Disclaimer: I own nothing, this is purely a work of fiction for recreational purposes.

AN: Ok, so, while I was working on my other 40K story, this idea came to me and I decided to run with it since, as a reviewer stated before, not many people bother doing 40k SIs with a non-human character. Figured it might be interesting to try doing this on and off with 'Get me out of this Hell Hole!' for a bit of variety.

Anyway, as a note of warning, I'm not starting this story right at the beginning, but at a point further down the line, after the character has spent a significant amount of time in 40K. Just a warning, but I hope you enjoy what comes.

XXX

I sighed as I finished packing the few things I wanted to take with me, items of value to myself along with things I had crafted with skills I had learned. Still, even with such thoughts in my mind, I had chosen to pack light and travel as many before me had. However, that didn't mean that I would disregard everything I had learned since I had awoken here, no, I would not forsake everything I had learned from a Path simply for a marginal degree of safety. Such things were of little value, and I certainly took pride in the things I had crafted, even as they stood out as personal projects more than things that I had been commissioned to craft with my time among the other Artisans and Bonesingers before this point.

Sighing once more, I looked at the apartment around me, seemingly formed from a bubble of blown glass with a window leading to a large balcony. The chamber itself was small, being an all-purpose chamber to function as living room and kitchen in one with a pair of side rooms off to one side, my bedroom and bathroom, respectively. Looking around, I saw the bare nature of the chamber with my own eyes, noting the craftsmanship that went into crafting the room, much like the tower itself. I allowed a lop-sided smirk to cross my features for a moment before centuries of self-discipline and self-control fought the emotion down, something I still struggled with even as I thought of my own roots as I lifted my satchel up and over my head, allowing it to rest on my shoulder even as I turned and left the room.

Leaving the room, I felt all things around me as I moved, my training ensuring that my steps were light and my motions flawless and without waste, common virtues of my adopted kin, but ones that I had learned to excel with upon my entry into my Shrine. Lost in thought, I only absently noted the path I travelled as I stepped down the stairs in front of the apartment tower and looked at the world beyond. A small smile slipped on to my face for a moment, 'world' might have been a bit of a misnomer, especially when one thinks of a Craftworld.

The Craftworld of Yme-Loc.

It was a beautiful place, the air smelling of fire and soot even as I knew such things had never been used for millennia with the forging halls of the massive construct, not even in the time since the Fall. Still, I knew far more than that, something that I made every effort to hide as soon as I had arrived on the Craftworld so as not to expose myself to the potential danger that may have been attached to such an event. Regardless, I viewed such a thing as a new, fresh start on an old life, my own life turning around as I was reborn after falling asleep in my own bed before being awoken as I was birthed anew. My rebirth as an Eldar had been... Interesting, certainly, I had learned, but I had also fought, bled and nearly died more times than I cared to admit even as I forced myself onwards. Centuries had passed since my rebirth, and I had learned much in those centuries, having walked many Paths and having gained much experience from each Path I travelled, but even as I found myself content to walk any of the Paths, I had yet to find what I was looking for. Others around me walked their Paths and found fulfillment within their work, their duties and their crafts, but I had yet to feel like, I had yet to feel as though I wholly belonged as I bounced from Path to Path.

I had walked the Paths of Awakening and of the Artisan, of the Healer and the Mariner, of the Scholar and Shaping, of the Thought Talker and the Warrior. I had even spent a few decades travelling along the path of the Seer and became a Warlock of some skill, my previous Paths giving me the inclination to use such potent abilities, among other things. Still, with each of them, I had yet to find a feeling of belonging among the arms of my kin, to fill a gap I felt within me as I travelled from Path to Path. Others understood what I felt, simply believing that I had run afoul and had yet to find the path where I truly belonged, they were understanding and I was thankful for it. Now, however, I felt that I needed time.

Moving quietly in the night cycle of the Craftworld, I headed for the heart of the massive vessel and my destination for the start of a more personal journey down the Path of the Outcast.

I rationalized it as needing to find myself after so long without success, but I couldn't help thinking about whether or not other forces might have been at work...

Then again, anything was possible in the 41st Millennia...

XXX

"So... You truly intend to travel this Path?" I stopped as I walked through the Webway chamber, the massive room filled with statues and carvings displaying the glory of the Eldar, our fallen Gods and the history of our people. Images of Aspect Warriors lined the halls, but, with this being Yme-Loc, the one with the centre stage of the display was Vaul, the Smithing God of the Eldar Pantheon.

I repressed a sigh as I heard that voice before I allowed myself to look at the source of it as I turned around to look as a figure stepped out from behind one of the many pillars that filled the chamber. I forced myself not to tense as I saw the figure that stepped out, clad in robes over a thin-line suit of Wraithbone armor and carrying a spear that danced with Immaterial power. The colours of the clothing being as I remembered, black with highlights of orange, the colours of Yme-Loc. Still, even as the figure advanced, the butt of the spear tapping away against the ground with each movement, I couldn't help but look over the figure accusingly.

The figure was as tall as any other Eldar I had encountered, perhaps a bit shorter, but such things were hard to gauge when clad in armor and form-covering robes. The armor and robes themselves being richly decorated with a dozen trinkets hanging from ribbons and pockets littering the outer robes. Scrolls and other items filled said pockets along with weapons hidden in many forms, all of which I recognized from my own walks down certain Paths, hell, I had even crafted a few of those items myself.

"Lady Farseer, what have I done to be honored with your presence?" Translation: Who have I pissed off to require a personal visit from one of the few, yet very powerful, Farseers on the Craftworld. I suppressed a grimace at the thought, discarding my introspection as I focused on the world around me with the training I had from the Path of Awakening, looking for others that might yet stalk unseen. The female Farseer regarded me for a moment, her head cocked ever so slightly to one side as I kept my eyes down, my head bowed and trying not to give the appearance of someone willing to admit to anything. The silence spread soon, lasting a minute, then two, then five, then ten, I kept my silence for all of it. I was never one for self-incrimination, even when I was still Human.

Finally, the Farseer broke the silence and actually sighed?! What the Hell?!

"... Must you always be so paranoid among kin? If I did not know better, I would believe that you were born of the blood of the Dark City." I heard her say as I glanced up with a slight twitch in my eyebrow at that, but that was the only shift in my expression as I regarded her, noting the Shuriken Pistol by her waist and the Witchblade hidden by her robes, attached to the side of her hip and hidden from casual view. I only saw it because I was looking for it.

"I do not understand what you are referring to, Lady Farseer." I replied with a flat tone and a bowed head, my response neutral and respectful even as I saw the Farseer shake her head even as I heard what could only be described as a light giggle of amusement drifting through the air around the Farseer before she took off her helmet to reveal a familiar face.

"Truly? Then perhaps you need me to remind you for the hundredth time in as many cycles, Kaevel?" I heard as I looked at the woman before me and recognized her instantly as she tucked her helmet under one arm. flawless skin pulled taught over noble features with large, green eyes, a cute nose, and full lips pulled into a taunting smirk even as glee and smug amusement danced in her eyes. Raven hair fell from her head, tied into a pony tail that reached down to her mid-back while her pointed ears poked out from under the waves of hair. I raised my head upon seeing her like that, my lips twitching, but I allowed nothing else to escape.

"That will not be necessary, my Lady. You, yourself, merely know my own nature for avoiding self-incrimination." I remarked as she smiled at that as she nodded, a fond look of remembrance sliding on to her face for a moment before it disappeared a moment later, replaced by the same smug look I had seen so many times before.

"Indeed I do, a facet of your nature I am still unsure is a blessing or a curse, especially given your own nature for investigation." She shot back as I suppressed a grimace as that one hit close to home. I was a risk-taker among Eldar, patient beyond measure compared to Humans, but highly impatient compared to many of my kin and fellows. Such things had caused almost as many problems as they had innovations or successes, and had gotten me into no small amount of trouble with the ruling Council of the Craftworld. I was convinced that the only reason I was still on the Craftworld was because I was either favored by the Great Fool, or because a Farseer wanted me to remain in sight for some unknown plot.

The latter was probably more likely than the former...

"I do my best, my Lady. Though, if I may be as bold as to ask, but why are you here? Do you wish to see me off?" There were many words that I could have tacted on to that question, about finally being free of the nuisance that had plagued the Craftworld for so long, but I said nothing, merely bowing my head in respect. The Farseer frowned slightly at that, gazing at me as I spotted a slight glow in the back of her eyes before she blinked it away and sighed once more.

"Some may wish for you to leave, Kaevel, but many still find value in your work among the Crafters and Singers. You have those that would support you if ever you asked them to, to help you find a place among us. Yet, you seek to leave? To walk the Path of the Outcast for no reason? Why is that? Certainly, it is not the actions of one brave enough to walk the Path of the Striking Scorpian, and certainly not the actions of one willing to walk the Path of the Warp Spider with damnation stalking his ever step. So, Kaevel, why do you wish to leave?" The Farseer asked, raining down facts of my life as I considered them as I looked up at her as she frowned back at me, raising my head fully and standing straight even as she continued.

"Certainly, it is not the actions of the Warlock that served beside me for so long. Certainly, it is not the actions of the Warlock that stood in the path of vile Orks, Daemons, and dozens of would-be Mon-Keigh killers that sought my life. So, Kaevel, tell me the truth." She stated, glaring up at me as I stood at my full height, standing over her even as her eyes danced with inner light along with emotions that flashed fast. I saw hurt, feelings of sadness and pain, seeds of regret and, strangely, hints of lose. I didn't understand that, but didn't question it as I sighed in turn, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"... I know, my Lady... I know the actions of my past and I know that what I do now does not reflect them, but I feel that it is something I must do. I do not doubt that I will return in time, but I feel as though I must leave the Craftworld, if only for a time until I can find myself and where I can find my calling." I stated simply as I felt the weight of all my years, all my failures to find a place I could belong after coming to terms with my new life. I felt the reminders, the stabs of pain as I saw others finally finding their Paths while I remained lost in a sea of uncertainty. I looked down to the ground as I said as much, my lips twisting into a grimace I didn't bother to suppress as I didn't dare look at the one I had held dear and still considered a friend, even if she might not return such feelings. It was to my surprise when the Farseer gently placed a hand on my cheek and guided my face back up to look at me with an understanding gaze.

"Do you truly believe that this is what you must do?" She asked as I allowed myself a single nod, I felt it gnawing at my bones, the uncertainty and doubt, but felt that this was the best way of clearing it; To have a little walkabout until I found myself once more. Silence filled the chamber for another moment as we stood like statues before I saw a smile grace her features and even as I felt her hand leave my face, she took a wordless step back as she smiled back at me, I raised an eyebrow at that, but said nothing as she spoke.

"If you truly believe that this is the Path you must walk to find your calling, then so be it. Go and return in safety." The Farseer stated as I felt myself unsure as to what to make of what was going on, I kept it from showing, but I was sure that the Farseer felt my uncertainty at her use of the traditionally farewell for those walking the Path of the Outcast. I forced my body to show no outward sign of my distress, forcing centuries of military self-discipline to the surface in order to not fail me now as I bowed my head.

"And may the fates favor your Path." I stated, completing the traditional farewell even as I pivoted on one foot and started walking away at a brisk pace, doubt floating in the back of my mind as I moved towards the gate to the Webway, but I pushed it aside with old practice as I stepped through it. In the blink of an eye, my Craftworld was gone, and I floated among the branches of the ancient Webway like driftwood on an ocean current. I signed to myself even as I pulled my helmet out from my bag and placed it over my head.

I had quite a journey ahead of me, but I knew that every journey began with a single step.

XXX

She watched him go with ill-ease, one she had long since come to care for even as she suppressed such feelings and stomped down on any thoughts that might have distracted her from her duty as she watched Kaevel disappear into the Webway. Alone, she sighed as she watched him go, hints of emotion long since buried rising to the top as she felt her heart ache already at his absence from the Craftworld. Still, as she looked around the chamber, she couldn't help her eyes, as they drifted from statue to statue and she offered a short prayer under her breath for the one that she favored.

Many things could be said about Kaevel among the Eldar of Yme-Loc, but none doubted his skill despite his apparent youth. At a mere three centuries, he had walked more Paths than most and had yet to find his place, but within each Path, he had gained significant skill with surprising speed and stubborn determination to excel. His time as a Bonesinger had been the most notable as well, as many remembered the care in which he worked and the items he had crafted. Among those that saw the field of battle, many carried items crafted by his hands. She, herself, carried two such items by her side; Her Witchblade hidden within her robes, crafted by him even though he was none the wiser for it, and the Shuriken Pistol that hung from her other waist, a more impressive piece of equipment than one might normally expect.

Her Shuriken pistol was different, of that, there was no doubt, but what Kaevel had done to make it so was something of an achievement in itself as he returned it, increased the ammo capacity while also increasing the amount of damage that could be done by each pull of the trigger. Such pieces were seen as exceptional examples of craftsmanship by many of the older Shapers, but few would say such things out loud, the belief that such a thing would go to Kaevel's head and he might fall to his pride was ever present. She restrained a dismissive snort at the thought, she had known of Kaevel, and knew him, for a long time, and if there was one thing she knew about him, it was that he seemed to be humble almost to a fault. Even when he started moving from Path to Path, becoming a Warrior of one Shrine, then another, he remained humble in his skill as he gained a further reputation for being the first one to volunteer to step on to the battlefield and the last one to willingly leave it. He did this not out of any desire for bloodshed, indeed, he viewed war through a pragmatic lens, as something that needed doing and that such things as glory and pride had no place on the battlefield. Kaevel earned a reputation for not leaving his comrades behind, facing impressive odds to pull them back from what would be, otherwise, certain death. Many grew to value this, as they knew that, whatever happened, they would always have someone to watch their back.

And then he became a Seer; A Warlock; A Warlock under her command.

She sighed at that, remembering the past and the dozens of battles he had seen her through, acting as an honor guard to her and defending her with his life at every turn.

She shuddered slightly, remembering the day well, remembering the day he saved her life from a killing stroke and almost lost his own in turn. She remembered the stench of blood, the smell of burning air and crude oils, the sounds of battles and primitive motors, the sounds of millions of screaming fanatics all clamoring for her death. She remembered being pushed to one side by familiar hands as a staff rose in her defense, a descending blade of teeth being held by strength of will enforced upon reality. Such images had plagued her dreams more than once, and now plagued her even more as she remembered that same Warlock almost dying, a fighting to protect her even as he forced back the Mon-Keigh that had threatened her upon the field of battle.

It was a powerful image that had stayed with her since that day, and since that day, she had paid close attention to her former Warlock. Still, with him now leaving the Craftworld, she found herself uncertain as to what to think even as she absently considered what she had learned from the Skeins of fate.

Regardless, she knew he would return to the Craftworld, simply not when, by what means or for what reason. Such things, at the current time however, were immaterial to the strangely soothing feeling of knowing that her former Warlock would return home, would return home to her...

For Farseer Tellara of Yme-Loc, that was enough for her.

XXX

AN: Ok, so there you have it, the first chapter of this new story and I hope you enjoyed it. As a side note, I've got another chapter of my other story on the way, just hold tight and it should arrive soon. Anyway, feel free to comment and review, I like to hear feedback to see where I can improve and change things to make them better.

Until next time.