Vacation Lost

Zielt hated his job. He often believed that he had died whilst unconnected to his soulstone at some point in his long life and this was Slannesh’s way of torturing and toying with him, for there was no greater torment the Warlock could imagine than being the personal aide of Farseer Vaedrisa. Even in her absence, their ork obsessed leader never failed to infuriate Zielt. For some reason or another (there was always something wrong when it came to that one!), Vaedrisa had become mopey and depressive over the past few days, with her presence on the bridge of their craftworld limited to her wandering onto the bridge aimlessly with her hair unkempt, unbraided and frizzy, sighing obnoxiously, and then wandering off again to parts unknown. Now Zielt had been perfectly content to let her mope, a few short doses of the infuriating Farseer being far preferable to her constant presence, but as her personal aide, the other Eldar were beginning to look to him to fix the whole mess.

“Aren’t you going to go talk to her?” a Pathfinder by the name of Xilloc asked, finally addressing the squiggoth in the room after yet another dynamic entry and exit by their disheartened Farseer.

“And what sort of Warp-infested monstrosity would have possessed me for me to do such a thing” Zielt responded in classic Zielt form.

“You’re the one she likes talking to the most. That’s all I’m saying.” the Pathfinder countered.

“And I do not enjoy talking to her. This is an utter victory for me.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?” Xilloc shrugged. “You could just keep your mouth shut about the whole ork issue and let our dear Fanseer’s little hobby slide if you really hated it that much.”

“Because I enjoy being right, Xilloc. And I would hardly call chasing a band of filthy greenskin brutes across the galaxy in a desperate bid to court their affections ‘a little hobby’. This is the first time in over a century I have awoken without a perpetual headache and I am going to relish every moment of this prosperous bounty I have been gifted, not squander it for their sake of a Pathfinder’s sensitivities.” Zielt responded smugly.

“Oh Isha, here he goes again…” the veteran Ranger rolled his eyes

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?! You wouldn’t understand! You are not trapped within your own craftworld with the woman! You are at least afforded the respite of fresh air and a walk planetside!” Zielt snapped back.

“Right, right, the grandiose agony of our brave, valiant Warlock knows no end. Truly, to be Zielt is to know naught but eternal suffering!” Xilloc gesticulated melodramatically as he continued his sarcastic rant “You want to know the extent of my ‘respite’? Rooting through the garbage of those ‘band of filthy greenskin brutes’ for anything of value like some sort of scurrilous Mon’keigh! That’s right, I trained for centuries to attain the noble rank of Pathfinder, only to become a glorified scavenger. And let me tell you, brave Zielt, if you think what the greenskins keep is disgusting, wait until you see what they leave behind. Why, I remember one time I stepped in what I pray to every piece of Khaine was a pile of squig droppings and was unfortunate enough to discover a discarded mug ‘upgraded’ in standard ork fare amongst the droppings. Now, I was not about to go anywhere near such…absolute sewage until I heard Vaedrisa’s voice echoing through my head, informing to recover the blasted thing, because clearly it was a great relic that would prove vital in the further understanding of our unwitting pawns. That’s right, our wise and powerful Farseer extended her mind and soul across the cosmos, invaded my head, and ordered me to recover a filth encrusted cup that not even an ork deemed worthy of keeping. And you want to know what I did? I. Did. My. Warp. Damned. Job. I didn’t complain, I didn’t argue, I just grabbed the damned thing and tried to touch it as little as possible during the remainder of my reconnaissance. I think Vaedrisa keeps the wretched thing in her room and drinks out of it now.”

“Why did they throw the mug away? I thought their Warboss collected the things…” Zielt gulped, feeling himself cowed into a verbal corner once more.

“Why does he collect them in the first place? Why did those Freebooterz loot that titan instead of stripping it down and building a gargant? Why did they adopt a tau for Eldrad’s sake?! Because they’re orks! Nothing they do makes anything approaching sense. You should know this by now.”

“Y-Yes, well–”

“Well nothing! Do you, in your wisdom as infinite as your dreaded suffering, know WHY exactly I do my job without complaint?” Xilloc challenged

“You’re going to tell me anyways, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m going to tell you, you Mon’keigh brained oaf! I root through sewage so disgusting that even the filthiest, smelliest species in the entire galaxy considers it garbage for Vaedrisa because, despite how humiliating and repulsive my task is, it is better than fighting and potentially dying. Tell me, how many times have you had to ready yourself for war since we’ve associated ourselves with this orkish tribe?”

“W-Well–”

“Exactly. Now tell me, what do you think would happen if our beloved Farseer stopped being a Fanseer and decided to cut ties with her beloved Scraplootas?”

“Well, we would undoubtedly have to fight our own battles.”

“Finally, the grand Warlock sees. Now I don’t know what your incomprehensible intuition is telling you, but I do not believe we have the numbers to mount a strong offensive, nor do we seem to have the luck those orks seem to possess, if your incessant griping is anything to go by. Say what you will about our Farseer and her…idiosyncracies, but she does the best job I have ever seen keeping the craftworld out of combat. Now, are you going to go talk Vaedrisa out of her little depression or are you going to continue to be a stubborn idiot and ready your Witch Blade for the inevitable war?” Xilloc challenged “Either way, you better get going, either to Vaedrisa’s room or to the armory.”

“I...should go.” Zielt muttered, defeated once more.

“Whatever.” Was all the unhappy Warlock got in return.

Zielt slunk down the hallways skulked down the halls of their craftworld, nursing his thrashed ego. Why did he have to be the one to fix everything? Why did he have to be the one to suffer through the Farseer’s tomfoolery? Probably because he was the only one who could, Zielt reasoned. That’s right, everyone else was too spineless to object to Vaedrisa’s folly, it was Zielt and Zielt alone who had the mental fortitude to act as the craftworld’s intellectual compass! Bolstered with newfound purpose, Zielt gingerly knocked on the door to the Farseer’s private quarters. He could have sworn he heard her shout “What’s so special about her that I don’t have?!” before going immediately silent, but the door was thick and her voice muffled further by what he presumed to be a pillow.

“You do not have permission to enter, Zielt.” her words now clear but dreadfully cold, especially so for Vaedrisa.

Ignoring the fact that he never even announced it was he, Zielt pressed on. “Farseer, if I may be so bold as to request your counsel, we must discuss the future of the craftworld.”

“I am in no state to make such judgments, Zielt. I am not even able to discern the motives of simple orks.”

Zielt sighed. He knew what he must do, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “That’s because the orks are nothing more than foul savages. Dumb brutes that don’t even have the good graces to follow instinct beyond indiscriminate killing, that Urtylug fool being the dumbest and the biggest brute among them. The entire craftworld over would be much better off if we disentangled ourselves from such animals as hastily as possible.”

Zielt stood in a brief silence, wondering what the severity her reaction would be. He then heard the sounded of determined footsteps, the snapping of clasps, and finally, the smooth rush of the doors to her quarters gliding open. There stood Farseer Vaedrisa, hair braided perfectly, adorned in immaculate wraithbone, and her face a mask of professionalism, framed flawlessly by her glasses.

“Shortsighted thoughts like those, my dear Zielt, are why you are but a Warlock and I am the Farseer. The orks are a valuable tool for us to use and exploit, so long as we can understand them. I know, you claim there isn’t much TO understand, but that is where you are wrong. There is most certainly, as the orks themselves are wont to put it, a certain ‘brutal cunning’ to these strange peoples. First and foremost, I will ignore your baseless slander of the good Kaptin Urtylug, for instead we must examine your most fallacious statement, wherein you proclaim that orks are ‘dumb brutes that don’t even have the good graces to follow instinct beyond indiscriminate killing’. To this I offer the most glaringly obvious counterpoint: the tau. The next area of inquiry the craftworld must investigate is the ‘Blue’, as they have come to call the young child.”

“The tau? Are you sure about this?” Zielt was beginning to have second thoughts.

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” Vaedrisa responded confidently without missing a beat. “After all, she is the one thing that the Scraplootas have not ‘indiscriminately killed’, as you so eloquently put it.”

Zielt sighed once more and followed his Farseer. He reminded himself of Xilloc’s words. As painful as this was, it was less painful than a bolter round to the chest.

“Oh, and one more thing.” Vaedrisa added, adjusting her glasses and still striding confidently without deigning back to look at her aide. “Thank you. Had it not been for your immensely ignorant and foolish advice, I may not have ever seen the solution that rests so clearly before me now.”

Zielt grinned despite himself and his impending suffering. He reminded himself it couldn’t really be called a vacation if it was permanent.