Ikaria took a deep breath and stepped into the council chambers. She had all but perfected the ethereal grace that all of her kin exhibited. She no longer seemed to walk, she floated just above the ground. Instead of her normal warlock armour, she was loosely wrapped in layer upon layer of very thin white silk. It fluttered after her as she moved like she was an apparition from beyond the grave, only settling in place when she stopped.
Her hair was much in the same style, not the usual tight braid but a waterfall of liquid copper flowing from her temples. Her green eyes and red lips were painted in the style of the maidens of old. Bold and bright, from the days when there wasn't a monster hiding behind the temptation she presented. All around Ikaria, a heavy aroma swirled like a mist, intoxicating and dangerous.
When she stepped into the dusky chamber, there wasn't an eye that was pointed straight at her. She took another deep breath. It was now or never. Lowering her head, she went down on one knee, eyes to the ground. With a steady voice, she started reciting the maiden's prayer.
"I am the willow branch that bends in the storm, hoping that it will not break me."
"I am the grain of sand on the beach, hoping that the oceans do not swallow me whole."
"I am the budding flower that turns towards the sun, hoping I will get the chance to bloom."
"I am small, I am young, I am humble. Hear my prayer."
"I will be strong, I will be true, I will stay humble. Hear my prayer."
"I am the maiden in white, I am life, I am the future. Hear my prayer."
At the last line, Ikaria raised her head and lifted her eyes in one smooth motion. Her eyelids and eyelashes were so heavily painted that it was quite the effort but she knew the overall effect would be striking.
"Esteemed members of the council. I have come before you today to protest a grave injustice. One of our own, one of our finest, has been abandoned by us, left to fend for herself. A pregnant mother, with the future of our race in her womb, wounded and I dire need of help. I have spoken to her and seen her state. She and her children are in dire need of medical aid that only we can supply. With so few of us left, can we really let her unborn children suffer for our petty squabbles? I, therefore, besiege thee, lift the wrongful decree banishing Imisha the farseer from this world and welcome your lost child back in from the cold and into your embrace where she belongs."
At first, Ikaria was met with nothing but silence. Then a series of loud claps rang out from the darkness. A thin gaunt farseer in a long crimson robe strode down from the stands onto the stone floor.
"Such elegant words. Such emotion. Such showmanship." Varunastra snorted.
"Such utter nonsense."
"What apprentice Ikaria fails to mention is that Imisha was banished for abandoning her post, for deserting her people. She made her choice. Apparently, the pleasures of the flesh and the pursuit of madness was more important to her than her own people. As for whatever vile half spawn she carries it is none of our kin. None of our concern."
Ikaria drew a breath to respond but Varunastra cut her off, continuing is a droning mocking voice.
"But perhaps the young warlock has a point. Maybe we were wrong to let Imisha go. Because I see now that her insanity has been allowed to spread, like a disease, infecting our young. Maybe the merciful and safe thing would have been to put her down like a sick animal."
This time Ikaria didn't let him continue, pouncing when he stopped to draw breath. She had been a singer for ten years. Let's see if the old seer could keep up with her lung capacity.
"Imisha is no more insane than you or I."
"While I can't speak for the state of your mind I can assure you that I myself and the rest of this council hold ourselves to a far higher standard."
"A high standard indeed. You shed words while she sheds blood. How very courageous and noble to stand here in safety of this chamber and pass judgement on defenceless unborn children stranded out there in the night."
Varunastra nostrils flared as he shot Ikaria a glare of pure distaste. "You forget yourself, warlock!"
But Ikaria had had enough, she would not bow before this spiteful little man. "No! You are the ones who have forgotten yourself! All of you! But I have come to remind you and I will not leave until my voice has been heard!"
"She is a traitor to our people! She deserves a traitor's death! And if you are not careful you will join her!"
"This has nothing to do with our people or our world! This is nothing but your own personal vendetta. Imisha hasn't abandoned us! She just abandoned...you." Ikaria pointed a long finger straight at Varunastra's chest, locking eyes with him. In that moment she understood exactly why the man hated Imisha so much. It had nothing to do with Imisha's faith. Or her duty. She had abandoned him. For another man. Could it be that simple?
Ikaria could not help but feel a little pity. This man wasn't evil, or unreasonable. He was just lost. Her feelings must have shown on her face because Varunastra, pale as he was, almost turned crimson for a moment. Unable to stare the truth in the face he backhanded Ikaria straight in the face. Or at least that was his intent. As it was Varunastra's knuckles found only air.
A gasp ran through the chamber.
A red and white apparition had appeared behind him, strands of silky cloth fluttering in all directions like the mane of a banshee, copper hair and green eyes blazing in the twilight chamber. In her hands, Ikaria held an imaginary sword pointed straight towards Varunastra's neck. Any sense of pity was gone from her face. Because of her beauty and kind demeanour, many doubted that the rumours of her were true. That she had yet to have a close combat instructor that she had not been able to best in the end. That she moved so fast that it seemed like she could sense any blow before it was even struck. And that in real combat she struck with such force that her witchblade sheared through swords and limbs alike. The humans called her Bladebreaker, the dark brethren Ikaria the Mutilator, the orks Da Red Dread. She went by many names among the enemies of her kin, none of them pretty.
Varunastra leaned over his shoulder and smirked at the panting Ikaria. Technically he, as a high seer, was allowed to discipline any warlock in the craftworld as he saw fit. Ikaria, on the other hand, was strictly forbidden to raise her hand against her elders. But Ikaria wasn't here as a student, this wasn't a training session. She was here as a pleading maiden. And to attempt to strike one such as her in the council chambers was definitely a breach of etiquette. But if Ikaria were to retaliate it would be ten times worse. She knew that if she lost the moral high ground she lost any chance of pleading her case. So instead of sending the little weasel crashing to the floor like she so longed to do she she leaned forward and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear.
"Woe to him who lays a hand on mother or maiden!" She hissed at him. It was an ancient curse from the times of old where the physical size of a person still mattered. Taking advantage of the shocked silence that followed Ikaria stepped before the assembly.
"I call upon those of you who still have a shred of decency left in you to speak up! Banishing Imisha was not right. You all know this in your hearts. I, nor she, denies that she is an eccentric heretic. But she's still one of us. Did she give over a hundred years of her life in service to us only to be tossed aside like garbage when she needs us the most? Has she not served her time? A daughter of this world is suffering, begging for aid! Will none of you extend your hand to help her?"
Ikaria put all the power she could behind her words. At the end of her speech, she fell to her knees, hands locked together. She closed her eyes, her heart beating furiously in her chest, hoping that someone out there in the dark would see reason. It was now or never.
But no one spoke up. Not her master, not anyone of Imisha's old friends, not even the people who openly had told her they opposed the decree to banish Imisha. Of all the people who had promised to be there when she needed them not a single one raised their voice. Desperately Ikaria scanned the room. Many of the people who were supposed to be her allies had not even bothered to show up. No one would meet her gaze. No one wanted to put their reputation on the line for the sake of a lone woman. She was alone.
The stillness managed what Varunastra's words and fists had failed to. To break her. Her head fell, defeated.
"Ahhh, the sweet sound of silence. Of wisdom." Varunastra stretched out his arms and started to circle her. "Do you really think so little of this council? Did you really think we would be so gullible?"
"You paint yourself up like the harlots of old, putting your flesh up for display like you're a slab of meat at the slaughterhouse." He picked up a piece of the fluttering cloth Ikaria was wrapped in, rubbed the cloth between his fingers before dropping it with a snort of disdain.
"And that smell," he continued, leaning in close, wrinkling his nose. Ikaria stood her ground, but could not stop a shiver running down her spine as Varunastra whispered in her ear. "You reek of desperation."
"Perhaps you thought that we would be distracted by this cheap vulgar display? Or did you think that if you debased yourself enough we would take pity on you?"
"Do you know what I see? I see one whore pleading for another!" With a snap, he grabbed her robe and jerked sharply. This time Ikaria wasn't fast enough. The cloth ripped and tore, unravelling and falling from Ikaria's body like broken rose petals. Desperately she clutched the fleeing cloth, trying to cover herself. As she fell to the floor Varunastra snorted, spat at her and pointed down with an accusing finger.
"Is this what you teach your students, master Omorio? To prostitute themselves for the sake of traitors?" At these barbed words, Ikaria's master flushed and frowned at her from up in the stands, grinding his teeth. It was over.
"We will discuss this later. At length. You are dismissed!" Ikaria's master glared at her as she sobbed her way out of the door, clutching at the remainders of her garment. She had known it would end this way, she had seen it in the runes time and time again. Yet when Imisha had asked, how could she say no? Her friend was pregnant, crippled and stranded alone far away from home. Ikaria felt like she if she had abandoned her friend to her fate she would let go of the best part of her own soul. She would become like the rest of the people in that chamber. Cold, jaded and uncaring.
Everyone says that power corrupts, that it takes something from you. That to achieve it, you have to give something in return. If that price was selling out those dear to her, then perhaps to Ikaria, it just wasn't worth the price? Still, she dreaded to think what would happen to her now. She would lose everything she had worked for all her life. Head down she hurried to her chambers, trying to avoid the stares of her kin.
Once the door shut behind her she fell to her knees, just like she had done in the chamber. With a mental command, she called up Imisha on her screen. But what was she going to say? That she failed? That even her own friends had betrayed her? That there now was no hope? In the end, Ikaria just stood there, gaping.
Because, as it was, Imisha gaped right back.
"For Isha's sake Ika, cover your shame!" she gasped. "You look like indecency incarnate!"
"What...wha-" Ikaria looked down at the remnants of her dress, confused. Last time she had seen Imisha she had been lying on a bed, beaten and bruised, barely conscious. Desperately trying to convey that she needed to return to the craftworld. A week later Ikaria had received a package with the dress and perfume and a short note begging for Ikaria to plead her case before the council. Since then nothing but silence. Now Imisha was sitting there in front of her looking healthy, vivacious and almost...almost amused?
"I told you to wear something distracting, not something non-existent!" Imisha eyed Ikaria up and down, peeking through the finger in her hand. She averted her eyes again like she was staring into a bright light. "I swear if Isha had blessed me with a third of what she has given you I could rule this galaxy!"
Ikaria blushed. "But-"
"Don't you 'but' me, youngling! Shoo! If Davinar sees you in that I swear I will never forgive you. Go shower and dress properly!" Imisha pointed sternly towards the shower room behind Ikaria.
"Did you need something?" Came a deep booming voice from behind Imisha.
"Nothing dear, absolutely nothing!" Imisha shot over her shoulder then turned back to Ikaria with a look that was just as dangerous as the death goddess she served. "SHOWER! NOW!"
Ikaria fled into the shower.
"Scrub, scrub, scrub yourself clean, you dirty, dirty girl!" Imisha continued in a sing-song voice. Finally, unable to keep up the ridiculous song, she exploded into a high clear laughter. It was infectious. Ikaria found herself smiling, despite it all. She let the warm water cleanse her, the tattered remains of her garb fall to the fall.
"Make sure to do a proper job! Under your armpits! Between your toes! Behind the ears!" Ikaria obliged, starting the ritual cleansing she had done thousands of times.
"I might be a hundred years younger than you, but I do know how to wash myself thank you very much."
"That's good to know." Imisha sounded thoroughly relieved. "I want you to make a good impression on my Danivar when we come over. You are both precious people to me, it is important that you get along. But could you do me a favour and wear something baggy and horrible will you? Perhaps something Nurgle inspired? And none of that fancy warlock makeup! You're too pretty as it is!" After finishing her wash, Ikaria stepped out of the shower, wrapping a soft fuzzy heavy robe around her.
Imisha theatrically put her face in her palms when she saw Ikaria. "Oh dear Isha, there is no hope is there? Even in that, you're gorgeous."
Ikaria lowered her head. All the praise and jokes didn't quite manage to distract her from the reality of the situation.
"Don't look so glum, I was just teasing. You should be excited. After all, we are going to change the galaxy together, you and I."
"But...but. They ignored me. The council. Nothing has changed, you're still banished. While Varunastra and the other control the craftworld, what can we do? They will be on you like hawks."
"They won't be much of a problem after today." Imisha waved her hand absentmindedly.
"I don't understand..."
"Oh snap out of it! You knew very well that they would never agree to your plea well before you even stepped into that chamber. You don't need to be a seer to see that."
"But. What was the point then?" Ikaria's faith wavered for a second. Was this a giant joke to her old friend? Had she given up her place and embarrassed herself for nothing. Imisha seemed to sense her unease.
"This is an excellent exercise for you, young warlock. Tell me, what was the point?" Imisha's grey eyes twinkled secretively.
It had been Imisha who had insisted that Ikaria dressed up like a maiden of old. Using an old religious garb seldom wear anymore. Ikaria had no idea where Imisha had found it. She had even supplied the perfume. The pieces started to fall into place. Even without her runes, Ikaria realized that everything that had happened must have been planned in detail. She was missing something.
"What happened today?" Imisha asked, patiently.
Ikaria looked at her friend. She had thought this had been a desperate attempt, a last-ditch effort for a friend. A lost cause. And ultimately, a failure. But looking at Imisha's amused smile she knew it wasn't.
"I went in. I pleaded your case. And they...rejected me."
"No." Imisha cut her off. "They humiliated you. Didn't they?"
Ikaria nodded silently.
"I am sorry you had to go through that." Imisha sighed. "I'm sorry, but it was necessary. If it is any comfort I doubt any of our kin will dare to raise a hand or harsh word against you ever again."
"Why?" Ikaria asked, genuinely hurt.
"Do you remember my own moment in that chamber?"
"Yes"
"It wasn't that fun either. Now, I will give you a hint. What did I represent when I stood in that chamber?"
Ikaria furrowed her brow. Renegade? Outsider? Preacher? Heretic? Then it dawned on Ikaria what Imisha must be referring to.
"Mother"
"Very good! And what did you represent today?" That one was obvious.
"Maiden" Ikaria's face lit up. "Woe to him who lays a hand mother or maiden!"
"That's more like it!" Imisha looked immensely proud. With herself or with Ikaria it was hard to tell. "Everyone knows the saying, right? I used to think it was just something they told little boys to keep them from pulling our hair. Turns out some people were clever enough to take it a step further."
Ikaria looked puzzled.
"I can't believe I ever considered the exodites to be savages. It's amazing how much you can learn once you throw away your prejudice and start to listen. Like this."
Imisha picked up a small blue flower and showed it to Ikaria over the screen.
"Matronswroth. Quite common here. Hills are full of it. Smells very specific. It's a heavy, almost pungent musk, not something even the most frivolous Eldar would wear. Especially in a craftworld. It would be highly suspicious. Unless of course..."
Ikaria gaped, remembering the smell of the perfume Imisha had gifted her. Another piece of the puzzle locked into place. "...you were dressed up as a maiden of old."
"Full marks. Now Matronswroth, despite the sweet aroma and ominous name, does nothing for people like you and me. Some say it's a light aphrodisiac but I never noticed any difference." Imisha put the flower in her mouth, chewed and promptly swallowed. She grimaced and shrugged.
"Fun fact, however: Look up the expeditions sent to this moon for the last, oh say, hundred years or so?"
Ikaria quickly called up the data on her screen.
"Notice anything? Anything about the people they sent?"
Ikaria scrolled through the data. Imisha had been the last one. Before that another seer, before that...
"They're all women."
"There is a reason for that. You see craftworld males who come here are seldom keen to come back. The menfolk around here grow up with this flower, breathing the fumes from their first breath. When they reach adolescence they are mostly immune to its effects."
"But on men who have never come into contact with the flower before it has a particular, rather unpleasant effect. The pollen enters the bloodstream through the lungs and after a while accumulates in testicular glands, causing an acute allergic reaction as the body breaks it down. Inhale enough and any touch, even the slightest brush of cloth, will be enough to make even the hardiest man flinch." A group of people ran past outside Ikaria's quarters, obviously in a great hurry. Imisha continued.
"Distill the flowers into a perfume and that effect becomes tenfold. For people trapped in a small stuffy chamber where air has a hard time circulating the effect would be hundredfold. Then place a scantily dressed beauty like you in the middle of it all to get all that blood pumping."
Imisha glanced at the time and smiled like a wolf. "Right about now even their own heartbeats will be raining down like hammer blows on their nether regions."
A bloodcurdling scream echoed down the corridor outside Ikaria's chamber from far away. What Ikaria thought was the last piece of the puzzle fell into place.
"YOU POISONED THEM?"
"You think you could scream a little louder?" Imisha hushed "I don't think all the dead spirits in the infinite circuit quite heard you."
"You. Poisoned. The. Whole. Council?" Ikaria whispered, wide-eyed.
"I did no such thing! I simply gifted my dear friend an exotic perfume. Beside simply poisoning them would not have been enough. I needed their entire power base gone. Luckily they were kind enough to walk straight into my trap. Again, sorry I had to use you as bait."
Another scream rang out. And another.
"Will...will it kill them?" Ikaria asked, horrified.
"Kill them?" Imisha gaped, looking genuinely shocked. "What do you think I am? Of course not! But it will hurt like hell and render them very much incapable of getting in our way."
Ikaria heard more people running in the hallway outside her room. Alarms started beeping. She glanced nervously at her own console. It was flashing with messages.
"Will they be coming for me?" Was I to be your sacrificial pawn?
"Of course they will. To protect you that is. The craftworlders know nothing of the properties of Matronswroth. It's just a pretty little blue flower. It was just a perfume to you. Besides whatever residue that lingered to you just went down the drain." Imisha nodded towards the shower. Seeing the anxious expression on her friend's face the seer continued.
"Look, every single person in that room could sense your feelings when you stepped into that chamber. While rather crappy as people many of the men in that room were accomplished seers. And you tend to show your emotions rather openly, it's part of the reason we love you. If you had come to poison them the council would have sensed something was off. They didn't. That's the reason I kept you out of this until now."
Ikaria relaxed visibly.
"In any case, I doubt anyone will put much effort into the investigation."
"The entire council was poisoned! Of course, they will investigate it!"
Imisha shook her head. "On the surface yes, of course. But not really."
Ikaria opened her mouth to argue but Imisha silenced her with a finger.
"You need to understand how people think. Understand the reason this coup will work."
"The idea came to me when I remember what you told me after my own ordeal in the council chambers. That many thought I was mistreated. Especially since I was carrying children. But I was never very popular, so they let it slide. You, on the other hand, you're everyone's darling." Imisha smiled warmly, not a hint of envy in her eyes.
"Today that cup probably ran over for many. Even without the perfume, Varunastra would have had to work a lot harder to keep people in line what he did to you. But he doesn't see that, doesn't understand it. He thought he needed a show of strength, to make yet another example of you. Don't forget I used to work with the man, I know how he thinks, know how he feels."
Ikaria could not help but think that she seriously doubted that.
"What he fails to understand is that we Eldar, despite all our strict culture and advanced technology, are still a superstitious and emotional people. We're surrounded on all sides by signs and portents. We live our lives in this tiny box, constantly dreaming of what lies beyond, but dreading to peak out. That's why we so love it when the dream comes to us. Heretical plot or divine retribution? It's all about the perception, about what people want to believe."
"In this case the symbolism is perfect. An invisible avenger who strikes down the men who abused a pregnant seer and a beloved maiden in a most spectacular fashion, just like the ancient saying says. Acting out what many were secretly thinking. Oh, most will know, deep down, that this was a political ploy and not an act of heavenly intervention. But it fits the dream and it mirrors their feelings. So they will play along."
"When Varunastra and his ilk eventually do return they will find their support evaporated. Deemed unfit and removed from power by the very gods themselves. Half the others, the ones who sat silently while we were abused, fear and guilt will make them fall in line. The rest will be outnumbered and conform out of political necessity, just like they always have."
"Amazing." Ikaria breathed, seeing the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. "How did you come up with something like this?"
"Someone did something similar to me once." Imisha unwittingly patted her stomach. "Power is by nature such a fragile and fleeting thing. Like a house of cards, all it takes is a single push and it all comes crashing down."
"Well, it's one hell of a revenge." Ikaria chuckled.
Imisha face got very serious all the sudden. "This isn't about revenge."
Ikaria raised a single eyebrow. Her older friend relaxed a both giggled.
"Ok, so it's a little about revenge. But you need to understand, these people, while conceited and ignorant are not our enemies. They are...they are just like I once was. Afraid and alone, backed into a corner, blinded by the darkness pressing in from all sides, with nothing left to believe in."
Imisha continued is a serene, quiet voice. She looked down and Ikaria wondered for whom her words were really meant. "Remember, they are living breathing creatures, just like you and me. We did what needed to be done, but we should not relish in their pain."
Imisha's gaze drifted like she was looking at something very far away. "Their lives are sacred."
Ikaria shifted uncomfortably. Imisha just kept staring into empty space in front of her. Finally, Ikaria felt she had to break the silence.
"That's fine and all I guess. But who is supposed to lead the craftworld now? Do you understand the giant power vacuum you just created? What if someone even worse steps in?"
Imisha was still silent, but her eyes were focused on Ikaria again. A small smirk had crept onto her face. She was eying the young warlock with amused intent.
"Oh, no. No no no no no!" Ikaria started gesticulating and vigorously shaking her head.
Imisha just nodded and kept on smiling.
"I'm just a warlock. For Asuran's sake Imisha, technically I'm still in training!"
"I have seen your rankings. Do you know that I can quite literally count the people who can outperform in any subject you on the fingers in one hand? As a warrior, as a seer, as a singer, hell as a woman. Even your fertility scores are top tier. Like it or not, you're the best of us."
Ikaria blushed even more heavily than when Imisha has complimented her figure. Stuttering, she tried desperately to find another excuse. "I...I have no experience!"
"I've found that experience can be a double-edged sword if you wake up one day and find that all you know is wrong."
"You can't be serious!"
"I am. Also, you might have noticed that a few key friends were mysteriously missing from the council today? And remember only males were affected. So don't worry, you will have plenty of help. But they'll need a figurehead, someone to hold the banner high. I can think of no one better."
It was going to happen. Now that it was all laid out in front of her Ikaria had no trouble seeing the threads of fate twisting and turning. It was just like Imisha said, she was going to be the next leader of this world. Ikaria felt her head grow light. All around her the souls of her kin sang in the warp. The fate of all of them, warriors, singers and children alike, now rested on her shoulders.
"I need to sit down"
"Deep breaths sister."
Ikaria did as she was told. Then it struck her, if she were to do this, she could not go on simply doing what she was told. She lifted her eyes again, examining Imisha.
"You still haven't told me what you really want. What all this is for."
Imisha didn't seem taken back at all at this sudden challenge, instead simply smiling mischievously in response. She suddenly looked a lot younger, almost girlish.
"I want the Stablemaster's Pet."
"The battleship?!"
"Yes."
"You want me to steal a battleship for you?" Ikaria gawked.
"Of course not! Don't be silly. We can't have the new leader of the craftworld running around pinching warships! That would be absurd!" Imisha laughed a high clear laugh. Ikaria breathed out in relief.
"I will, of course, be the one to do that." Ikaria's breath caught in her throat again.
"What in the name of Khaine do you need a battleship for anyway?"
"You don't want to know." For a split second, Imisha looked terrified.
However, before Ikaria could respond she continued. "Don't worry about it. Just make sure the ship's docked when we arrive. I can handle the rest."
Imisha shot a glance over her shoulder. Ikaria opened her mouth to object but was cut short.
"I have to go" Imisha smiled, shaking her head and raising he eyes to look at Ikaria again. The former farseer stretched out her hand and touched the screen. Ikaria mimicked her.
"It will be so good to see you again, my friend."
Imisha gazed fondly at her younger colleague. Pride and affection shone from her like a sun. Ikaria could almost feel the raw emotion through the flickering screen. Even over all the distance, Ikaria sensed the seer's fiery soul burning brightly on the other side. Unfettered, unchecked, unafraid. It was as if, for Imisha, the great enemy no longer existed.
"Thank you for everything. And don't worry too much. You'll do fine." Imisha bowed deep in respect. It made the young warlock very uncomfortable. While technically not her superior anymore, Imisha was still her elder. The former seer looked up again, locking eyes with Ikaria one last time.
"Remember, all life is sacred."
At that, the screen flickered and died. For a split second Ikaria was left standing alone in her chambers, feeling like she had just been trampled by a herd of dragons. However, the very next second the door to her quarters flew open and a helmeted guardian captain burst into the room.
"Warlock Ikaria, are you safe?" he demanded.
"Yes...yes" Ikaria stuttered, genuinely shocked.
"Any feeling of nausea, or pain?" the guardian pressed.
"Pain? No, no. What has happened?" Ikaria swallowed.
"Several members of the seer council has mysteriously fallen...ill." Outside the door, a levitating stretcher was rushed past. In the corner of her eye, Ikaria could see the man strapped to the stretcher. Heavily sedated he still had both hands clasped against his crotch, his eyes wide and red. At every heartbeat, the man flinched and shook. Ikaria straightened herself.
"I'm fine," she said calmly. "What do you require of me?"
"We are locking down the entire craftworld. Please stay in your quarters."
Ikaria stretched to her full height, towering over the guardian. Even for an Eldar, she was tall. She held herself the way she knew made her seem regal and almost divine. "You will do no such thing! Do you know how many incoming ships that rely on our ports to be open? Exactly how many people have fallen ill so far?"
"A few dozen?"
"A few dozen! Who's in charge?" Ikaria demanded.
"I..I don't know, most of the council...is indisposed." Ikaria reached out. The captain was scared, he didn't know what to do. Afraid to make the wrong decision. It was almost too easy.
"We will not close our doors to those out in the cold night just because of a few people. For all we know they might have simply eaten something that didn't agree with them."
So this is what lying felt like, Ikaria mused, probing the emotion. Better get used to it. "Quarantine anyone showing symptoms and send everyone else in this section to be tested." Ikaria smiled inwardly. Imisha had indeed been clever. Not only had she in one fell swoop taken out all her enemies, she had also set up a crisis situation where Ikaria could safely play the hero. The humiliated maiden, not breaking but instead stepping up to save the day, showing the true fibre of her fabric. Symbolism, huh?
"Let me just get dressed and I will join you. Don't worry, everything is going to be fine. We'll get through this." She smiled at the captain and could feel his soul relax in the warp.
The captain saluted, turned tail and shut the door. Ikaria breathed out. The stage had been set, the curtain was up. Time to act.
"All life is sacred," Ikaria mouthed to herself, tasting the words as she started to dress. Unwittingly, she smiled to herself as a seed of ancient warmth sprouted its first tentative branches within her heart.
Author's comment: Fuck. This was supposed to be a 500 word interlude between story arcs I could write in an hour during the Christmas holiday. When did it become 5k words? How did a month pass?