Idranel

This article contains PROMOTIONS! Don't say we didn't warn you.

Idranel.

Idranel is an Eldar Farseer from Dawn of War 2. Before the release of Dawn of War 2, she would frequent the threads and cuss out mon-keighs. Occasionally would call us "double mon-keighs" in threads, which would subsequently lead to us becoming extremely offended.

Her badass style of doing things led some to believe that she is actually a man, due to also the fact that her robes don't have any boob armor like the previous farseers. Nevertheless, she's earned our respect for being an honest fluffy average Eldar.

(Although some believe her to be just as curvaceous as her sister farseers, She just got stuck wearing way-too-small under-armor that smushes her curves to an almost bean-pole state.)

There is recent development that after Idranel's supposed death in the events of Dawn of War 2, she was taken underneath the care of Derosa and healed back to full strength.

We're a little sketchy on these things, but while it seems that Idranel's personality of being a racist bitch towards anyone not Eldar was ruined with Derosa's lesbian attempts, we can rest easy knowing that Idranel is still in the process of acting like an average Eldar, and will break her heart with her deceptive nature, merely using Derosa to get healed and get the fuck off that double mon-keigh planet. Of course, the fact that said planet's cannon fodder managed to fight off a freaking Tyranid invasion of their entire sub-sector might give her some pause.

Farseer Idranel is also known to be largely incompetent, mainly due the the fact that she asked the Orkz to save her Craftworld from the Tyranids while having to beat down the Imperials at the same time. Instead of making VANILLA-ICE's life easier by just giving the Spess Mahreens all the answers and DFC. Or if talking to the Spess Muhreens is too demeaning for such a high-class Eldar, just up and leaving.

Canon-wise however, Tarkus went all badass vengeance on her filthy Spess Elf ass and crushed her skull with several strikes from his Terminator Power Fists. Tarkus really does hate elves a lot, according to a bit of loading screen information he once trusted a Spess Elf and his entire squad ended up dead. His fault mostly for trustin' 'em. It doesn't help that every time the Eldar just go "screw it" and give what intel they have to the Imperium, the Imperium roflstomps the threat and everyone (Craftworlds and Imperium) leave happy (read: alive). She should have realized that such an action is, therefore, the best option when something comes to eat your Craftworld. The Imperium has actually saved xenos species before from extinction (and did not turn on them afterward, amazingly) simply because of pragmatism. In fact, this is why the Tau still exist several times over. They wanted to feed them to the Tyranids. Well, it’s also not unknown (though given no details) for the Imperium to spare or save species just to prove superiority or even tolerate species that submit to Imperial dominance voluntarily. Heck, even the freaking Black Templars did this.

Dear 'Farseer' Part One

I am an avid reader of this column, but even so, I never thought something would happen to me, to inspire me to write a letter of my own. But, here I am, writing. So, let me tell you of my encounter with the mon-keigh I now call my own.

It started, as these things often do, with a vision. You have likely already heard of the Tyranid fleet that was scheduled to intercept my Craftworld, so I shall spare you the details of it - but I found myself engaged in a battle against these humans on one of their worlds, and things were going splendidly, and just as planned, until those unforgivable brutes the mon-keigh call their space marines involved themselves rather than gracefully accepting their fate. Again, sparing the details, I found myself defeated in battle at every turn - not just once, but twice did they get in my way, and after the second encounter, I found myself facing what I believed to be certain death! However, the strands of fate are fickle, and a mere coincidence left me with nothing more than a chainsword wound to the gut, and a few dozen broken bones - and those space marines left, without noticing my continued survival! At the time, I believed it a brief respite before my wounds would do me in, and it was not long before I lost consciousness.

But that was not to be. Apparently, I was found by a clean-up crew, and brought in secret to the newly established planetary governor, a female human going by the name of Derosa. Rather than interrogate me in ways most terrible, or turn me over to their foolish zealots, she - and this, she told me later - proceeded to have me brought in secret to her own quarters, and as again I opened my eyes, straining against the unexpected light, it was to her face. She had, with her own hands, set my broken bones and patched my wounds, cleaned me and watched by my side - I was, as I am certain any other readers would be, obviously shocked. Why would a mon-keigh do something like this? These are the apes, brutes, primitives that foil our plans whenever they can, that worship the corpse of their past leader - why would one of them take it upon themselves to cure and hide *me*?

I still remember her answer to my first question with perfect clarity, as were it yesterday, and I believe I always will. As I lay, my body still broken, and never one to inspire anyone to anything, she smiled - that smile, how could a mere mon-keigh have such a brilliant smile? - and spoke.

"Because you were beautiful."

Signed, Farseer Idranel.

(Editor's Note: Due to the unusual length of this letter, we will publish the remainder in our next issue. Stay tuned!)

Dear 'Farseer' Part Two

(Editor's Note: This is the second part of the letter. The first part was published in the previous issue of Farseer.)

"Because you were beautiful."

I was absolutely stunned. This woman had taken an enemy into her own quarters, and nursed her back to health, because she thought "I" was beautiful? To begin with, I'm not! I'm completely flat-chested, my face looks like a man, and I was completely torn up! Remember, this was just days after almost being killed. My first reaction was to pull away - but that failed completely. Did I mention I'm clumsy, as well? I fell right off the bed, away from her, and I think I cracked another few ribs there. Finally, to add insult to injury, I had been naked beneath the covers, and I couldn't even move enough to cover myself! Putting aside the pain, I've never felt so humiliated as when she had to help me back into the bed. (Her own, it turned out.) I'm going to go ahead and admit it - I cried as she did so. But, when she had returned me to the bed, and replaced the covers, I also looked at her, for the first time. She was clearly a woman of authority - her clothes signified high office, though her hair was undone, and I found her rather.. soothing, to look at. I was exhausted, of course, but as I fell asleep, I think I felt her stroking my hair. She never did admit to it later, though.

Over the next few days, and weeks, I was confined to that bed, seeing none except her, except Derosa. She fed me until I could move well enough to eat on my own, and checked on my broken bones daily, changed my bandages and, cleaned my body - She is rather resourceful, and has unexpected skills when it comes to caring for the wounded. We spoke, of course, as she cared for me, but it was not until over a week had passed before I dared ask - about the tyranid, and from that of the fate of my home, my craftworld. Learning of the end of the hive fleet, I again confess to weeping - this time in relief. After that, my recovery was more rapid, and I could soon begin to move about her quarters, and change my own bandages, as well as handle other things on my own. She had no visitors, in all this time, and I believe I sensed a certain loneliness, to begin with. Even so, she always seemed bright, if not outright happy, when in my presence. As time passed, we would eat together, before she left for her official duties each morning, and then again in the evening, when she returned. And we would talk, of our homes. She had lost her family long ago, and had no close friends, or friends at all, except for those she worked with. I spoke of the craftworld, but strangely, felt no urging to return.

To my great wonder, I found myself as happy as I'd ever been, in that little world we shared.

Signed, Farseer Idranel.

(Editor's Note: This letter sure was a long one! You can read the next part in the next issue!)

Dear 'Farseer' Part Three

(Editor's Note: This is the third part of the letter.)

We spent two weeks, living just like that - I stayed within her quarters, I wore some of her old clothes, and even even slept in her bed. She insisted the couch of her sitting room was as comfortable, and refused to ever consider taking turns, saying I should have the bed, being injured. I'm not sure how she kept my presence hidden, with the additional food and supplies she brought home just for me. My wounds healed, little by little, and while the flesh wounds started fading, the broken ribs took time to heal. Each night, Derosa would help me change my bandages, and check how my body was recovering, gently probing to see that the broken bones set properly. She had seen, and touched, my body often enough, in the first time after my arrival, but even so, this time always had me nervous, fidgeting as she went through the routine. So it was, too, the day when she finally declared the last of my injuries healed. The procedure was the same - she'd sit behind me, on her bed I had occupied as my own, first pulling my - her - shirt over my head, then unwrapping the bandages, before running smooth fingertips across my ribs, checking carefully for remaining fractures. This day, however, her fingers stopped at the bottom rib, and she leaned forward, speaking close to my ear, in a near-whisper. "That's it. They've set properly, and are completely healed, now. You're as recovered as you will ever be." I was happy, of course, but also felt some trepidation. Would this make our time here, this time I'd begun to treasure, come to an end? As if she'd read my mind, she continued. "But that doesn't mean you have to leave... right?"

The last word sounded almost terrified, but I had no time to respond. The fingers that moments ago had checked my ribs moved, quickly, and I felt something on my neck. It took a few moments to identify the sensation as her lips, softly pressed against me. They were followed by her body, moving quickly, pressing close, as her arms crossed and her hands settled, square over my breasts. She held me tightly, as thoughts raced through my mind.

Was my being here so important to her? Why does this feel so utterly, so terribly and undeniably...right...? Is it... is it really okay? To begin with, she's a mon-keigh, and I'm... and we're both women! Her fingers, now taking hold of my nipples, already stiff, and squeezing lightly, ended these thoughts. Right or not, I wanted this. More than anything, at that moment, I wanted her. I wanted this woman named Derosa, and I never wanted to let her go. I half-turned, and whispered back to her. "I'm not leaving." It was just what she'd wanted to hear, and it felt as if something was released, at that moment.

My friend - no, lover - pulled herself forward, planting kiss after kiss on my back, on my neck, and on my ears, and her fingers begun rubbing my nipples - rousing the flames within higher, as a sense of spreading warmth within, which mixed with that undeniable rightness, producing... something. My first moans, escaping unbidden, seemed to spur her onwards, her kisses growing ever more fervent until she half-raised herself and sucked the point of my right ear - I never knew that could feel so good! Derosa, satisfied with the reaction it evoked, proceeded to slide one of her ever-moving hands down, into the panties she herself had loaned me, and two fingers found their way even further, sliding inside with no resistance between lips already as invitingly wet as they had ever been. The sensation as she explored within, added to the fire already awakened, and the tip of my ear in her mouth, lovingly caressed by her tongue, soon brought me to a place I'd never before seen - I lost myself to the waves of pleasure so completely that, while Derosa claims I screamed as well as any banshee, I have no memory of doing so.

(Editor's Note: And that's it for this time! Could it get any hotter? Buy the next issue to find out!)

Dear 'Farseer' Part Four

I knew, I am certain, love. This mon-keigh, this human woman, she was different from the Eldar in more ways than is apparent, and similar in so many others. Certainly, she had some of the crude and childish traits normally associated with their kind, but more than that, she had a kind of vitality, a kind of energy, I have not encountered before, or since. Our routine continued, for a time, and the memory of it alone holds an intensity no other experience can match. She would return, after a meeting, or seeing to some problems with the reconstruction, and I would find myself all but waiting at the door - More than a stranger who had taken me in when I needed it, more than the friend and lover I would never have considered one of her kind for, even, I needed her with a near-physical fervor. At times, I scared myself with my desire for excess, barely able to contain it, and when she came home to me, I could not manage even that. I loved; we loved, as I have never loved before. At times with such soft gentleness that I could not believe she was human, and at times with such vigor that there could be no mistake, all but tearing the clothes from each other, desperate for a closeness that could be acheived only in the pressing-together of our naked bodies, in the moans and screams that resulted, as we would grind against each other, both wanting the next inevitable climax and dreading it, in that it would herald the eventual end of our stamina, leaving us panting, side by side, capable of no more than whispering sweet words.

It had to end, of course. I knew that even without Seeing it. Sooner or later, someone would find out. Someone would suspect, and suspicion would build until someone dared investigate - and then it would be all over. Governor or not, there are few things the filthy mon-keigh masses hate more than us, and their deluded religious "Inquisition" would stop at nothing to end what we had, to end the life Derosa - Elena. My lover. -had given me, and take hers along with it - and dying in this place, this position, the strands of excess already encroaching upon my mind, would be an end too terrible to imagine. I believe Elena knew it, as well, but she even more than I needed this relationship, needed _me_, so much that delaying our separation was her topmost priority. We made plans together, discussing how to best slip me from this world safely, but slowly, and without the enthusiasm we found when else we were together. The plan, eventually, was to slip me onto a trade vessel, disguised as a mon-keigh, and for me to make my way to a planet known to harbor rogue traders, and through them to pirates of our kind, and eventually home. It did not go so smoothly as that, but I eventually took that journey, and survived it with no further damage, or humiliation beyond that of my disguise. But even so, how these mon-keigh live! The smells, sounds and speed at which they live and act, was as a torrent of filth washing over me, only the memory of Elena keeping me from hating them one and all. Regardless, returning to the final time of our private world of happiness, our farewell was as you might expect.

We made love, again and again, through the night before my departure. We wept, together and separately, and then comforted each other once more, but in the end dawn came, and we executed our plan of my escape. Our last words together, before our hands parted and I rushed off towards the space-port, was a promise: To meet each other once more, before she fades away with age, while still barely a child, as her kind do. Certainly, they have ways of extending this life-span, which might be available to her as a governor, but not by more than an instant, from our perspective. Despite this reality, it is a promise I fully intend to keep, come what may. I have since Seen war, and conflict with the mon-keigh "Imperium", but that promise is one I will not go back on.

So think on this, when you next look down upon the filth and chaos of mon-keigh worlds - even among them, there are good things. Even among them, there are individuals deserving of more than our scorn. And scourging them from the galaxy as the filth they resemble, were we even capable of it, would lead to a loss. Humans, too, can know love. And I am a better person for learning this.

Signed, Farseer Idranel

Idranel the Badass Bitch

The runes were cast, the paths of fate were spread before her and Farseer Idranel of Ulthwe saw bloodshed and suffering besetting worlds in a prelude to an alien feast. Her predictions had held true with typically unerring accuracy, and now her force was set to war.

"Who have they sent?" The Farseer asked as her seer stones floated gently down into her palm again, one at a time. The Warlock who had barely even entered the room paused a moment, wondering if he had walked in on something. His helmet hid his smile at his own response when realizing Idranel had simply seen him coming.

"The monkeigh response is small. A handful of Space Marines... The Blood Ravens" The Warlock reported, his battle-honed mind sensing immediately the change in the air.

"Then there should not be a problem. Their numbers are too small, they will not effect any change in our plans" Idranel stated with a veneer of calm, letting each stone fall from her hand into a pouch at her side.

"Even so, we should be wary" The Warlock counseled, "They have after all defeated Macha of Biel-Tan, as well as both Taldeer and C-"

"I am well aware of the Blood Raven's record with defeating those of our race incapable of keeping their ceremonial robes on," Idranel sharply interrupted. "Which is why I am promoting a radical new battle plan to defeat them amongst our own."

In spite of the sense that he would regret the question, the Warlock pressed to inquire what his Farseer meant.

"If you see a Mon-keigh, an Ork or even a Tyranid... kill it. DON'T TRY TO FUCK IT" and with those final words the satchel of seer stones was hurled against a nearby wall, sending the durable stones skittering out the top and all over the room, and in a moment the rictus of rage on Idranel's face softened back to one of stern command again, "Do I make myself clear?"

"Like the Dome of Seers," The Warlock answered, popping his collar up. "Crystal".

As the forces of Ulthwe emerged from the webway, Farseer Idranel leaned her light frame back against a tree, and conversed with the rangers who had come to the planet weeks in advance.

"My predictions foretold of a large garrison that needs to be destroyed," Idranel explained, "You tell me you have found it?"

"Yes my Farseer," the gentle, soft voice of the lead ranger answered. "A base of monkeigh citizen-soldiers. They seem alert as well. Listening in, it may be due to our presence on nearby worlds. I'll direct our listening equipment through so you can hear for yourself."

There was a gentle click, and then clear as though they were using it themselves the voices of conversing PDF guards began to be heard.

"So seriously, Eldar?"

"That's what they're sayin'."

"Oh man, seriously? I've seen holo-vids about them. They're lead by these psychics, and apparently the bigger their breasts the more powerful they are."

"Grox shit."

"It's totally true. Thing is, one look at human warrior and these bitches practically SHED their armour."

Minutes later, the Warlock emerged with several Guardian guided Bright Lance grav-platforms moving behind him. Idranel directed the battery to set up, and aim at a single point high up in the sky.

At a signal all fired at once, brilliant beams of light stabbing out into the sky, converging on something unseen.

Soon after the sight of a small speck billowing smoke became visible, streaking through the sky and disappearing down amongst the mountains. Where the PDF base was, the Warlock noted to himself.

"The mon-keigh base has just been hit by one of their shuttles crashing," the lead ranger suddenly announced. "The base is in a panic."

"Kill any of the primitives you see moving," Idranel stated coolly, "We shall move on to the next objective."

There was a sense of something strange in the air, and then the Warp Spider Exarch's form filled it as he leapt back to Farseer Idranel's side. For her part, the Eldar seer had finished divining their next best course of action, and their combined intelligence would see to their next path.

"The Orks only have rudimentary guard posted," The Exarch stated flatly. "If we move now we can take them all by surprise."

"Very well." Idranel nodded, "Set our forces up as per the command feed I'll give you shortly, we will put the barbarians out of our misery."

"So you won't be asking us to take one alive for you?" The Exarch quipped, and against all better sense continued when he saw Idranel's face twist into annoyed confusion, "Well, you are a Farseer of Ulthwe. They figure if you don't care for the monkeys you might have green fever."

"Just go and be ready," Idranel sighed, subtly pressing a few buttons before feeding the command positions to the Exatch, "We have no time for such ridiculous indulgences."

The battle progressed precisely as planned, though the Exarch never saw them progress that far, the Warlock finding him lying face down on the ground with a large trukk tire running over the back of his armour. The by-product of teleporting to the precise location at the precise time directed by his Farseer.

"... you knew... she'd do that... didn't you?" the Exarch gasped as the Warlock helped him to his feet.

"I didn't need seer powers to know that, no. Next time you take up one of our bets, jump in a little to the left," The Warlock answered simply, his collar popping of its own accord.

Another Idranel Badass Cunt story

The battle to take the bunker had been quick, brutal and ultimately effortless. The Guardsmen stationed there were some of the best the Imperium had to offer, and had been anticipating the usual Eldar style of warfare, with every possible approach to the Imperial fortification heavily booby trapped to funnel Idranels army directly towards them. Expecting the Eldar force to be weakened and shell-shocked by the time it finally arrived from the various side-routes, the Imperials were unpleasantly surprised when Idranel simply pushed the entirety of her army straight towards the Bunker. There had been casualties, of course. And many other Eldar doubted the Farseer's overly aggressive tactics. But the bunker had been captured before it could send word of the assault, and that was all that mattered.

Idranel's eyes scanned across the line human warriors, each one kneeling submissively before an Eldar Guardian. Just as it should be, Idranel thought, as she strode into the room to address her captives. And, if need be, her own soldiers. The Eldar snapped to attention as she entered, fixing those guarding the human prisoners with a piercing glare. She had heard one or two of the Guardians questioning her orders, thinking them too brutal or unsympathetic, and Idranel planned on taking no chances.

“Disgusting things.” The Farseer muttered, gazing disdainfully at the human nearest her. Mid-way through his short, pointless life, his ugly features were further marred by patchy stubble and a number of scars around his dull, bovine eyes. Turning, Idranel addressed her Guardians.

“Some of you doubt my methods.” She said crisply. “Some of you think we should take…pity on these lower creatures. To minimise harm to them.” Idranel paused for a moment, letting her words sink in. One or two of the humans were staring up at her out the corners of their eyes, as if trying to make sense of the Eldar tongue. “Let me tell you this. The Mon-keigh are little better than Orks. They are both foul, barbaric monsters who run rampant across what was once our galaxy, who slay us out of ignorance, and bring war and death to all they touch. We would not show an Ork mercy. We shall not show a Mon-keigh mercy either. Each one of them we leave alive will breed, creating a new generation to impede our works.”

The Farseer fell silent again. Many of the Eldar she commanded had been under the control of Farseer Macha, transferred to her control after the other Farseer vanished off on one of her sulks. “Perhaps your views have been tainted by other, weaker Farseers.” Idranel said, her voice suddenly hardening. “Farseers who bring shame upon our race, who lower themselves to fraternising, or worse, copulating with these…base species.” Idranel gestured with the hilt of her staff towards the nearest captive.

“Things shall be different here. The Mon-keigh are to be wiped out wherever they are found. Spare none, be they armed or unarmed. Capture any officers you can for interrogation. There shall be no mercy, no pity, and love shall most certainly not bloom.”

Smoothly, Idranel switched to speaking in a highly accented low gothic. “You are but animals.” She said to the captives. “And you shall be slaughtered as animals.”

“Leave this one.” The Farseer said, returning to her own language and gesturing towards a human, his blood soaked uniform studded with a selection of medals. “I shall pull any useful information from his mind later. Execute the rest.”

There was an awkward, unpleasant silence as the Guardians looked nervously at each other. Before, as one, they primed their Shruiken catapults and fired.

Idranel turned away and smiled. She never grew tired of the sound of human lives ending. One day, she hoped, the last of the unworthy race would die, and the Eldar would return to their former glory.

The wraithbone runes hovered gently in front of Idranel’s face, illuminating her pale features with a soft, blue light. She drew a slender finger through them, watching as they shifted and changed in accordance with her divinations. Everything was playing out as she had foreseen. Her Rangers had informed her of the human traps set along the alternate routes to the bunker, and Idranel had chosen to act as if she had already known. Truthfully, she simply did not have the patience to orchestrate such an attack when a simple thrust to the enemy gut would suffice.

A noise from the corner interrupted her thought. The human officer had been restrained, ironically enough with the crude manacles the Imperials themselves used for detaining captives. Idranel had made quite sure the metal bands were tight enough to cut into his wrists. Sighing under her breath, Idranel waved a hand through the runes, their light dimming as the wraithbone scrying symbols gently floated down to rest.

“You’re going to kill me.” The officer said.

“Yes. Eventually.”

“After you’ve plumbed me for information, huh? What’cha got hidden up those delicately embroidered sleeves? Planning a nice torture session, get me to betray my sacred oaths to the Emperor?”

“I don’t need to.” Idranel’s lip curled in disgust as she turned to the shackled human. He had been stripped to the waist, exposing the injuries he had sustained in the attack. Some of them had been cleaned, and had sported simple bandages until the Farseer had removed them. She suspected one of the two Guardians she had set to preparing the man had attempted to care for him. Idranel resolved to find out which one and discipline them accordingly. The Farseer walked over, reaching out to wrap a hand around the neck of her captive. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.

“S-strong grip for…for a pansy-ar-armed xenos w-w-witch…” The incessant noise of the human broke threatened to break Idranel’s concentration.

“Be silent.” The Farseer replied, suppressing her anger. “Nothing you say has worth. A dignified silence would mark your passing far better than whatever petty insults you lay upon me.”

“Say, m…maybe the r-reason you’re so strong is…is ‘cause you’ve got a nice pair down below.” The human choked out. Idranel could almost imagine his porking face, leering down at her. “I-I mean, you’re flat enough up…up top…”

Reaching with her other hand, Idranel grabbed a handful of his hair, drawing her captives head forwards and slamming it into the concrete wall as hard as she could. The human went limp instantly, a small line of blood dribbling from the back of his skull. With him finally silenced, Idranel pushed aside the unconscious human’s weakened mental barriers, and began to plunder his mind. She saw his name, his friends, his family and his homeworld. The tears of his wife as he departed off to war, the laughter of his children as he played with them one last time. All irrelevant, all meaningless flashes of life from a meaningless creature. She tore the memories away and obliterated them as thoughtlessly as she would swat a parasite, pushing deeper. There. Troop movements, deployment schedules, listings of armour divisions and locations of the localised Imperial command network.

Idranel cut the mind-meld, withdrawing from the human. Gliding across the room, she produced a silken cloth, wetting it and gently cleaning her hands of the human filth and sweat that had accumulated from touching him. Even her mouth felt dirty from conversing, however briefly, in his language.

“Huh? Wh…where…who…” The human was awakening. Idranel turned to him, watching his slack-jawed face twist this way and that, trying to make sense of his situation with the fragmented, scattered memories Idranel had left in the wake of her mental assault. The Farseer had tolerated him long enough.

Smoothly, she drew her Shruiken Pistol and shot him in the throat. Her runes leapt back into the air with a simple pulse of thought. The information she had torn from the mind of the now cooling body slumped against the wall would confirm what her scrying had told her.

There was much work to be done. Idranel looked forward to it.

Also

Idranel was annoyed. The Warlock may not have had any precognitive powers to rely upon, but he could sense the ebb and flow of the power that radiated in the Farseer, and she was most certainly radiating discomfort.

"Farseer Idranel, have you fors-" a wraithbone armoured hand popped up in front of the Warlock's face, silencing him more out of surprise than anything. For her part, the Farseer had not turned to face him, eyes locked down on a small wraithbone pad that resonated with a psychically projected image upon it.

"Did I, or did I not ask you to be thorough when you chose Rangers and Pathfinders to perform the necessary duties in this system?" Idranel's voice was level, somehow. The Warlock felt himself getting more than a little concerned.

"... none of them had taken part in Kaurava or Kronus, if that's what you're asking" the Warlock answered hesitantly.

"I asked for an intelligence report on Meridian. What I got was" the pad was forced into the Warlock's hands, "This"

Quickly, the Warlock scrolled through the 'report'... a lovingly detailed description of a human administrator and how much the Pathfinder desired to see Idranel and the monkeigh tongue-bath one another.

"... I'm assuming he sent the wrong report" The Warlock sighed, "He came in high regard... but I guess he's been on the path of the outcast too long"

There was an uneasy silence for a moment, before Idranel's anger seemed to fade away.

"Well, he's been sent to Typhon to manage the Orks there" the Farseer explained.

"Didn't you divine that the Blood Ravens would be arriving... there...?" the Warlock's words trailed off, as Idranel started to smile, her face with the predatory look of a Tyranid Warrior on it.

And

Idranel was becoming annoyed with the Blood Raven mon-keighs. The crudity of their technology was only matched by the crudity of their tactics but they kept on recurring like genital pox on the Eldar of Commoragh. They were an irrelevance, a distraction, grit in the smoothly working wheels of fate.

Manipulating the Orks had been simple. Make them think they had been challenged about if they were “Orky enuff” to “fight da space marine boyz” and they would cross a galaxy to meet that challenge. Wave the prospect of “shiny bits” in front of them and the only thing that could distract them would be the chance of a good fight.

The Tyranids and the tens of millions of mon-keigh soldiers among the tens of billions of mon-keighs on Meridian had required more time. Patiently the Eldar had balanced the two. Genestealer cults had been hidden or exterminated as required to ensure the hive fleet would arrive at the appointed time and that when it did a bloody stalemate would arise. Millions of mon-keighs were finding the first worth in their worthless lives by dying fighting Tyrannids and their, even more, corrupted former comrades and so drawing more and more of the hive fleet’s resources to the surface of their world.

Soon would come the time for Meridian to be cleansed of all the filth that encrusted its surface. It would take only scant millennia for the planet to cool as in most places the ground would barely have been rendered molten and what was millennia in the billions of years a planet could exist?

But this stalemate was an effort to maintain. The mon-keigh were so stupid it was difficult for Idranel to think down to their contemptible level and anticipate what idiocy they would perform next. If they were not unnecessarily weakening themselves by purging units that had not been compromised they were getting other units wiped out by sending infantry against Carnifexes without heavy weapons and without tanks.

And then there were these Blood Ravens. If they were not so disgusting they would almost be amusing in their pride at thinking themselves better than the rest of their kind. Compared with the glory of the Eldar they were still less than the worms beneath their feet as at least the worms did not fight the inevitability of their destiny or seek to kill their betters.

Fleetingly the thought passed through Idranel’s mind that perhaps her attitude was too far the opposite of other Farseers. That just had they had failed due to their tolerance of and pity for the mon-keigh that perhaps she would fail due to her contempt for them. That some rare flash of insight or simple luck on the part of those lesser creatures could divert events from the course she had plotted.

But that thought was only fleeting and soon subsumed in the desire to restore the proper fear of the Eldar in what passed for the minds and souls of the mon-keigh. Immolating their hive-world along with the Space Marines attempting to save it would be a fine start, but first the Blood Ravens should be granted a victory to bring hope before the despair and death. With a smile Idranel decided to aim the Orks at the generators around Angel Forge, let the mon-keigh fight and bleed to get their gates and defences working before the Eldar swept all aside again.

Gallery

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  IT'S RIGHT THERE, JUST FAP TO IT YOU DOUBLE-MON'KEIGH

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  Compared to her sister Farseers, she's rather...lacking.

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  "You're damn right I'm hot."

• 
• 

  wut

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  so ronery

• 

See Also

• My direction is no longer clear.

Famous Eldar
Heroes:	Eldrad Ulthran - Illic Nightspear - Prince Yriel - Yvraine Visarch - Sylandri Veilwalker
Phoenix Lords:	Asurmen - Baharroth - Drastanta - Fuegan Irillyth - Jain Zar - Karandras - Maugan Ra
From Dawn of War I:	Farseer Caerys - Farseer Macha - Farseer Taldeer
From Dawn of War II:	Autarch Kayleth - Farseer Elenwe - Farseer Idranel Ranger Ronahn - Warlock Veldoran