Editing Toyhammer (section)

=Omake: Farseer Days: Frustration=

"I hate those mon-keigh." Zara fumed. "Stupid, barbaric primates..." She threw her shuriken pistol at the plush couch set into the wall of her room.

The slender pistol bounced off the backing, and then lay still where it came to rest. She stalked over to the mounting for her armor, setting her conical helm down on the head of her mannequin double. The Eldar Farseer sighed, her worn and torn cape unclasping from her shoulders, the psycho-reactive armor responding to her urges for freedom.

Zara caught the black cape, and threw it gently around the doll.

The mesh-like fibers of the doll was quick to catch the clasps onto the shoulder, affixing it into place. The armored wraithbone 'wings' came next, the mounting/backpack support and sensor systems that supplemented her already acute senses. They were carefully detached from her back, revealing the skin-tight suit underneath, and pressed the armored plates against the back of the mannequin. Those reacted to the mesh-skin of the doll just as her cape had, the two surfaces interfacing as tiny machines embraced each other with their eldritch adhesives.

Her armor began to slowly unravel, little seams appearing and separating, allowing her to shed the wraithbone plates without having to worry about missing or losing anything. She rested pauldrons, chipped and scarred from a thousand battles, and the breastplate, inscribed with dozens of runes, which had turned aside more daemon blades than she could care to remember. Of course, one blade was one too many for her. She continued to do this, removing sections of her armor slowly and meticulously, hoping that the almost ritualistic process and the prospect of her freedom afterward be enough of a reward as well.

Her frustration did not end with the sensation of freedom that came with being released from the skin-tight embrace of her armor suit. Zara ran a slender hand down her lithe figure, brushing off dust that wasn't there. A brush was snatched up, and began to work their way through her hair. Having shed her personality of the Farseer, Zara was now... Zara, the Eldar woman. She sighed, her comb tugging through her hair, searching for something pleasant in her life, as if grasping at straws.

Not even that worked, and Zara soon found her silky strands too smooth for any more brushing to help. She stood, and began to peel the thick layer of her undersuit off. The fibrous second skin was what kept an Eldar warrior comfortable in their form-fitting suit, as well as adding an extra layer of protection against impacts, the gel-like inner layers of the multi-layer suit helping to dampen blows. Now out of the suffocating black suit, she began to dig around her possessions for a robe or... something.

In the far reaches of her mind, her Farseer self screamed at the sulking woman to get up. Something is coming, you silly girl!

There was a disturbance behind her. Zara tensed as she turned around, her hand reaching out for the Singing Spear on the other side of the room.

Something came shredding through reality, landing in the middle of her living space as the Shining Spear heeded her call.

Her razor sharp (well... not razor sharp, since this blade had a cutting edge honed so finely to the point where a razor would be about as sharp as a sphere) weapon halted as its tip hovered scant inches off the nose of a bruised and battered young Eldar. Zara twitched an eyebrow.

His Aspect Armor denoted him as one of the warp-hopping Warp Spiders. Her memory dug up his name.

"Urual, was it not?" He flinched visibly, all trace of Eldar dignity and poise dashed to pieces.

"Don't hurt me!" Was his automatic response.

"What in the Warp happened to you!" She asked, twisting an eyebrow up in questioning.

He was muttering incoherently, his skin-suit showing damage equivalent to being clawed and twisted about in very painful ways. The only word she recognized was 'banshees'. Zara sighed, tossing her spear aside, and knelt down in front of the wounded Spider. Without his armor on, the Eldar had none of their Aspect Warrior selves to steel against the horrors of combat. The make-believe personality was what little mental protection they had from being consumed by the sensations of battle.

He looked up to the Farseer, the luminescent stone behind her framing her figure in a soft glow. "Uwah! P-please! No more hitting!" He tried to scramble away from her bared self, clutching his warp-piercing backpack along with him.

"Calm down, Warrior of Khaine!" She growled angrily. "What's wrong with you?"

"L-look, I'm sorry, okay? Please... just don't..."

There were the sounds of a stampede outside, and the door burst in two heartbeats later, a dozen half-dressed Aspect Warriors of the Howling Banshees shrine poured into the room. Lyndia the Exarch looked at the scene, and her face grew as red as the blood blooms in the Gardens of Radiance back on the craftworld.

"Farseer! Even you! You wretched, craven... grah! Nothing is sacred to you, is it! DIE!"

The pink haired huntress leaped forward, but her slap was intercepted by the Warp Spider's shoulder pad being raised in defense. The rest piled on, knocking over Zara's armored mannequin. The Farseer snapped as the rest of the Banshees dog piled on the Warp Spider.

"EVERYONE, OUT! THAT MEANS NOW!"

"Can't get any peace and quiet even in my own room... damn it... what the Warp was that boy up to, anyway?"

Zara continued to mumble as she walked beside the wall of the building, where the Seers and the commanders were housed. She sighed again as she played with the small brooch that held together her robes. Humans of Michael's civilization would see a resemblance between the robes she wore and Greek/Roman toga, but of a much finer quality. Like a cloud wrapped around a mountain (though she had none), they seemed to float as she walked to the gathering hall. A place where Seers would convene, where they could find friends to talk, to seek council and comfort.

"Something disturbs you, Farseer Zara?" A voice called out, making the Farseer turn around to face its owner.

"Warlock Yoza." She greeted, her ever cold facade melting. The older Warlock – he was maybe fifty years her senior - could have been a Farseer by right of skill long before she had even begun the Path of the Seer. But something had stopped him. His mind's parthenon of personalities had literally warred over the decision to become consumed in the Path of the Seer. The mind-war had become almost famous in the Ulthwe craftworld, as the powerful Warlock had exiled himself to an abandoned garden complex deep in the belly of the crafrworld, and the splinters of his mind had taken physical form to fight it out.

As evidenced by his still being a Warlock, he had obviously reached the decision to remain in the Path of the Seer, but not to become a Farseer. He made an excellent mentor and teacher to most of the Ulthwe Seers, as well as his reputation as an unparalleled spearman. She had experienced both first hand, ever since he had attached himself to her retinue as a bodyguard. And as the path of the Seer was the first Path she had come into, she had been taught... other things by him as well.

"Zara." He spoke her name again, concern edging into his usually detached voice. "Something troubles you?"

"Y-yes..." She was suddenly nervous as Yoza contemplated her facial expression, feeling like a child being scolded by her teacher. Of course, their histories considered, that was a more than fair analogy. Plus, since he had mentored her through almost six decades, he knew every quirk and tic of her subconscious. Zara regained her composure, and sighed.

"Then let us talk about it."

The Warlock gave a small gesture, completely physical, but Zara felt herself pulled towards him, falling in step with him as they walked off to a more secluded place. The meditation chambers for the Seers were perfect for that purpose.

Inside the Seer meditation vaults, they found a small room; white walled and circular with a large platform in the middle, which would facilitate the meditation of any Seers.

"The mon-keigh – the big one." She started as soon as the door had slipped closed. The security of privacy was comforting, and so was the presence of her bodyguard/teacher/confident. "He's... annoying. He doesn't act like the other mon-keigh. He's brash, he has an overwhelming desire to impress me onto various objects... yet he doesn't have that arrogance the mon-keigh we have known over centuries seem to call their 'rights'."

"However... he is not the real problem, is he?" Yoza queried. He never fluffed up conversation.

Zara gave a reluctant nod. The Warlock went on.

"The Imperials themselves have been shown in a new light, have they not? With the other Psykers, talk to them in their dreams, I have. That female psyker of theirs; little control, but much power she wields."

"Oh?" Zara looked up, half-confused. He spoke... differently now. The open-minded Warlock had changed since they had arrived into this place. She had faced the same problems herself.

"A pressure based dispenser, she is like. Expecting a small trickle, you turn the regulator, but a torrent you get. So turn it off again, you would, in"

"What is with that grammar, Yoza? I do not remember you speaking like that. Until... now."

"An interesting character, I saw. Yoda, he was called. Very entertaining, he was."

"..." Zara looked confused for a second, blinking a few times in disbelief. By a piece of mon-keigh drama, he was... wait! She was getting into that style too. Must avoid falling into that trap. So a piece of mon-keigh flat-screen drama had influenced him that much?

"It was a very good movie. One of the few that survived that errant shot from Fuero's Fire Pike. The Empire Strikes Back, it was called. A classic of a past age, as Michael had put it." The Warlock grinned, he looked surprisingly young when he did. Despite his centuries of age, most humans would not have put his age past the mid thirties. By comparison, Zara looked in her early twenties, and was only a century and a half old.

"So... back to the problem, we must go: Because the future is muddled, you are frustrated, yes? That you cannot see what is to happen? Confused, the futures have become. Out of a job, we Seers are."

"Warlock Yoza, please return to your old way of speaking, it is much less annoying."

"Fine, fine. So we've got a problem. To try and fix it, you need to relax. I've read into the depths of this space. She Who Thirsts has not touched this place. There seems to be a barrier of some kind. I believe that Macha's destined has something to do with this." The Warlock mused, again in a serious mood. The swings of his personae was obvious to Zara, who – like many before her – wondered for his sanity.

"In short, we can afford to be relaxed under Michael's care. That boy may well be a psyker. His influence, however, is more subtle. He persuades. We are at peace, are we not? Millennia of war has left our races bitter, but in one afternoon he has managed to bring us to stop. Annd create a treaty; an uneasy peace, but peace nonetheless. If I were to gamble on this, I would say he is a psyker.

However, this could also be a scale factor. Our minds are much smaller in size compared to his. He is, after all, that much more massive than we are. Therefore, his force of personality, however small it would be in his scale of things, is much more than ours. Other mon-keigh on this planet would not be affected, but... the more malleable of us – like the Imperial mon-keigh – would find themselves empathizing with him."

Yoza looked into her eyes, confiding in her. She looked back, her mouth agape. The idea that a mon-keigh could wield such power... she leaned back, against the wall. He stepped forward as she began to slide to the side, catching her and supporting her. His breath caressed her neck as he held her. Such comfort... Zara placed her hands on his forearms, supporting herself now. This man... he had always supported the leaders of Ulthwe, as a bodyguard and as a teacher and as more than just the relationship demanded of their Path.

What would have happened, had he lost himself in the Path of the Seer, or taken the Path of Command?

She gasped as he sat her down on the pad, a circular platform of springy cloth which provided a comfortable place to rest and meditate. Zara sighed as he sat down beside her, her breathing deepening as she contemplated the facts that he had presented her. So Michael was a psyker; at some level all living beings were, but him? In general, the concept was not well received: Michael was far too ignorant! Well, they had appeared in his backyard, and many daemons and other travelers of the Warp used psykers to guide them to their destination, so it was not a huge leap of imagination to think of what Michael had to be.

Yoza's face appeared above her, smiling gently. His hand began to tease her robes from her shoulders.

"Zara... relax." He whispered, lips inches away from hers.

There was, again, a faint popping sensation. Someone gave a squeak of surprise.

"Ack! Sorry, sorry! I didn't meant to interrupt! Those Banshees have been hunting me all day!"

The panicked Warp Spider was trying not to stare at the two figures on the platform, and was frantically fiddling with the warp jump generator cradled on his lap.

"You again!" Zara looked around, trying to find a weapon.

Yoza sighed as he casually tossed some wraith stones, the Eldar equivalent to tarot cards, to predict the future. They fell erratically, defying prediction. The Rune of Warning, however, landed side-by side with the Rune of the Present.

"As Michael would say: 'Oh crap'." Yoza quipped.

Banshees were close behind, followed by some rather uncomfortable Seers who had been caught up in the search. Yoza stomped on the ground, sending a psychic shock-wave that made everyone stop in place.

"Alright, enough!"

"So it was all an accident?" Lyndia eyed the Warp Spider, who was more than nervous at the prospect of being caught by her. Warp and Daemons be damned, an angry Banshee was far worse a foe!

"Y-yes..." He stammered in reply.

Yoza facepalmed, sighing in frustration. "For the love of dignity, Urual, please stop stammering!"

"Uh... sure!" Came the response.

"Now apologize to the Exarch."

"I'm sorry for teleporting into your bath-house! It was really an accident, but I ask for your forgiveness!" The Warp Spider bowed to Lyndia, who was now dressed in robes similar to that of Zara, rather than the hastily wrapped towel.

"Good boy. Now... Exarch Lyndia. What do you have to say?" Zara asked the Exarch.

"Sorry for assuming you were a depraved, teleporting pervert." She droned.

"And..." Yoza added.

"..."

"Something to do with why you were waving your Power Blades around." He hinted.

"And sorry for trying to cut you into small pieces."

"Good girl. Now that that's all sorted, lets just shake hands and get this over with."

Before the two could reconcile, however, something massive happened.

"GOOD MORNING, ELDAR!" Michael cheerfully boomed, throwing open the door. The gust of wind it generated threw light objects everywhere, including the rather airy clothes of the Eldar women.

Urual blushed as he tried to cover his eyes as Lyndia tried to push down her robes. "They're pink!" (1)

She flushed bright red as her clothing settled back to their place. That stillness that followed lasted but a few heartbeats as Lyndia exploded.

"YOU IMMORAL, DEPRAVED, PERVERTED HOUTAN!(2)"

[A/Ns: (1): He was not referring to the color of her undergarments.

(2): A Houtan is a type of primate native to a jungle world named Sumatra IV, often visited by the Ulthwe for supplies and jungle warfare training. It is well known for its mischievous playfulness and habit of stealing small shiny objects. Imperial forces in the area are therefore banned from polishing weapons and uniform in a unique exception to dress code regulations. Infractions are punished with the offender being deposited into one of the many local mud pools.]