"What do you mean you can't see it?!" Imisha struggled to contain her frustration.

"I keep telling you: There is nothing to see" her old colleague responded. His hands flowed over the runes displayed on the central table in the dimly lit chamber. None of them pointed towards the golden path centered on the young exodite princess Imisha could see in her mind's eye. The damned runes had never been her friend, except for the ones used to channel death and destruction. By Khaine she wished she could use those right now. Because she could hardly tell the council that the vision had come to her directly. Without the use of runes. Such interactions were forbidden and paramount to walking the path of damnation. Thus she now looked like a raving lunatic. The rest of the assembled seers looked uncomfortably at each other.

Upon rushing back to the craftworld Imisha had immediately called for a session of the seer council. She had expected them to already be aware of the vision, given it's clarity and her own meager abilities. Instead she had been met with suspicion and confusion. Not a one of them seemed to understand what she was talking about.

Across her stood the elderly Omorio who now spoke for the council. A member of the preservation faction, extreme conservatists who tended to oppose any and all suggestions and changes. Defeatists is what Imisha used to call them. And still do. Omorio especially was an old naysayer who never accomplished anything. His only redeeming feature stood next to him in the form of his young apprentice. The lovely Ikaria, or Ika as the was called among friends. A great talent and beauty, the your warlock had an exceptional delicate touch when it came to weaving and reading the fates. Her face was as if cut out of marble, absolutely flawless. And she had those great green eyes framed by long flowing copper bright hair. No women in the craftworld could compete with her exquisite elegance and had Imisha relied on her looks she would have hated the girl. As it was she had been charmed by the young seer's honesty and delicate touch both in political and spiritual matters.

The other factions were all there as well. The religious faction, a bunch of dimwitted fools who talked about peace and beauty and failed to see the reality of the galaxy. The crafters faction, bonesingers and artisans who tended to listen more than they spoke. Yet when they did so they never seemed to agree with Imisha. And lastly the speakers faction, filled with spies and diplomats. These seers knew the most of the outside world and but contrary to their name also seldom spoke directly. But you could hear their words in the voices of others they had convinced or coerced to speak on their behalf. The only faction not present were the seers who tended the dead, the spirit seers. Strange Imisha mused, she had never seen them miss a meeting before.

The doors to the chamber opened and another seer entered. The male was older than Imisha but not as old as the other members of the council. Black short hair and a grim pointy face framed a hard eye and a mouth that never smiled. Through the other eye ran a giant scar, a kiss from a chainsword. At last some support Imisha thought. Varunastra had been a long time ally of hers in the martial faction. If anything he had been even more extreme than she was. Together they had been the strongest voices for all out war against the humans.

"Finally someone who can see reason! Varunastra surely you..." she began but stopped when she saw the look he gave her. One of utter contempt and disgust.

"Why is there a whore in the council chambers? Are we so short on both space and decency that we must share our sacred chambers with the likes of her?" her old ally declared in a tightly repressed voice.

He knew. How Imisha had no idea. She had been so careful. But it meant that meant the others also knew. And that explained a lot. But of course he would be the one who reacted the strongest. Their faction had after all stood for Eldar purity and superiority in all it's forms. And craftworld supremacy especially. While Imisha was mainly concerned with human expansion Varunastra had always been obsessed with recreating the glory days of the old Eldar empire. The exodites, having turned their backs to the ways of old were nothing but traitors to him. The news that his former apprentice carried the children on an exodite must have shattered him. Mixing bloodlines among the different Eldar cultures was frowned upon in general but totally abhorred by the martial faction.

"I thought you would atleast have had the courtesy to stay away. Yet even in that regard, you manage to disappoint." Her old mentor spat out the last words. His hatred for her supposed betrayal shone from him like a blazing flame.

Imisha met his gaze but did not respond. He was an expert orator and debater and would have no trouble crushing her verbally. But he was old and she was still young. In real combat the odds would shift in her favour. Keeping the gaze between them like a tightrope Varunastra walked over to the table where the runes laid splayed.

"What is this nonsense? What have you two cooked up?" he snapped accusingly at Omorio. Clever. Grouping him and Imisha together would naturally cause the elder seer to distance himself even further from her.

"I was just asking your colleague here the same thing. She claims that there is nexus point in the fates focused on some exodite princess. But as you can see no such point exists." Omorio sniffed and responded with the expected defensive tone.

"Is this why you crawled out from whatever carnal corner of the galaxy you have been hiding in? To make a fool of us?" With the crowd now behind him Varunastra rounded on Imisha.

"I have brought this before you all because I see everything else end in fire. The princess must be found." Imisha had a voice on loop in her head. Be calm. Be calm. Be calm. If she lost her cool it was all over.

"You don't say?" Varunastra walked over to the rune table. He quickly looked at the pattern again and then with one flick of his hand swept the runes onto the floor. They clattered eerily on the stone tiles below.

"No!" Imisha cried out. She didn't know why. The runes had not supported her story anyway. But seeing then on the floor dashed her last hope that someone would see. Someone would understand. Her old mentor walked briskly up to her, face to face.

"Let's make one thing clear: You have brought us nothing but shame."

"Imisha has brought us peace!" Ikaria blurted out. Her master raised his hand angrily and silenced her. The young warlock hung her head in shame, regretting her words. From her own faction's perspective the peace had been a great victory but for the martial faction it has been a great defeat.

"Whore and traitor both then." Varunastra simply noted. He continued with cold ease, circling Imisha.

"It all makes sense to me now. This...unholy alliance that was forced upon us. A crude proposition for a crude people. I'm guessing you let yourself get passed yourself around the entire monkey delegation. Like a once fine drinking glass used a drinking trough for a herd of animals. Letting the beasts slake their filthy lust inside your flesh."

"That is not what happened!" It was so absurd Imisha didn't know what else to say. That he would say such a thing about her. They had been friends and allies for decades. He had been the one to first guide her down the path of the seer. And now she was the enemy just because she had tried to carve out a little happiness for herself.

"And barely had you got back to civilization before you raced back. Now we know why. Your appetite for indecency rivals the great enemy herself. Look at yourself. Like a soiled used up rag that have soaked up too much filth and is now good for nothing." Varunastra droned on.

"How dare you? After all I did for you! All I did I have done for our people?!" For a second Imisha lost her temper and almost screamed the words back at him.

"Then do you deny that which you carry inside you?" The elderly Omorio interjected, confirming Imisha's suspicions that he too knew about her pregnancy.

"I fail to see how that is any concern of yours in the slightest." Imisha straightened her back and pushed down her anger. Though some of it trickled out through her body language. She was taller than both of the men. And stronger. They would do well to remember that. Omorio took a slight step backwards when he saw her face.

"So you deny it?" Varunastra insisted.

This caught Imisha off guard for a moment. But she could not simply deny the existence of her unborn children. She just couldn't.

"I deny nothing. I carry three Eldar children within me." She said proudly. The room fell silent. Only Ikaria let go of a short squeal of delight before she regained control. Insulting a mother was a great offense. Insulting a mother of three was close to sacrilege. Children were rare and a great blessing to the dwindling Eldar people. But there will always be those who value pride over life.

"And can we assume that they are pure and not some half breed spawn of a simple minded savage?" Varunastra sneered, obviously already knowing the answer.

The cup inside Imisha ran over. It didn't matter than at one time she might very well have uttered those same words. It didn't matter than everyone in the room had at one point or another been a friend or colleague of hers. For hatred is a fickle and unfaithful mistress, quick to shift her affections once you let her into your heart. Unwittingly her hand had reach into her pocket and started stroking the eldritch rune she always carried there. It responded to it's master's call and lightning flashed between Imisha's concealed fingertips. Inside the warp a furious storm started to roar. It had long boiled within her like a pressure cooker and she could no longer keep it in. Subconsciously the warrior within her began picking targets. She locked eyes with Varunastra and her glare promised that he would pay for insulting her children. Not him nor anyone else in this room was a match for her. But a split second before she unleashed her indignation Ikaria managed to quickly sneak up behind her and place a hand on her shoulder. The soft touch possibly saved their lives.

"The lives within you are worth more than his." the young warlock whispered in her ear. Imisha swallowed hard and with great effort pushed down her fury. Breathing heavy she clenched her fist and jaw so hard they hurt. Inside her the spirit of Khaine screamed for blood and vengeance.

"Shamed to silence I see." Varunastra noted smugly.

"Please master. Imisha's condition aside her vision might be important. Should we not atleast consider it?" Ikaria pleaded with Omorio, head lowered in respect, her long red hair spilling out in front of her face.

"That some lost exodite princess would be the key to our future? Absurd." the elder farseer dismissed his apprentice. Behind him others murmured in agreement.

"I find it more likely that Imisha is here on some mission from her wildling lover to misuse our meager resources for her own selfish reasons. It only shows how far she has fallen that she now values some random runaway savage over her own people." Varunastra interjected.

"There is more to her and you all know it. This respite we now enjoy was her doing. She managed to coax you lot to name a battleship according to her will. Even the humans seem reluctant to cross her. And I have discovered she was linked to several other incidents, all for our benefit mind you. Did you never question how some 'random runaway savage' managed to do all that? She is supposed to be a famous princess. Yet not one person I spoke with can even tell me her name. Even my..." at that point Imisha bit her tongue.

"Can really none of you see it?" Imisha almost pleaded. The future was so clear to her. And every second she spend here arguing it slipped further and further away. She looked from face to face, all serene and accusing. Only Ikaria took a breath as if to say something but swallowed it down and lowered her eyes to the floor. Imisha could not believe it, was she really going insane?

"This council will no longer listen to the mad ramblings of harlots. I vote to exclude Imisha from this council and strip her of her position. She is clearly not fit to be among us anymore."

Silently, one by one, the assembled farseers started raising their hands in agreement. Before they could be counted Imisha's turned her back on them and walked out. She left with her head held high but her spirit was crawling in the dirt.


Imisha stormed out of the council chambers, fuming. A part of her wanted them to be right. Wanted her to be wrong. That would have been so much easier. But the vision was so clear. She couldn't even follow the other threads of fate in her mind anymore. They all ended with her children dead. Or worse. No, she had no choice. She had to find the exodite princess, that was the first step. And time was running out. If the council would not help her she would talk directly to the fleet commanders. Someone must know what ship the princess left on.

Not looking up she rounded a corner and ran straight into someone. Her normally flat and manageable chest that had already started to swell and ache squashed painfully up against the massive bulk. She swore and looked up. It was Davar. The last person she wanted to see. Imisha had been in such a rush to get back that she almost hadn't noticed that he had tagged along. And while he hadn't said anything Imisha knew he didn't approve of her coming back here. Nor did he seem very convinced by her vision. On the whole his presence sure didn't make it any easier for her to do what she came the craftworld for.

She tried to shield her feelings but one look at her and he knew.

"They didn't believe you?" he probed.

"No they did not." Imisha snapped back. Stating the obvious did no good. He tried to pull her in a hug but she rebuffed him.

"I need to get going. Some one on this damned world must know where that brat went." Her body language told him to get out the way. His normally perceptive senses seemed to have lapsed for he just stood still, blocking her way forward.

"Iminisha, we need to talk."

"Not now ok?" she turned him away in annoyment and tried to storm past him. To her great surprise he stopped her, holding her arm fast in a firm grip.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he sounded hurt.

"Tell you what?" she snapped but it just sounded stupid. He just looked at her in return.

"I don't have time for this!" she snarled and try to wriggle free from his grasp. He didn't let go.

"Let me go!" she tried to pry his hand off but it was like an iron vice.

"I have a right to know. Are they mine?"

Imisha hit him straight in the face with her free hand. Not a slap, a full closed fist punch. He didn't so much as flinch. She hit him again as hard as she could. Still no reaction. It only infuriated her further.

"How dare you even ask me that? Let. Me. Go."

"No" Davar's voice was calm and controlled. He looked her straight in the face. She shot a defiant hateful glare back at him.

"We can't go on like this. It might have been fine when it was just the two of us. I could be content being your exotic toy. Someone you could love when it suited you and then discard when you got bored. But this is different." He probably didn't mean for it to be an accusation, but it sure came out that way.

"Discard when I got bored? You self centered arsehole! Everything isn't about you! Aren't you even the least worried about your niece?"

"She can handle herself. I am more worried about you."

"That's just terrific. You think I am mad as well! Just great! Out of everyone I thought atleast you..."

"I don't think you are mad. I think you are running away."

"I am not running away. I have had a vision. But I guess it is too much to expect a savage like you to understand!"

"I might be a savage but I know you are not thinking clearly. And I am the father of your children. I won't allow you to run off and get yourself killed on some fool's errand just because you are afraid of commitment."

"You won't allow me?" Imisha's voice turned cold. "Oh I see. It's like that now. I am to be your dutiful subservient wife." Imisha made an elegant yet mocking curtsy." 'Yes master'. 'No master'. 'Can I please go to the toilet master?' You think just because I climbed into bed with you that you own me? That I am some housebroken little craftworld broodmare to that you can claim as a prize to mount on your wall?"

Davar stared back at her but she could see the fury boiling behind his eyes. He still had her arm in an iron grip.

"We are done here. One last time: Let me go."

"Not until you calm down" Davar responded. That was the wrong thing to say.

"I SAID LET GO!" In the scream all of Imisha's pent up rage came flooding out all at once. Instinctively she plunged her free hand into her pocket and gripped the destruction rune hidden there with all her might. Clear sky blue warp lightning leapt from her eyes and mouth onto Davars body. His eyes widened and he stumbled down to his knees, bringing them almost face to face. Imisha's roar lit up the corridor as she channeled the deadly eldritch storm into her lover at point blank range. Once the floodgates were opened they could not be closed. Crackling sparks poured into Davar's mouth and ears, lighting up his skull from the inside. His mouth moved as if he trying to speak but then the eyes glazed over and he dropped to the floor face down, stilling holding onto her. The air smelled of ozone and burnt hair.

"Don't you EVER try to force me do something I don't want to do! You hear me?" Davar didn't respond. Finally she could loosen his grasp on her arm. His hand fell lifeless to the floor. Imisha stood over him, panting. The lightning had stopped flowing from her but the rage was still there.

"Why did you make me do that? Why?! I told you to let go! I told you!" she screamed at him. She kicked the prone exodite in frustration. Still, he remained quite still. Underneath her hot fury Imisha turned ice cold inside.

"It's not my fault! It isn't! It's your fault! You made me do it!" she pointed accusingly at him, lying there motionless on the floor. The cold was rising within her. She started walking back and forth in front of him, not knowing what to do with herself. Her hands started to shake. She placed a trembling hand in front of her mouth as she realized what she had done. But then Davar groaned and coughed. At the end of the corridor two of his tribesmen appeared, no doubt drawn here by the commotion.

"You there!" Imisha commanded while she still had some resemblance of control over herself. "Get this weakling out of my sight!" As the tribesmen rushed to support the injured chieftain Imisha reached for her belt knife and drew it. With one swift cut she sliced off her braid and threw the tuft of hair at his feet in one final act of spite. Then she turned her heel and marched away in the opposite direction.


Once she was out of the way Imisha collapsed along a wall. Everything was falling apart in front of her very eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him. It cut into her that she had done it anyway. She looked at her arms where he had held her fast. It wouldn't even bruise. He had known exactly how much strength had been needed to keep her in place without hurting her. Such control. And in return she had almost killed him in a fit of rage. She had almost killed the father of her children. Oh god the children. Is this the kind of mother she would be? Would she one day hurt them too? Or get them killed before they even had a chance to be born?

In a miserable whimper she lowered her face into her hands and wept uncontrollably. She could feel her mind unravelling behind her eyes. The strict ritualistic shield that kept her fragile soul shielded from the dangers of the warp was crumbling. And without it there was nothing between her and She Who Thirsts.

For the craftworld Eldar the paths are more than a culture, they are a necessity for survival. They kept the mind in check, focusing and restricting its energies so that it will not run rampant. For the Eldar mind is as dangerous as it is beautiful. Every Eldar knew what it could do when unchained. It had all but killed their race. Imisha had never been the most stable of individuals to begin with and she was almost in between paths, having all but accepted her limitations as a seer. Thus every emotional outburst was like a battering ram against the feeble walls keeping her sanity in place. She could already feel the vortex like pull of Slaanesh tugging at the edges of the soul. Maybe just letting go wouldn't be so bad?

In her misery Imisha didn't hear the soft footsteps approaching and before she could dry the tears from her eyes a swath of perfect red hair appeared in her blurry vision. Ikaria sat down next to the devastated farseer, pulling her close in a tight embrace. Not as a seer. Not even as a fellow Eldar. As one woman to another, through the bond that all members of the lifegiving sex seem to share.

"Oh Ika" Imisha sobbed into the warlock's silk robe. Had it been anyone else Imisha probably would have lashed out. And no one else would have had the guts to just sit down and hug the volatile Imisha. That kind of courage and affection could be disarming. Without a word Ikaria wrapped her own mind around the farseer's wounded soul, shielding her and her unborn children from pull of the great enemy. Like a fierce sentinel in the warp she stood watch until Imisha could collect herself enough to raise tentative walls around her mind once again. And so Imisha cried and cried until the tears would not come anymore. At last she looked up at her friend. She saw in the look she got back that she was a mess. But she was still there.

"What happened to your braid? I liked it" Ikaria stroked her hair, trying to straighten it out.

Imisha reached up to the point where her braid had been. Now there was just a short ragged stump of hair. She could not find the words in which to answer the warlock. Ikaria, noting the silence changed topic.

"Look. There are a lot of people who think Varunastra crossed more than one line. I talked to the religious faction and they was aghast of the language that was used. Even Omorio seemed regretful. Give me a few weeks and I will have him wrapped around my little finger. If you would just denounce your prophecy, admit that you were wrong I am sure your misstep will be forgiven and you will be let back in no time. After all you aren't the first girl to get knocked up and go a little crazy." Ikaria prodded Imisha with her elbow and got a weak smile in return.

It would be so easy. Just walk away from it all. Davar, the prophecy. All of it. Let the children be raised among the others in the craftworld. More or less go back to her old life. She would have to change faction but surely one of the other political groupings would value Imisha's navy contacts and martial skill. And as a mother of three she would be something quite extraordinary. Even if her children were not pure craftworld Eldar.

"I can't" Imisha finally said.

"I understand how you feel. We have all..." Ikaria started.

"No Ika. You don't. You really don't." The image of the little princess covered in blood was now etched into Imisha's soul. Alongside the knowledge of her own children sharing the same fate. Unless she acted. She would never be able to push that feeling aside. It was part of her now. And if that made her crazy then so be it. Imisha looked up and into the eyes of her younger counterpart. Ikaria was so sweet and giving. So beautiful and full of promise. Sticking up for Imisha at the council meeting and lobbying her case afterwards must have cost her precious political capital. And if she continued to do so she might very well loose her bright future.

"You should be getting back. Your absence will be noted. Go now. I will be fine."

Ikaria opened her mouth to protest but Imisha hardened her eyes and put a hint of steel in her voice. Straightening her back she locked eyes with Ikaria in a way that she knew would get her message through.

"Thank you for your assistance apprentice. But I wish to be alone now. Please respect the wishes of your elders."

Looking confused and hurt Ikaria bowed her head, got to her feet and quickly pattered away. As the last strand of copper hair disappeared around the corner Imisha slumped down again. The immediate danger of letting go had passed but her situation had not. She was now quite alone, all her allies and friends alienated and pushed away. Perhaps it was for the best. The path ahead would be a lonely one. Imisha allowed a few final tears to fall before she steeled herself to get up.

Then a shadow fell upon her.

"Ikaria, please just leave me alone!" she struck out her arms and looked up, not even bothering to dry her tears.

The horned face of the great enemy looked down on her from within a hooded cowl. One half of the face was contorted in rage and hunger while the other smiled seductively at her. For a split second Imisha panicked in primal fear until she realized it was but a mask. Beneath the cacophonic display of pain and pleasure stretched an extravagant yet patched pink and black cape all the way to the ground. And underneath that the hints of an even more elaborate costume could be gleaned. A harlequin. But not just any harlequin. A solitaire. The performer tasked with playing the doom of the Eldar in the dance without end. From beneath the mask cold unfeeling eyes studied Imisha. Then the harlequin turned around and started walking away down the hallway. A deep sing song female voice reached back towards the stunned farseer.

"She thinks: The seer seems lost. Yet also seeking that which has been lost."

There was a small pause as the Solitaire stopped, leaning her head to one side as if pondered her own statement. Her finger tapped the daemon mask lightly. Then she turned around in a whirl of her cloak. The mask was grinning.

"She has decided: She likes the symmetry."

Before Imisha could blink the Solitaire was back right next to her. She moved so fast that if it hadn't been for the rush of displaced air you would think she had simply appeared from out of nowhere. Imisha was no stranger to the speed at which the Eldar could move. She had seen everything for howling banshees to jetbikes flash before her eyes. But this was different. It was like there was something wrong with it. No living thing was supposed to move that fast. The harlequin came to rest just in front of Imisha in a hunter crouch. The mask was now just an inch from Imisha face. She could feel the Solitaire's breath on her face, smell her strong musky perfume. See the whites of those cold eyes as they looked straight into her. The deep husky sing song voice spoke again, this time in a whisper so faint it almost couldn't be heard.

"She wonders: Shall the seer and the dancer go look for death together?"

And there it was. Right there in the icy eyes of the Solitaire. The golden thread of hope, spiralling into the future. So once again Imisha followed the call of fate blindly into the night.