, Caret and the nameless woman were alone in the cab. They shared a look, collectively shrugged, and set out towards the tent that had been set up on the edge of town.