Editing Macha's Vacation

{{story}}

The ''Sliver'', another graceful, irreparable life's work of Eldar artisans spun, slowly, safe for now. But still, wires twitched and tossed free, some reaching a kilometer out into unfeeling into space. The Sliver tumbled across the void, a star ship with its belly slit, and guts streaming, but still alive.

The Farseer waited a scar above her eyebrow, as she gazed into the abyss. The Warp gate crackled, another way point on the webway, before shimmering she emerged, bearing the colors of Ulthwe, the other Farseer.

The Farseer of Biel Tan stood, serene, her helmet removed, staring at her opposite number, still faceless. They were each flanked by their chosen warriors, honed by years of combat, though, (And at this, the Biel Tan Farseer felt a bit of impolite pride) the warriors trimmed in white and green comported themselves with serenity, while the warriors of Ulthwe were ragged. On edge.

The Farseer of Ulthwe, faceless behind her mask waited. The only sign of her impatience the tightening grip on her prized Singing Spear.

"Macha," she said bluntly.
"Taldeer," bounced back flippantly.

"Do you blockade me for the satisfaction of it, or are you here to provide another unneeded lecture," the voice rattled in peevish annoyance from the helmet, the wraithbone still loose from some unseen battle, as the Ulthwe Farseer leaned forward, her fist shaking.

She was stopped by a single hand on her shoulder. A harlequin. Macha reflected it odd that she had seen fit to accompany Taldeer, especially with her recent actions.

"Please, Mistress Taldeer," the harlequin soothed, "You are growing-"
"Yes," Taldeer snapped, "Yes I know, and if the kind Farseer of Biel Tan-"
"The Kind Farseer of Biel Tan," Macha drawled, affecting a mangled Exodite accent, "Hain't sain a thing."

The soldiers stirred, on edge. Yes, Macha noted sadly. Even immortal, tempered by history and sacred duty, even we who have to tend the very weave of the universe can fall like orks to fighting.

"My soldiers-!"
"Are noble, good fighters," Macha nodded, stepping closer, "Who have once again proven themselves worthy of the mission proscribed by the Old Ones."

Her hand reached out, ungloved. The Farseer of Ulthwe, hesitated, then carefully removed her helmet, to show a lined, fatigued face, before her gloved hand wrapped around Macha's. Their guards relaxed, the tension cut.

"I don't have much time for this. Our armies are pursued, and upon one of our own maiden worlds, the Great Enemy awakes. Your own ship is damaged..."
"I can have time for my sister, can't I?" Macha smiled.

Taldeer sighed, before glancing at the Harlequin, who in turn capered off, the rest of the Ulthwe following out of the webway hall deeper into the bowels of the ship.

"You certainly haven't gained any measure of tact since our last meeting."
"Your men needed to rest," Macha affixed her sister with a look, "I'm the warrior here."
"Making me a lunatic oracle?" Said Taldeer sardonically, as she walked to the side, falling and sliding down the wall onto a bench.
Yes, thought Macha, as she sat next to the Farseer from Ulthwe.
They sat there for a moment, content to hear the hum and whistle of the souls of their ancestors running along the ship, before Taldeer again broke the silence.

"This is going to be a long talk, isn't it?"
"Oh yes."
----
Dear Diary,

Today, I captured a cute little Mon'keigh! He keeps shouting really loudly, though... I'm kinda worried that he'll break his cage, too. That yellow and red armor is kinda pretty, though!
----

[[category:Warhammer 40,000]]