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On the dais rested a blade, almost as tall as he was, suspended, blade parallel with the ground, by some invisible force. Farsight had tried to take it before, had studied it. The blade only seemed to appear fully at dawn, every other time it seemed insubstantial, even so far as disappearing at night. He had also returned in his battlesuit, his own strength not enough to free the blade from its bonds. The sun rose fully outside and the chamber turned the colour of Gue'la blood. In a fraction of a Rai'kan the left hand of Farsight's battlesuit had grasped the hilt of the sword, ripping it from its invisible shackles. The blade suddenly grew searingly hot, fusing the suit's hand to its hilt.
O'Shovah held a strange sword he had just acquired in a hand that was not his own. His fingers were pale, like light desert sand, and impossibly slender and graceful. Battle raged all around him, the clash of fire and steel. He spun the sword, graceful and true, carving through one of the Yngir. Farsight was stunned, how did he know that word, and how did he know what it meant. It sounded like yihneer, but he knew the true symbol for it. The eyes that were not his darted side to side. Khaine to his left, Vaul to his right. Together they struck and slashed and killed, an incredibly graceful dance of death. Vaul fell to the ground, his heart pierced by an ancient, corroded blade. The body that was not O'Shovah's switched its sword to its left and picked up Vaul's blade with his right.
The blade looked familiar, of great length, hooked at the tip, dancing with energy. Anaris rose and fell in a devastating arc, destroying all it touched. Wielded in a single it hand it turned the tide, but the wielder paid a terrible price, for mortals are not meant to wield the blades of gods. And so the nameless warrior was laid to rest in a great tomb, erected where he fell. In the tomb the blade was placed, and only one that knew its secret would ever obtain it. Or so the architect had thought. He could not have known about the empire that would blossom and grow so close to the tomb. Nor he could he know about one Tau's curiosity and penchant for disobedience.
Commander Farsight held Anaris aloft, the soft sunlight filling the tomb. Quietly he read the carved symbols.
"Those who carry Anaris shall never fail, and never fall, neither can they die, and never shall they rest, until the finish this nameless warriors quest.
But should Anaris fall, be broken or lost, then the bearer shall die, for while the sword keeps him alive its spirit wills him to die"
O'Shovah fell to his knees, the message was simple, if he ever let go of the blade he would die. However, as long as he held it, it would keep him alive. Then he thought, the blade had not touched him, only his suit, so he should be fine. Using the right hand of his suit he wrenched the blade loose. Even if died, it would serve the Tau'va to know just what this artefact was. He dropped the blade. Farsight opened his eyes, he was alive, but the fingers of his suit's left hand were still fused together, a pattern burned into them.
When he returned, he related the tale to the Aun in charge of the expedition. While the Aun tried to remain calm, telling Farsight to abandon the blade, Anaris had made up its own mind. Before he knew what was happening the Ethereal was crumpled over, lying a pool of cyan blood. He was in his battlesuit, he did not know how. He was aghast, he had started the return to the Mon'tau. He tried to cast aside the blade. It was fused completely to his left hand, almost a part of it. He turned from the assembled warriors and ran. But some of them followed him, out of fear, respect, or perhaps because of the blade. So into the night they moved, to try and stall their return to the Mon'tau, by turning their rage against something else, anything other than their Ta'lissera brothers.