Something disturbed Farseer Yrithiel. The Warp, the vast sea-dimension of the accursed Daemons, kept on spiralling just at edge of her perceptions.
It was calm, too calm, and that concerned her more than anything.
She breathed slow, pushing her mind through levels of awareness. Her soul soared through the ether, and she found herself sorrounded by the strands of the future.
Like golden locks, the strands covered the sky and everything she could see with her mind's eye.
She tried to pick her way through them, as she had done from the time she had first taken the path of the Seer. She followed each strand with careful attention, pondering, divining, searching.
The possibilities were mind-numbing in their numbers, but still she couldn't find nothing tied to what she felt. She couldn't find what disturbed her.
Expiring, she left her mind descend once again to the simple spiritual plane. The Warp was still there, revolving around her awareness like a sea around reef. She had felt it, she was sure of it. A spike of activity in its eternal waves. It had been small, barely perceptible even for a farseer, like the ripples made by a pilchard, but she had felt it nonetheless. She expected for the movement to continue, to expand, signaling the attempt of a powerful Daemon to enter into the material world. But instead, the waves had returned to their motions, nothing more disturbing them
A mon'keigh could have dispatched the perception as nothing of important but she, as an Eldar, knew best than to disregard anything when it was about the Warp. Something had pushed its way through the boundaries through world, she was sure of it.
Still, she couldn't fathom what or where it had happened, and that both unnerved and frustrated her.
The signs said that it was close to the Craftworld, even inside of it, and she had led squads of warrior aspects to investigate, but…
She interrupted her contemplation with a sigh. Her body, hovering at the center of the Chamber of Meditation, came down slowly, and, as she put her feet down, her grabbed the staff that had hovered in front of her. Her eyes were illuminated by an aquamarine glow when she opened them, the iron determination in them now marred by clouds of doubt.
She glanced at the seer stones that were slowly rotating around her.
For a moment, she thought about letting them there, but then she decided otherwise. A flick of thought sent the stone raising up into the warm air of the chamber, their glowing symbols letting trails of light. They gathered before her head, before falling down.
Yrithiel's eyes followed them as they scattered on the smooth floor. Her eyes moved fast through the configuration they had taken, her mind working to decipher the meaning.
Nothing.
The future was uncertain.
She sighed. With a wave of her hand, the stones rose from the floor and returned to their casing, an elaborated case of wraithbone.
The Farseer didn't stop to watch them slid back into their posts, instead marching out of the room, the staff rythmically beating on the floor.
Outside of the chamber, two Eldars were waiting for her. The first was dressed into a long tunic with green and red decorations. His face was old and worn, and his long hair silvery, but his black eyes were piercing.
The second wore a complete armor of waithbone. The elongated helm provided by amplificators and the long mane of red hair identified her as a Howling Banshee. The golden bands that ornated her armour identified her as a Exarch.
As always, Yrithiel felt a little stab of unease at seeing the armored form of Eler, the exarch, but she made sure of hiding it.
She nodded as they both bowed to her.
"Are the runes uncertain, Farseer?" Caerabar asked respectfully. He was the Chief-warlock of Yrithiel's group.
The way with which he seemed to read her utmost thoughts managed as always to stir both aggravation and reassurance inside of her. She was the Farseer, but the Warlock was a lot older than her and sometimes that made her feel like a tutored child, even if she was obscurely happy of having someone capable of reading her so clearly.
Still, she kept her thoughts to herself.
"Yes, Caerabar." She nodded. "But this doesn't mean that we can leave our guard down. In fact, it's the opposite. Follow me. We'll rally the Guardians once again."
The inspections, both magical and mundane, of the Craftworld had bore no result. In fact, the simple prospect that something from the Warp could have made his way directly inside the Craftworld had been scoffed by the Court of the Young King and many of the Farseers. Still, they were wise and knew that only a fool would let such things to fall unobserved.
Eler and Caerabar didn't say nothing. They just nodded and followed the Farseer out of her private quarters.
As they moved through the quarter of Yrithiel's servitors and comrades, the banshee and the warlock already calling their soldiers to follow them, the Farseer was already projecting her mind around to search for more disturbance.
She bit her lip. Everything she knew told her that it was impossible for the servants of the Ruinos Powers to manifest themselves over the Craftworld of Biel-tan, but despite that her instict kept on nagging on her.
The Warp was calm. Too calm.
Something wasn't right.
Still, if something had to be done, it had to be done quickly. The Court was indulging her requests only under the Farseers' insistences and their patience was sure to run out quickly.
Irritation for the sheer bullheadedness of the commading exarchs of the Craftworld flashed through her mind before she repressed it quickly. Now it wasn't the moment to be critical of her brethren.
"Sister!"
That voice jolted Yrithiel away from her train of thoughts.
They were in one of the great pathway of the Craftworld now, with Eldar coming and going. A little child was running toward her group, behind him a old eldar trying to keep up. The child looked to be barely ten, with hazelnut hair that cut at his shoulders and the same aquamarine-colored eyes that her own.
Deep irritation flashed through the Farseer's mind like a thunderbolt.
She glanced at the Howling Banshee Exarch.
Eler moved forward as fast as lightning and blocked the child with a gentle, but firm grip.
Yrithiel catcher briefly the little child struggle in the exarch's hold, before glaring at the old Eldar, that arrived just in that moment.
She didn't say anything at his hurried excuses. Instead, she turned around, long cape fluttering, and marched off, her group of warlocks and aspect warriors following her.
Irilgen watched his big sister walk away without living him even a word.
He writhed once again in the hands of his caretaker, before surrendering grudgingly.
He barely listened to his old caretaker, Mordrel, as he scolded him for going to disturb the Farseer. He didnt say anything as he brough him back to their house. Instead, he cursed for having failed.
He just wanted to have some words with the big sister of which everyone in family kept talking about. For that reason, he had managed to drag Mordrel to accompanying, with a lie of course, as close as possible to her quarters. He had believed to have been incredibly lucky when she had showed up, and instead…
He put up a pout when Modrel said that his parents would be informed of his behaviour, but still didn't say anything. Like he would care!
Still, he felt immense relief when the door of his room slammed shut, and he was finally alone.
He threw himself over the bed, his mind already racing to concoct another plan to manage to speak with her sister once again. She had catcher him for a moment, he was sure of it, but hadn't stop. Surely, she had so important business that she couldn't. Well, that it meant that he just had to catch her when she was free!
He pumped a fist in the air. Yes! He would make it!
Feeling reenergized, he started to daydream about the group he had seen around her sister. The warlock, he had recognized him, and the exarch! Oh boy, she had even touched him! How cool was that! That armor though! When he was big enough, even him would partecipate to one of the Warrior Paths, and he would become the strongest warrior! Not strong as her sister, though. She was a Farseer! Everybody listened to her, and she could make things explode with her mind! She was the coolest!
He was taken by those thoughts, when a sudden sound attracted his attention.
Frowning, she got up from his bed. What was it?
It arrived from the wall, and it was like… liquid sloshing?
Curious, he made his way to the wall and pushed his ear against it. Yes, it was actually a sound of liquid sloshing. How strange. Maybe there was something broken?
Something wet hit his cheek, and Irilgen winced.
He raised his gaze, and his eyes widened.
There was a grate in the air pipeline, there on the ceiling, and something was dripping from it.
He narrowed his eyes and, trying to see better, and got on his tiptoes.
He could see something moving beyond the grate. What…
Suddenly something dark flopped down from the grate.
Irilgen yelped in surprise and jumped back.
The thing splotched against the floor with a wet sound, forming an ugly little mound of green slime.
"Ewwww." Irilgen said, his hand running to cover his mouth. What even was that thing! It was the nastiest stuff he had ever seen!
As he watched, the mound of stinkiness rose from the floor, like something was pushing from inside. It swelled, and tiny, gangly arms sprouted out of it. A tiny, horned head formed on top of it, and it began to turn around slowly.
Fascinated, Irilgen was getting close when the head turned around and a big eyes stopped on him.
He winced and stopped.
The thing watched him without making a sound.
Slowly, without breaking eye-contact, the child moved towards the cupboard. Once he was close enough, he jumped to it and grabbed the toy-sword that his father had gite him for his eight season.
The little thing opened a mouth to say something, but Irilgen was faster and fell on it with a flurry of blows.
"Take it, you nasty! And that! And that! And that!" He yelled, smashing the toy right on top of the head of the ugly thing.
He smashed and beat, eyes closed, until a big croak resounded into the room.
Irilgen stopped abruptly.
The thing had put a big frog before himself, and the poor thing had taken the brunt of his assault. His eyes turned around and it looked ready to plop down.
"That's unfair!" Irilgen yelled in outrage.
The green thing watched him.
"You attacked me." He just said. There wasn't offence in his words. Only aknowledgement.
Irilgen winced.
"Well, you scared me!" He defended.
The green thing looked at him with a mix of thoughtfullness and skepticism.
"Wimp." It said with finality, pointing a long finger against him.
Irilgen was so shocked that for a moment he didn't find the words.
"I am not a wimp!" He protested.
"You were scared."
"W-well, i am not, not anymore!"
The green thing watched him in silence. He didn't look very convinced.
"I am Gudras." He said eventually.
Irilgen was unsure of what to do. He had no idea of what this thing was, but still, he didn't look too bad, smell aside. And, heck, he was no wimp! He could take care of himself!
"I am Irilgen!" He said proudly. "You better watch out with me. My sister is a Farseer!"
"Oh, really?"
"Yes!"
"Tell me about her."
"Well…"
It looked like the beginning of a very strange friendship.