A trail of crimson blood led out of the dressing room out into the hallway. Something had dragged itself out from the room and along the floor. Red handprints decorated the floor next to the track. In one place part of a broken nail lay on the concrete.
As the blood grew fresher and brighter the trail followed the corridor in its twists and turns until it came to the stairway. On top of the stairway, next to the locked door lay a broken eldar female. The entire frame was smeared red where her impotent fists had wailed in vain at the cold steel.
Imisha laid flat against the wall. She could not feel her legs. Or her children. She had screamed herself hoarse trying to get her voice to carry through the cellar exit. But to no avail. Now she simply lay there at the top of the stairs, powerless to do anything but to pump her life out onto the floor. She lifted her hand from her stomach and winced as she looked at the jagged wound. The knife has torn a large gash in her side. Had she had her gear she could have at least sealed it. As it was she could only wrap a piece of cloth as hard she could around the gaping hole in her flesh.
With nothing to lose Imisha let out a haunting soundless cry. While the physical world remained silent the warp boiled and shook at her scream. Shockwaves of raw emotion flowed from her like a radio beacon into the warp.
I am dying, she called. I am all alone. Please anyone, help. For the love of all that is holy, if not for me then for my children.
No one answered. No one heard. In her despair Imisha still tried to keep the call tight and focused so that only people in tune with her would catch it. But even so she knew the only ones most likely to answer the call would be predators catching the scent of wounded prey. If a wildebeest weeps upon the savannah only lions will show up to dry the tears.
Perhaps it was for the best that no one came. The already dim cellar staircase started to blur before Imisha's eyes. Bloodloss does that to you. So this is how it ends, Imisha thought.
Why had she not simply fried the cultist? Why had she been so bloody stupid as to walk straight into a trap? If she lived through this Imisha wished she could say she would use this example to never ever show compassion or mercy again. But that wasn't the truth. Truth was she was proud of herself. But why? Why was she so proud that she had dropped her guard, risked and perhaps surrendered her own life in an attempt to lessen the pain of an enemy?
Because all life is sacred was the only thought that came as darkness descended.
Imisha awoke to the smell of strong alcohol along with what she later concluded must have been the foulest breath she had even come in contact with.
"I thinkz da knife missed yer babymaker. But it hitz yer spine" The ork made a small pause. "I dontz knowz if yer eva walk againz." The old ork janitor shook his head. "Yer people break so eazy"
"My children are alive?" Imisha mumbled the words between numbs lips. A number of tubes were pumping what she guessed were ork painkillers into her. She was high as a kite. Instinctively she reached out again. Deeply hidden within her were three very scared, very shaken little sparks of life.
"I thinkz so. Did me best. But never patched up no preggo pointy ear beforez." the ork admitted gruffly. Imisha looked down. The wound on her stomach was closed with what looked like metal clamps. It looked horrible. But it felt so much better. Actually Imisha could not remember last time she had felt this good ever. Or perhaps that was the painkillers.
"You have a habit of bringing dancers back to your home?" Imisha slurred before she was overtaken by a coughing fit and clasped her hand to her side.
"Yer as much a dancer az me runny shitz" the ork snorted derisively "I mightz be ork but I ain't noo stoopid."
Imisha giggled furiously at the word 'shit', flashed a radiant smile and then closed her eyes again. Darkness gently carried her away.
When she awoke again Imisha hurt like hell. From the waist up at least. Below than she could not feel anything. She tried to move her leg. Nothing. Shift her hip. Nothing. Wiggle her toes. Nothing. Well that was it then. End of the road. Either she would die here or manage to get back to craftworld. But in any case this little adventure of hers was now over. What use was a farseer who could not walk? Imisha bitterly thought it would have been better if she would have bled to death in the cellar than live like this.
"I can hearz your self pity all the wayz over herez. I does not suit yer." came a rough voice from across the room. Imisha froze for a second then laid perfectly still, pretending to sleep.
"I knows yer awake" the ork snorted. There was a sound of someone rising from a chair.
Imisha sulked but reluctantly pushed herself up on the pillows so that she could face her rescuer. A giant green earless face loomed into her view. Oh no. Not him. The ork janitor poked and prodded several of the apparatus she was hooked up to. Shamelessly he lifted the homespun wool shirt she was wearing and studied the wound on her stomach. Imisha blushed and looked away.
"Don't worriez. Yer ain't gotz nuffin I ain't seenz beforez." Imisha swallowed her pride and let him continued the examination. She didn't have much choice.
"How is yer feelin?" he asked at last in a businesslike voice.
"Violated. Disfigured!" Imisha spat back rancorously. Then she added in a smaller voice "Crippled."
"We all gotz battlescarz to carry" he pointed towards the stubs where his ears once had been. "I lost these charging a group of monsters" he exclaimed proudly.
"Yer is alive and datz wat matterz. Stop feelingz sorry for yerself and tink aboutz da things inside yer." He poked her belly with a clawed finger. Shocked at the audacity Imisha winced, glared at him and swore loudly. Desperately she dug after the destruction rune she had hidden in her elaborate hairdo. It wasn't there anymore. The ork grinned widely down at her as if reminded of a sweet memory. He chuckled and walked over to the pile of Imisha things stacked surprisingly neatly in the corner. From the pile he pulled a small shining object and started to walk back to her. Just of of reach he stopped.
"Looking for dis?"
"Me be just an ork." The bastard's smiled grew even wider. "But it seemz weird to me that a destitute Eldar dancer goes aroundz carrying seer runes". He twiddled the rune between his claws. Imisha lunged for it but ended up almost falling of the bed. The ork closed his hand around the rune and placed it in his pocket.
"Oh noez. I dontz really fancies becoming a kebab thankz yer very much." He sat down next to her again.
The two scowled at each other. There most certainly was no love lost between their two races. So many questions raced through Imisha's mind. How did this ork recognize an Eldar seer rune? How was it he seemed to know here every thought? And why in the name of Isha did her mangled gut tell her that they were on the same team? At long last she settled on a question slightly less complicated.
"How did you find me?" It wasn't what she wanted to know but it was a start.
The old ork scratched his head. "Yer called for me"
"You heard me?" Imisha asked incredulously. The door to the cellar had looked so thick that she doubted that any sounded had carried through it.
"Not so much heard. All the sudden I just knewz." the ork admitted. "I knewz where yer were and that yer waz hurt. I wentz there and there yer waz." His tone was that of something that made perfect sense. Or as Imisha later found out, like it had happened to him many times before.
There was a lull in the conversation. After a while Imisha asked the question that she really wanted to know the answer to.
"Why did you help me?"
"Yer is tired. Should rest. Yes. Dat be best." The orc start packing up his scary looking tools.
Imisha reached out and placed her hand on the orks arm. It was coarse and rough and hairy and it was apparent she could hardly force him to do anything he didn't want to. Still he didn't pull away.
"Please. Why did you help me?"
The ork sat down on the chair next to the bed. He grunted and set his jaw. Then he started speaking.
"I waz once a painboyz." he stated.
"I fightz in many warz. Followed many warlordz. Killed many. Tortured many. Many orks. Many hoomans." The ork janitor nodded towards Imisha "Many of yer kind".
"I didz thingz that would make yer face even paler. I really liked da painz." The ork swallowed. He looked confused. As if sickened by his own words. His was wringing his hands nervously in his lap. There was a small pause.
"What happened?" Imisha asked breathlessly. But she already knew. Somehow she knew it was the same thing that had happened to her.
"I guess I gotz tired of it all. Killing didn't feelz good no more. Painz started hurtin. Inside." the ork sighed. "I just got dis feelin dat.." The cogs in his head were turning slowly, trying to find the right words.
"...that all life should be sacred" Without thinking Imisha finished his sentence in a barely audible whisper. The small words resonated throughout the the tiny chamber with a force she could not explain.
"YES!" the ork roared and pointed eagerly towards her. "How didz yer know dat?"
Imisha didn't answer. Instead she turned her head away from him. She was frightened that if he looked at her right now he would see straight into her soul. He would see her own failings and fears. See the reason she was lying on this bed in the first place. The ork sat down again and snorted at Imisha's dismissal. An uncomfortable silence fell between them.
Imisha let has gaze wander around the tiny room. It was dirty in more than one sense of the word. Grime and prornography covered the walls. In one end of room was a small desk with papers spread all over. Some of them had been torn to shreds. The metal wall beside it bore the marks of fist pounding it in frustration, all buckled and twisted. Drugged and in pain Imisha had not noticed she was in the right place at the right time. She opened her mouth to ask about the writing desk. The her eyes fell on something that caused her to close it again.
Standing on the mantelpiece was a photo. A photo of an ork and a little eldar girl. The little eldar girl in the photograph stuck at her tongue and made a victory sign with her fingers at Imisha. The ork was grinning and laughing was must have been a booming laugh that could almost be heard. In the picture he still had his ears. All the sudden Imisha saw where she recognized the ork janitor from. Upon seeing Imisha stunned expression the old ork gave a chuckle and walked over to the mantelpiece. He picked up the photo.
"Dat beez me daughta" he exclaimed with pride.
The absurdity of an ork claiming an eldar to be his daughter was not lost upon Imisha. But what was even more absurd was that the two actually looked like each other, as much as an orc and an eldar could be similar. Something about the ears. The girls ears were slightly crooked, just like the ork in the picture. Like they were actually related. The ork seemed to be thinking the same thing as he looked affectionately at the picture, his other hand tracing the stumps where his ears use to be.
Imisha was quickly finding out that this specific girl seemed to be many thing to many different people. Despite all that the difference in race wasn't the most surprising thing about the picture.
"But that can't be..." Imisha stammered. She looked from the picture to the ork. He was much younger in the picture. The picture must be many years old. But the exodite princess looked exactly the same. Eldar do age slowly. But not that slowly. The ork grinned at her bafflement.
"I keptz me good lookz, would yer not say?"
Imisha could not help but to smile. Nothing of it really mattered. She was where she was supposed to be. The golden thread of fate was shining like a sun in her mind. Never again would she doubt her fate. If the use of her legs were the price she had to pay for the future then so be it.
"So you know where she is?" she asked eagerly, trying to prop herself up on the bed. The old ork's smile faded.
"Yer is lookingz for her aintz yer? Datz be why yer came here."
"Yes."
"What is she to yer?" he asked with just a hint of jealously.
"Everything" Imisha breathed without thinking. The old ork nodded as if that was the sole correct answer to his question.
"I don't knowz wherez she is. I ain't seenz her in many yearz. Der waz an...an accident." the ork slumped as he looked at the picture. His clawed hand was gripping the frame very hard.
"An accident?" Imisha breathed, fearing the worst.
"It was an accident! I was not herz fault! It waznt!" the ork suddenly exclaimed violently. He waved his arms and two angry red eyes glowered at Imisha, as if daring her to contradict him. But the farseer was silent and after a while the ork collected himself and sagged down on the floor, the photo still in his hands.
"After datz...she left. Went backz. Begged me to takez her backz."
"Back? Take her back where?"
"Back to wherez I foundz her" the ork said in a quiet voice and looked up. Never before had Imisha seen an ork look so sad before.