The ground smolders around my feet, fire radiates from my form as if I were made of pure flame. My right arm, with which I hold my blade; the Wailing Doom, bleeds swiftly upon the ground and yet I feel no pain or loss of strength. As I begin to take in my surroundings I see the young Eldar children recoil in fear at my presence. "Worry not, for I shall not harm you."

A distant explosion shakes the ground, immediately I sense the cause of the explosion and see the battle from which it came. I begin to feel the forces at play in battle, the enemy is mute to me, but the Eldar's hearts sing to the heavens. Hymns of pain and lose at friend and family. Symphonies of valour and strength as they stand against their foes. Cacophonies of battles cries between friends and battle brothers. The battle cries resound with me most of all.

"I must go now." I say as I look towards the children. "You must remain hidden, take to the shadows. Remain there until I return." Two of the older children nod and begin ordering the younger ones towards a darkened, sturdy building. Soon all the children are on their feet and make towards the building; one by one taking flight into shadows, save one.

The child remaining behind looks to me, judging me with her eyes. At once her eyes dart towards the gun discarded on the ground. Smiling I pick up the gun, which glows a bright fiery orange, "Do you want this weapon?"

"Yes!" yells the child, her voice clear and crisp with resolve.

"Then kneel." The child obeys and falls upon one knee. "What is your name?"

"Tha'shel," answers Tha'shel with reverence.

"Tha'shel, I place upon you the task of safeguarding those with whom you travel. Go now!" Tha'shel takes hold of the weapon and races off after the others. Turning away I walk towards the battle. The Eldar's hearts have called for aid.

The Avatar of Khaine must answer.


Do the mon-keigh hold nothing sacred? With the lose of their Bloodthirster the warriors of Chaos turn to the lesser denizens of the warp for aid and assistance. Gathering together their dead, dying and weakest cultist the Sorcerers of Chaos begin casting their foul magicks to bring forth innumerable horrors. A massive Bloodletter emerges first, carving its way out of a pile of Cultist followers into the materium, a small contingent of ten lesser Bloodletters follow behind. From individual corpses Horrors spring forth in an explosion of blood and viscera, warp fire in hand and screams resounding from their lips.

Against these new abominations my warriors stand firm, but loses come quickly. The few Aspect Warriors among us switch from slaughtering Cultist to confronting the daemonic forces. The Black Guardians likewise switch from supporting the Aspect Warriors to taking over the front lines; using their heavy weapons to keep back the Cultist hordes.

The Wraithlords and Wraithguards have held the line against the Defilers sent against them, but not without casualties. One Defiler managed to slay a few of the wraiths before meeting its end at the hands of the WraithSeer among the others. With the Defilers held back, the SpiritSeer in command of the wraiths collects the soul stones of the fallen, ensuring the honored dead can continue to rest in safety. Free from the Great Enemy.

Seers of every kind: Warlocks and even fellow Farseers, dot the battlefield fighting alongside our kin, or conducting their actions against our foes. Amidst the thickest fighting a group of seers have joined together and cut a bloody swath through the Space Marines present among the cultist legions.

A feral roar brings my attention to the battle between a squad of Howling Banshees and the Bloodletters. The Banshees fight with all their strength, delivering swift agile blows against the deamons. Despite the graceful assault of the Banshees the Bloodletters continue unfazed, either deflecting or enduring and retaliating with their own powerful blows.

One of the Banshees succumbs and falls to her knees before the larger Bloodletter, but before the daemon can strike her down I summon a psychic bolt of lightning and blast the foul creature back into the blade of one of its lesser kin. The Banshees spare me a passing glance, "Our thanks lady Farseer!"

'No need my kin,' I reply as I ready my Singing Spear, having drawn the larger Bloodletter's attention. The daemon beast growls fiercely as it pulls itself free from the others blade, with a flourish of its sword, the Bloodletter smites its lesser kin and takes its blade as its own. Bellowing loudly the Bloodletter surges past the Banshees and leaps at me; both blades at the ready.

Breathing deep I brace myself, surviving the initial flurry of blows either through deflection or avoidance. The daemon lunges with both blades aiming for my chest, missing by only a fraction as I twist to left. With the daemon helpless I bury my spear into the wound left open by the blade in the daemon's hand. Focusing my thoughts I arc lightning through the spear and directly into the beast's chest.

With a final feral roar the daemon falls to its knees before erupting into flames and disappears from this world. Sighing happily in victory I look to find the Banshees relaxing and observing; seemingly enjoying the show. "Well done, Lady Farseer. Perhaps you would like to join the Banshee Temple?"

Bravado? I often times forget the humor to be found in the other paths. 'I think not. My path is that of the Witch. However should you find yourself in need, I'll be sure to guide you.' The Banshees give a short laugh and a salute before bounding off into the melee, eager to let their swords feast upon the enemy's flesh.

'Eldar Witch!' The voice sears my mind with the damnable magics of the warp. 'Hear me Witch! Give us the human!'

'What madness would posses you to make you believe that I would acquiesce to demands, human?' Casting my sights across the field of battle I see the murderer from earlier, the one the human requested dead, laying his hand upon one of his sorcerers.

Seeing that I had found him, the human hefts up a large bag, 'This bag has fifty or your people's spirit stones! If you will not meet my demands than I shall crush them!'

Fifty?! Foul blasphemous heathen! 'Stand down my warriors. Stand Down!' The fighting slowly stops, sputtering as neither side desires the let the other live. Finally after a few minutes the fight stops, 'Name your terms human!'

'The human, the one that came here before us!' From the pained thoughts of my warriors I can tell the human is speaking to all the Eldar present. 'Give us the human and we'll leave your Craftworld in tact.'

My warriors stir, whispering to one another, while the seers share conversations in the minds. 'And what importance does this human have that you would sacrifice so much to claim him?'

'Nice try witch,' taunts the human. 'You've gotten all the information you need. The human, for these souls; Eldar Souls, and the safety of your Craftworld. Is one human worth all that?'

'The human is right! Why should we risk so much for a simple mon-keigh!' shouts one Warlock psychically.

'Give him the human Taldeer!' agrees another.

'We can't trust the followers of Chaos!' dissents the SpiritSeer. 'The Alpha Marines are followers of all Chaos Gods, Slaanesh included.'

'Do not utter that name here, SpiritSeer!' commands one of the Farseers, 'That name is forbidden on the Craftworld!'

'Brothers! Sisters!' I call, trying to quell the chaos among our ranks. 'Join your thoughts with mine.' One by one my fellow seers join their thoughts with my own, creating a barrier with which we can speak privately, were we can plan in secret. 'I have no intention of sacrificing our Craftworld or the souls of our kins to these humans.' A round of cheers greats my statement. 'However, I will not give up the human to them either.'

'But lady Taldeer?' asks the SpiritSeer, 'How do you plan to do it?'

'Just watch my dear. I need you to mask my thoughts from the sorcerers.' The collection of seers focus their minds further protecting my thoughts from the enemy. Secure in the knowledge that my thoughts are indeed my own, I reach out and touch the mind of the Warp Spider Exarch, Rognar. 'Rognar, do you hear me?'

'I await your commands my Farseer,' answers Rognar, his thoughts eager for battle.

'Calm yourself, Rognar. You shall have your desire soon enough.' With Rognar ready I search the shadows.

'Looking for me dear Sister?'

I can't fight a smile, 'Ronahn, I have need of your services. Is your sight as good as they were before your self imposed exile?'

Ronahn chuckles, 'Better than your's on Kronus dear sister, I spotted the Tau Pathfinders among your holdings days before you did.'

I must remember to speak with him further on that, but for now, 'Very well. Rognar, Ronahn I will need you to follow my instructions perfectly. Am I understood?'

'Yes, Lady Farseer.'

'Of course sister. My skills are your's to use.'

'Thank you. Ronahn, I will need you to relieve the human of the bag in his hands. A well place shot should cause him to drop it.'

'Or even better, drop him.'

'Not now, brother! He has information that we need, I would keep him alive to prob his mind for what information he has.' Ronahn says no more, an unspoken consent understood from our youth. 'Good, Rognar. Once the mon-keigh drops the bag I need you to retrieve the stones and return them to me.'

'As you will Farseer!' answers Rognar, before prepping his armor for the jump into the warp.

With both warriors ready, I give the signal. Ronahn is true to his word. His shot is straight and precise, shattering the armor of the mon-keigh and digging deep within the flesh and bone underneath. Reacting to the pain the human drops the bag and the precious stones within. In a series of flashes, Rognar catches the bag and returns them to me, not once giving the enemy the chance to react.

The human looks upon me with fire in his eyes, 'Now mon-keigh, what have you to say?'

"Destroy them!" roars the human. "Destroy them all! Slaughter them and bring the human to me!" The battle reignites with both sides hungry for death and blood. The Howling Banshees leap and charge towards the lead human brandishing their swords and their masks alive with the Banshees' Call. Before I can join the fray a thunderous rumbling echoes from the nearby alleyways.

"You want me, murderer?" comes a booming voice. I recognize the human's voice, but it's different. It's powerful. It works its way into my soul and fills me with a measure of bravery. How is this possible. My answer comes when the human emerges from alley, wreathed in orange flames, holding in his hands the Wailing Doom.

"Then come and claim me!" Staring at the human I find myself asking the same question as before.

Do the mon-keigh hold nothing sacred?