Codex Eldar (1994) Chaos Lore

[MolotovKraken]

THE INFINITY CIRCUITS
The Eldar are a strange and enigmatic people who do not speak openly to aliens of their past or of what they see as their ultimate fate. Some humans have made a study of the Eldar and their history, but none have ever glimpsed the whole truth of the terrible fall and even more horrifying fate of that race. It is common knowledge that every Eldar wears upon his breast a shining gem or polished stone. This psycho-receptive crystal is called a spirit stone or waystone, and is attuned solely to the mind of its owner. Its purpose is to capture the psychic energy of the Eldar when it is released at the moment of death. As such energies carry with them a large part of an Eldar’s sense of identity, personality, and memories, it is quite right to think of this psychic energy as a spirit. If an Eldar’s spirit is not captured by his spirit stone it is absorbed into the timeless depths of the warp, the shadow realm composed of psychic force. To a human such a fate means nothing, for virtually no human mind is strong enough to retain a sense of consciousness after death — the psychic energy of the human mind being paltry compared to that of an Eldar, Yet to an Eldar to enter the Realm of Chaos as a conscious spirit represents the ultimate horror. In the warp there is nowhere an Eldar spirit can hide from the daemons. The nemesis of the Eldar awaits to consume and enslave them for all eternity. To perish in this way is the ultimate fear for the Eldar, so it is little wonder that they always wear their spirit stones.

When an Eldar’s body is dead its spirit stone is implanted inside one of the Craftworld’s bio-domes, in a place known as the Dome of Crystal Seers. Here the wraithbone core lies exposed underfoot, and the spirit stones placed there quickly take root. The psycho-plastic wraithbone grows into a tall wraithbone tree around the spirit stone. Once the wraithbone tree begins to root the spirit is released into the infinity circuit, where it joins the spirits of all the other dead Eldar. Once he is part of the infinity circuit an Eldar continues to exist forever. His psychic energy becomes one with the Craftworld's wraithbone core, and his individual consciousness remains as a potential within the infinity circuit. The infinity circuit is therefore far more than a power grid of energy, it is a place of refuge and eternal rest, from where the dead continue to watch over the living. Indeed, it is possible for an Eldar spirit to separate itself from the spiritual mass of the wraithbone core and flow into a spirit stone put aside for that purpose. Such a spirit stone can then be placed within the robotic body of a Wraithguard or an Eldar Dreadnought, or of any psycho-technic device, imbuing its artificial form with a living intellect. The consciousness of the dead is never fully as individual or alert as that of the living, for it exists at once in the real world and the spiritual world of the warp, and moves through reality as in a dream where thought and feelings are as tangible as steel and stone.


GUARDIANS
The Eldar race has suffered much over the centuries and its population continues to decline. The Craftworlds are embroiled in a battle for survival, primarily against the endless hordes of Chaos, but also against other forces such as Orks and even the Imperium. Amongst the most deadly of recent threats is the invasion of the aliens known as Tyranids, for mostly lacking any means to move their Craftworlds through warp space, the Eldar have no way of fleeing before their massive onslaught. Every Eldar is trained and ready to fight as a Guardian if need be, so these troops are the most common of all Eldar warriors. They are primarily a defensive force, ready to defend their Craftworld against direct attack, but Guardians also accompany the formidable Eldar Aspect Warriors to larger battles elsewhere. Sadly, there are so few Eldar that their Aspect Warriors alone rarely constitute sufficient forces to undertake all but the smallest of missions.

Guardians wear a tight fitting thermo-plastic armoured suit. This is called mesh armour because it consists of many thousand of tiny cells woven together into a resilient fabric. Under the influence of blast pressure or a gunshot the thermo-plastic cells meld together into a rigid defence, but at other times they allow free movement. Guardians carry lasguns or shuriken catapults as well as laspistols. Their tactical role and weaponry are flexible and they are able to perform many different kinds of task on the battlefield. As well as fighting in the Guardian squads, some Guardians man the Eldar’s support weaponry such as D-Cannons and Scatter Lasers. These potent battlefield weapons are mounted onto floating platforms, and can be moved into position to cover vital areas of the battle.

Guardian squads are led by former Aspect Warriors, those who have trodden the Warrior Path but since left it. Their experience never deserts them, although without their Aspect costumes they cannot revive old skills. None-the-less they are an important part of the Guardians’ organisation, and effectively form its officer corps. Each Craftworld has a distinctive style of clothing typified by a colour or pattern. These are not fixed uniforms but vary from squad to squad, and even between individuals within a squad. For example, the Guardians of the Craftworld of Ulthwé are known as the Black Guardians after the predominant colour of their clothing. Black is the Eldar colour of mourning, and it is commonly said that Ulthwé has much to mourn, for it lies close to the Eye of Terror and has suffered the attacks of Chaos warbands many times in its history. Other Craftworlds use equally distinctive colours or combinations of colours. Alaitoc Craftworld favours blue or a striking mixture of blue and yellow, for example, whilst Saim Hann has red or fiery orange uniforms, and Biel-tan use white, grey, or pale green.

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE HOWLING BANSHEES
In Eldar legend the Banshee calls the dead spirit into the warp, and its eerie how! is said to be a certain premonition of death. The Banshee’s call has an even more sinister implication, for it is said to call spirits from their spirit stones and so to lure them into the arms of the Chaos gods. Certainly the release of a spirit is often accompanied by a strange call, felt rather than heard, and it has been known for spirits to disperse unexpectedly into the warp when transferring between spirit stones.

Unlike most other Aspects the Howling Banshees are almost always female Eldar, for the Banshee is said to be a female spirit. The Howling Banshees are fast and mobile, and their warrior training 1s in swiftness of foot and mobility. Death, they say, will find you when your time is come, no matter where you may hide, and the same may be said of the Howling Banshees. These Aspect Warriors are armed with laspistols and power swords, weapons of the close quarter fighter, and it is at hand-to-hand combat that they excel. Their other weapon is the Banshee mask, an enclosing death's head helmet which contains a psychosonic amplifier. This device intensifies the warrior’s battlecry into a howling shriek of psychic rage. By means of their Banshee masks the warriors focus their enmity, flooding the central nervous system of their adversary with psychic energy and causing temporary paralysis.


WARP SPIDERS
The Warp Spiders take their name from the tiny creatures which may be seen within the Dome of Crystal Seers amongst the wraithbone trees. These minute sparkling creatures can move anywhere within the Craftworld by means of the wraithbone core, melting their bodies into the infinity circuit and crystallising at a new location. They have evolved from the psycho-plastics of which the Craftworld is made, and are therefore able to assimilate with the Eldar’s physical environment, moving through the infinity circuits much like the souls of dead Eldar. The spiders are aggressive hunters of intrusive psychic forces, and are attracted in vast numbers to the presence of any invasive psychic entities. As the wraithbone core is supportive of psychic consciousness in a similar way to warp space, it is possible for it to become corrupted by the fragmented consciousnesses of lost human or other non-Eldar souls.

In theory at least, it would also be possible for a daemon of Chaos to find its way into the wraithbone core, although such a thing would be immediately apparent. The tiny warp spiders ensure that this doesn’t happen, hunting and destroying alien psychic fragments much as white blood cells in the human body attack and neutralise foreign bacteria. The Warp Spider Aspect Warriors epitomise the doctrine of aggressive defence. Their costumes and weaponry reflect the tiny warp spiders after which they are named. By means of a compact warp-generator within their armoured shell, the warriors are able to make short warp-jumps, disappearing and reappearing some metres away. This enables them to make sudden and totally unexpected attacks upon their foes. Their ritual weapon is the Death Spinner, which projects a deadly cloud of mono-filament wire.

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE HARLEQUINS OF THE LAUGHING GOD

Solitaire is the most tragic of the Harlequins, forever apart from the Eldar even in death. When a Solitaire dies his soul belongs to Shanesh and is consumed within the maw of the Chaos _ god. For this reason the Solitaire is said to tread the Path of Damnation and is shunned by other Eldar. According to the Harlequins’ own tales the Laughing God sometimes succeeds in tricking Slaanesh out of a Solitaire's soul] but not always and never easily. Sometimes Slaanesh is too powerful and all the Laughing God's wit and cunning are in vain.

Of all the Eldar the Harlequins of the Laughing God are the most mysterious. Many credit them with supernatural powers. Some claim that they guard the complete secret of the Webway's endless paths and tunnels. To other Eldar they are enigmatic, otherworldly creatures, whose origins and fate seem curiously different from that of the rest of their race. No one knows where they come from. Harlequins have no home Craftworld of their own. Instead, groups of them wander from one Craftworld to another, appearing and disappearing often without any clue as to where they might be going. In peacetime the Harlequins weave spells of song and dance, enacting the mythic cycles of the Eldar in mime and music. When war calls they lend their strength to the might of the Warrior Aspects and Guardians.


The Harlequins travel the Webway, moving between the Eldar Craftworlds as if guided from place to place by some unknown purpose. They always seem to appear upon the eve of momentous events, whether for good or ill, and their appearance is said to be a portent of the shifting tides of fate. Their travelling groups are small and rarely comprise more than a hundred individuals. Only a proportion of them are warrior Harlequins. The remainder are the young and the very old, and those whose duties include fashioning costumes and operating the psycho-projectors which shift scenes during performances. The warrior Harlequins make up what is known as the troupe, its body of warrior-troubadours. Every Harlequin troupe consists of a formalised group of costumed players. For example, the brooding leader of the Harlequins is the Great Harlequin, and other characters include the Death Jester and the Shadow Seer. The majority of the troupe is made up of warriors called Chorus and Mimes who are usually referred to simply as Harlequins. All Harlequins from the Great Harlequin to the merest Mime wear the mask and persona of the Harlequin player. They always go by the name and title associated with their role. Having no individual names or identities they have become the players of the troupe in a quite literal way. Thus Mimes never speak, whether during performance or battle, or at any other time, and always wear their expressive shape-shifting masks, never revealing their faces.

The Harlequins are talented performers, whose costumes enable them to adopt illusive shapes representing different characters within the Eldar mythic cycles. The traditions of the Eldar are very ancient and their plays and songs hark back to the old stories of the Eldar gods and primal ancestors. These stories are full of subtle meanings and significances which only the Eldar can fully appreciate. The roles within each performance are always taken by the same players, thus the role of the Laughing God is always played by the Great Harlequin himself, whilst that of Fate is played by the Shadow Seer, Death by the Death Jester and so on. The majority of roles are played by the Chorus and the Mimes, who are able to adapt to a wide variety of complex demands. It will come as no surprise to learn that it takes many years for a Harlequin to learn the parts of the countless mythic heroes in the Eldar dance: Asuryan, Eldanesh, Khaine, Lileath, and a thousand more.

Their role as wandering players is only part of the Harlequins’ true purpose. They are also warriors, and their skills in dance and song are equalled by their skills in war. Just as their acrobatic feats, strength and endurance exceed the abilities of even other Eldar, so these unique talents make them the most deadly adversaries on the battlefield. Their speed and agility is beyond imagining. In combat they hurl themselves over the heads of their foes, and leap high barriers with a single bound. With a stroke of their swords they can sever head from shoulders and yet not break a stride. Such grace and surety outmatches the most accomplished human swordsman and easily evades the clumsy brute strength of Orks. In addition the Harlequins’ holo-masks flash through visions of horror, frightening away the weak-hearted and unnerving even the most sturdy warrior with premonitions of doom.

The strangest of all Harlequins are the players known as Solitaires. A troupe has only one Solitaire and his role is to play the part of the Chaos God Slaanesh. Although he is part of the troupe he lives aside from the other Harlequins. He speaks and is spoken to only in ritual form, and when he is not performing he rarely communicates with the other Eldar. His role commands ultimate fear and complete respect, and also makes him the most dangerous of all Harlequins. It is said that to speak to a Solitaire or to cross his path is to invite damnation, and that if a person were to accidentally address or touch a Solitaire it would be better that he ended his life there and then rather than suffer the terrible doom that awaits him. Each Craftworld has its own Avatar of the Bloody Handed God, and if the Eldar pray at all, it is to that embodiment of their murderous natures. The Harlequins have their own god, the Laughing God, also known as the Great Harlequin God. The troupe's own leader is also called the Great Harlequin because he represents the Laughing God himself, the leader of all Harlequins.

The story goes that once the Chaos God Slaanesh had destroyed the other Eldar gods he fought with Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-handed War God of the Eldar. But the Laughing God hid behind Kaela Mensha Khaine, and by means of his trickery and adroitness managed to avoid the gaze of Slaanesh. When the two struggling gods retired exhausted, the Bloody-handed God into the material universe in his Avatar forms, and Slaanesh into the orbit of the Chaos Gods, the Great Harlequin God escaped into the Webway and hid amongst its myriad tunnels. He lives there still, laughing at the gods of Chaos, emerging secretly to play his deadly tricks upon them or make his secret plans. He cannot be caught, for he is too fast and subtle, and he knows all the secrets of the Webway.

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE BLACK LIBRARY
The Webway is a labyrinth through the warp. Its tunnels lead to the Craftworlds, to the planets of the Exodites and to untold thousands of worlds throughout the galaxy. It is said that no one knows all the routes through the Webway except for the Laughing God of the Eldar. The Craftworld Seers maintain there are many secret paths which lead through time and reality, though no living Eldar knows of any such route. Throughout the Webway there are many byways, dead ends, endless paths that deceive, and mazes that can entrap the unwary. However, the strangest place of all is the Black Library.

The Black Library is spoken of as a Craftworld, which in form it may be, yet it is very different from the other Craftworlds of the Eldar. Where the Craftworlds float through the firmament of the material universe, the Black Library exists only within the Webway itself. To reach the Black Library it is necessary to travel the secret passages through the warp, to pass the Guardians of the Black Library, and to find one of the hidden entrances that lead within. The Great Harlequins, the leaders of the Harlequin troupes, are said to know the secret ways which lead to the Black Library, just as their master the Laughing God knows all the secrets of the Webway. The Black Library houses all the Eldar’s most precious knowledge, and in particular all that they have learned about the perils of Chaos. It was Chaos that destroyed their once great civilisation, and which threatens them still from the warp. The secrets of the Library are not for the unwary or the merely curious. Within its psychically locked rooms lie grimoires of dark magic, black tomes of daemonic lore, and records of countless Chaos Cults throughout the galaxy. Very few can pass the Guardians of the Black Library and enter within. The Great Harlequins, the leaders of the Harlequin troupes, are said to know the key enchantments to open the doors of the Black Library, just as they know many of the dark secrets of the Eldar race.

Of all humans only certain Inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus have ever entered the confines of the Black Library, and then only in the company of Harlequins and under the closest supervision. None have ever described their experiences. These Inquisitors share a common bond with the Harlequins, for both are sworn enemies of Chaos and understand only too well the nature of the threat that faces Eldar and humanity. As the ultimate repository of arcana, the Black Library serves Harlequins and Inquisitors alike, although in the case of the latter the Library may only be entered under the guiding hand of others. As to the Guardians of the Library their true nature remains an unspoken secret, yet they are described as the most terrible of all perils in the Webway.

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE FALL OF THE ELDAR
Over ten thousand years ago the Eldar suffered the greatest tragedy ever to befall a prosperous and intelligent race. The Eldar civilisation was at its height and held domain over a significant portion of the galaxy. Their worlds were places of great peace and beauty, paradises of personal contentment and cultural achievement. However, all this was to end in the cataclysm of destruction which wiped out the inter-planetary civilisation of the Eldar at a single stroke. This cataclysm is known simply as the Fall. The events which led to the Fall are not a matter of record but of tradition and speculation. What follows is the story of the Fall as it is generally accepted by the Eldar. The Eldar were a proud and arrogant people, confident in their superiority and dismissive of alien barbarians. Their technological achievements excelled those of all other races, and none amongst them doubted that this state of affairs would continue indefinitely. In many ways the Eldar had good reason to be confident, for no other race posed a serious threat to their wealth or stability. The Fall, when it came, took a form far more subtle and dangerous than that of an alien invasion.

In those times there were no Craftworlds, no Eldar path. All Eldar pursued their inclinations according to their own will, indulging every whim and investigating every curiosity, Their great minds turned as easily to art as to science. They created many beautiful things and learned much about the universe that is nowadays forgotten. Their lives were long, and when they eventually died their spirits dissolved peacefully back into the warp to be reborn again. There were no spirit stones to contain their undying spirits in those days, nor had they any need of such things, for the warp did not then hold the dangers that it does today.

Slowly but surely the worm of pride began to eat away at the Eldar race. They thought all secrets theirs to uncover, all pleasures theirs to partake. Heedlessly they plundered the precious resources of their marvellous minds. The Eldar had long outgrown the need for labour or simple manual agriculture. Society provided all that was required without individual effort, leaving a long life-time for the Eldar to spend satisfying their least desire. Some gave way to their most hedonistic impulses. Exotic cults sprang up all over the Eldar domains, each dedicated to a different aspect of esoteric knowledge or sensual excess. As these cults gained a tighter hold over the Eldar so their society became increasingly divided. The corruption turned quickly to wanton abandon. Gangs of sadistic killers prowled the streets in search of victims. No life was spared in the pursuit of pleasures both murderous and perverse. A sickness of concupiscence overtook the Eldar race. Blood flowed through the streets amidst the bestial roar of the crowd.

SLAANESH
Only a fool would pretend to understand the strange otherworld that is the warp for it is, by its very nature, inconstant and incomprehensible. Yet it was within the warp that the destruction of the Eldar race took shape. It was here amidst the swirling psychic energy that their corruption became manifest. Within the psychic other-realm of warp space their departing spirits began to coalesce into a gestalt consciousness. What an unimaginably foul and sickening mind it was that the Eldar raised unknowingly in the warp. It was a shadow of themselves, of what they had become, of nobility and pride brought low by perversity and shamelessness. What the Eldar could only realise too late was that they had created a god in their own image, a god grown immense and potent upon the rich fodder of the Eldar spirit. Within the warp thoughts and emotions swell and grow, fed by fellow feelings until they achieve a consciousness of sorts. They become spirits of greater or lesser potency, and their long gestation is followed by birthing pains which rock the warp and rupture the fabric of space. No creature of the warp was ever to be birthed that was as monstrous or as powerful as the Chaos God Slaanesh, the Great Enemy, and the Doom of the Eldar incarnate.

For years the Eldar were riven with madness as Slaanesh dreamed in the warp. Worlds burned and Eldar slew and laughed and feasted upon the corpses of the dead, and Slaanesh stirred uneasily into life. When the time came for Slaanesh to be born into divine consciousness there was not one Eldar anywhere who did not feel the agony. With a howl of psychic power Slaanesh rose into supernatural life and cried out in his pain. A psychic implosion tore at the universe. The spirits of the Eldar were drawn from their minds and consumed as their god took his first infernal breath. Intoxicated with this first draught Slaanesh laughed and looked upon a universe of gods. The epicentre of the psychic implosion lay within the heart of the Eldar realms. All Eldar within thousands of light years were destroyed in an instant, their spirits sucked into the warp to feed the hungry god. Even the Craftworlds were overwhelmed as they fled, and only those furthest away from the epicentre survived. Upon the fringes of the galaxy the shockwave slew millions of Eldar Exodites, leaving only the remotest worlds largely untouched. In a moment the Eldar had become a doomed people, reduced to a tiny remnant of refugees scattered throughout space, knowing that their Great Enemy had been born and would pursue them for the rest of eternity.

 

[MolotovKraken]

The psychic shockwave focused upon the Eldar mind, but millions of humans and creatures from other races were destroyed too, Warp space was thrown into turmoil as a hurricane of psychic force raged and whirled for days. The fabric of space was torn apart and the warp spilled into the material universe. A vast black hole opened and the Eldar worlds were consumed within it. Spacecraft within the warp were destroyed instantly, and psykers of all races howled with pain as many died in madness. The hole in space spread until it encompassed the Eldar realms of old, and reached the limits of its power. Today this rend in space is called the Eye of Terror, and is the largest zone of its kind in the entire galaxy. Here the warp and material universe overlap. Daemons bathe in the energy of the warp, whilst daemon princes and the Chaos Space Marines rule over planets turned into hell worlds of fire and darkness.

If there was one good which came from the birth of Slaanesh it was that the warp was thereafter becalmed. Before the advent of Slaanesh the warp was riven with storm and tempest making it almost impossible for spacecraft to travel between the stars. Now the warp became passive. A new equilibrium had been reached, and Slaanesh joined the ranks of major Chaos gods. For a while the powers in the warp waited whilst the new order established itself. For the first time in millennia human spacecraft flew from Earth. Human worlds throughout the galaxy were brought into contact once more. During the Great Crusade which followed the Emperor brought humanity together into the Imperium, and mankind replaced the Eldar as the galaxy's most vital race.

THE AVATARS
Despite the almost universal corruption of the Eldar there remained some traditions, some ideas and values, that were lodged so firmly into the Eldar psyche not even ultimate degradation could erase them from the racial consciousness. This part of the spirit energy of the Eldar race could never coalesce with the Chaos God Slaanesh. This incorruptible spirit of the Eldar is represented by the most powerful of the ancient Eldar gods. Some other gods, the weakest and smallest, were drawn by the power of Slaanesh and consumed. This is why the Eldar say that their gods are dead: Slaanesh destroyed them and absorbed their power.

Two Eldar gods of old survived the Fall. One was Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-handed God, the most powerful of all the Eldar deities. The Eldar maintain that Slaanesh and the Bloody-handed God fought a titanic battle in the warp. Slaanesh proved the stronger but was not powerful enough to destroy the Eldar god completely. Instead Kaela Mensha Khaine was broken into many fragments and driven out of the warp. Each fragment supposedly came to rest within the wraithbone core of a Craftworld, where it took root and grew into an Avatar of the Bloody-handed God. Deep in the heart of every Craftworld is a sealed chamber. Inside, upon a smouldering throne, sits an Avatar of the Bloody-handed God, a statue of immobile iron. The Avatar’s body is pitted with age and encrusted with the patina of corrosion. His eyes reveal an empty darkness as if his whole body were a hollow metal shell. The skeletal structure of the Avatar’s wraithbone chamber stretches throughout the entire Craftworld, its strands connecting every part of the craft to his throne.

As the Craftworld prepares for war the psychically receptive wraithbone core pulses with the battle-lust of the Eldar. The Avatar begins to glow as the heat of his fiery blood is kindled. His iron heart quickens and his metal flesh pulses with life. Molten iron boils through his veins, so that he crackles and hisses like a furnace. The Avatar stirs upon his throne in response to the call to war. In their shrines the Exarchs and Aspect Warriors sense his awakening. Through the naked ribs of wraithbone a psychic roar of destruction echoes throughout the Craftworld. Summoned by that battlecry the Exarchs gather at the gates of the Avatar’s throne room. They bring the Young King, an Aspect Warrior chosen by the Farseers, who stands naked and unarmed, crowned with a garland of wraithornes, and painted with the blood runes of Kaela Mensha Khaine. A long chant is begun whilst from within the god's chamber comes the enraged crackling of burning metal and raging furnace. As the ceremony proceeds the Exarchs place an elaborate blue mantle upon the Young King’s shoulders, and fasten it in place with a golden pin. In his right hand they place the Suin Daellae - the weapon of the Avatar, whose Eldar name means the Wailing Doom. In his left hand they place the Cup of Criel, the cup brimming with his own blood.

As the ceremony grows more intense so the Bloody-handed God stirs into life. His uncontrollable rage permeates the wraithbone core and radiates throughout the craft. Every single Eldar feels the Avatar’s inhuman blood-thirst awakening in his own mind. At last the bronze gate of the Avatar’s throne room swings open. The heat from within is scorching. The light is so bright that it burns through eyelids into the mind. The sound of splintering iron is deafening. Beyond the fire a shadow of darkness sits upon the throne. Into the throne room the Young King walks to his destruction, and the bronze gate closes behind him. For several hours the furnace rumbles and booms. The infinity circuits writhe in torment whilst unimaginable powers encoil the chamber of the Bloody-handed God. At last there is an inhuman roar of agony and a psychic shock wave blows apart the bronze door of the Avatar’s shrine. The Exarchs who wait outside are thrown to the floor, as a hurricane of unadulterated power rages throughout the Craftworld. Amidst the torrent of power the Avatar walks from his throne into the Craftworld.

The living Avatar is an ancient god incarnate, a creature of supernatural power, rivalled only by the incalculable energies of the mightiest of daemons. His eyes glow like coal and as he moves his body of burning iron crackles and spits fire. Molten iron flows through his veins and bubbles of fiery ichor burst and solidify upon his skin. Tendrils of smoke and flying cinders enwreath him like a dark crown. Upon his shoulders he wears the mantle of the Young King, miraculously grown many times over to encompass his massive shoulders. His long arms are covered with blood up to the elbows. Thick red blood oozes from his hands and drips from his fingers. In his right hand he carries the Wailing Doom, the weapon of the Bloody Handed God that shrieks as it tastes mortal flesh. The runes upon its blade writhe as they struggle to escape their bondage, as if tortured by the heat of the Avatar's grasp. As to the fate of the Young King not even the Farseers will speak. Perhaps he lives on within the Bloody-handed God for all eternity, his spirit intermingling with the greater spirit that is Kaela Mensha Khaine. But maybe he is destroyed utterly, his spirit a sacrifice to the merciless Bloody-handed God.

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE EXODITES

During the Fall the degeneration of the Eldar did not go wholly without resistance. Some, the more far-sighted, began to openly criticise the laxity of their fellow citizens, and to warn against the effect of Chaos cults. These people were mostly ignored or else treated as narrow-minded fools and fanatics. Soon the general collapse of society convinced even the most resolute amongst them that there would be no end to the reign of death and depravity. Some decided to leave the Eldar worlds, and settle new planets free of the creeping corruption. They were the ones still untainted by the touch of Chaos, and by now they were few. These Eldar are known as the Exodites, Of all the Eldar race they were uniquely far-sighted. Amongst a race naturally indulgent and hedonistic they were reviled as dour fanatics obsessed with misery and self-denial. There were some whose dire premonitions were perhaps yet another form of insanity, simply one more conceit taken to inhuman extremes. Others were genuine survivalists who chose exile over degradation and destruction. In an assortment of spacecraft the Exodites abandoned their homes. Many died out in open space. Some reached new worlds only to be slain by marauding Orks or natural predators. Many more survived, For the most part they headed eastwards as far away from the main concentration of Eldar worlds as they could reach.

Upon the fringes of the galaxy the Exodites made new homes. The worlds they settled were savage and life was often hard for a people unused to physical work and self-denial. When the final cataclysm erupted most of the Exodite worlds were far from the psychic epicentre and survived. The resultant psychic implosion wiped out the rest of the Eldar race and left a gaping hole in the fabric of space, but out on the fringes of the galaxy the Exodites were safe. Many Craftworlds rode out the psychic shock wave and survived that way, but the Exodites had already reached places of safety — or else they perished with the rest of their race and have been forgotten. Since they were first settled the Exodite worlds have not changed a great deal. The Eldar that live there have learned how to cultivate crops and harvest other natural resources. The psycho-plastics necessary for Eldar technology are rare and precious on these remote planets so the Exodites utilise other substances and rely upon simpler ways and physical labour. The Craftworld Eldar regard the Exodites as rustic and rather simple folk, vigorous and wild in a way that is quite unlike their own introverted societies. Craftworlders and Exodites travel within each other's realms, but their different mental outlook and way of life means that they have their own concerns.

The Eldar path determines the way of life for all Craftworlders but not for the Exodites. Because of this they seem wild and individualistic compared to other Eldar, more independently minded and adventurous by far than their cousins. They can survive in this fashion because they are distant from the Eye of Terror, the hole in the fabric of space which still acts as a psychic focus for the destructive influence of Slaanesh. This alone is not enough to protect them, but it 1s a significant factor. More importantly, the Exodite societies are more rigorous and physical than those of the Craftworlds. Where the Craftworlds cling to the past and preserve all they can of their fallen civilisation, the Exodites have turned their backs upon ancient traditions in favour of a simpler and harder way of life. Their minds are tougher and more straightforward but not so subtle and ultimately less powerful than the Craftworld Eldar. However, they have survived, and of all the Eldar they seem most likely to continue to do so,

The Exodite worlds are untamed and often dangerous planets. Mighty rivers roar unchecked over their natural flood plains. Massive forests stretch over thousands of miles of virgin woodland. The few meagre settlements co-exist with wild beasts of all kinds. The Exodites are too few to disturb the balance of nature. Their settlements are small and thinly scattered. Many are occupied only for a few months of the year, because on many worlds the Exodites are nomadic, moving with the seasons and the herds. They time their migrations so that they arrive at their camps in the late summer to collect crops planted in the spring, remaining until it is time to plant the following year's crop and move on. The wild creatures that inhabit the Exodite worlds are many and varied. Most of the Exodite worlds are now home to large herds of megadons and other gigantic beasts which the Exodites know by the name of dragons. It is likely that these creatures are native to the region, but that the early settlers spread them throughout all their worlds so that they are now common. The Exodites follow the dragon herds as they graze the endless grasslands of the great plains. By carefully managing the herds the Eldar live upon them, eating their flesh and even drinking their blood, and utilising their skins to make clothing and leather. Even bones and horn have their uses, and these materials partly substitute for the psychoplastic substances used by the Craftworld Eldar. Although this lifestyle is in many respects a primitive one, the Exodites have many advanced technologies and are familiar with all the sophisticated materials used on the Craftworlds. It is by choice that they live as they do, and their way of life has proven every bit as successful as that of the other Eldar.

There are many different kinds of dragons, some unique to specific worlds, and they are used in different ways according to their size and nature. The megadons are massive herbivores, slow-witted and easy to manage, although deadly if panicked or mistreated. These creatures provide most of the material resources of the Exodites, and small ones are used to transport cargos and people across the great plains. A large megadon can carry a massive structure on tts back, and they bear the most enormous weights without concern. Smaller carnivorous dragons ridden by Exodite warriors are used to herd and control the megadons. Warriors are virtually born into the tall dragon saddles, and wield their long lances with consummate ease. A stab with a lance will turn or stop a megadon without causing it any harm, but the same blow would knock the most hardy Eldar to the ground dead. Warriors are an important part of Exodite societies. Their role is 10 protect each community as well as to safeguard its beasts from predators. The Exodites are a tribal people. Each tribe owes allegiance to a local ruling tribe which in turn owes fealty to the planet's king and his royal tribe. As there are relatively few Eldar there are few territorial disputes. The tribes live within substantial areas which easily meet their grazing and cultivation

 

[MolotovKraken]

THE OUTCASTS

Eldar society is very formalised and restrictive, and all Eldar pursue what is called the Eldar path. The Eldar path is a system of learning and experience which hones the Eldar mind and temperament in a carefully controlled way. There is no single path, but actually many individual and different paths offering a variety of experiences. Whatever path fate directs them onto, an Eldar is guided by accomplished masters and their progress is carefully watched as their skills develop. Such rigour and constriction is unimaginable to a human, for it involves self control and mental discipline that they would find impossible.

OUTCASTS
Sometimes the rigid constraints of the Eldar path are intolerable even for an Eldar to bear; such individuals leave their Craftworlds and become known as Outcasts. Many Eldar spend years or decades as Outcasts before they return to the Eldar path. Outcasts must bear the terrible burden of their heightened Eldar consciousness without the protection of the Eldar path. Set free within the universe they are dangerously vulnerable. Their psychically sensitive minds are a beacon to predatory daemons and in particular to the Great Enemy Slaanesh. Only Eldar of especially strong character can survive for long as Outcasts. After years of adventure and wandering, or sailing the seas of space aboard the pirate fleets, most Eldar eventually return to the sanctuary of the Eldar path.

There are many kinds and degrees of Outcast. They leave their Craftworlds and live elsewhere, often wandering the galaxy and visiting the worlds of men or the Exodites. They are not welcome aboard Craftworlds except briefly, for their minds are dangerously unbounded and attract predators from the psychic realms of the warp. Daemons or other warp entities can home in to the mind of an Outcast and lodge in the psycho-supportive environment of the Craftworld's wraithbone core, Outcasts are also disruptive in another sense, for their presence can distract the young and inexperienced from the Eldar path by their romantic tales of travel and freedom.

CHAOS
There are many dangers that an Outcast must face. Most are material dangers that can be fought and defeated. Much more insidious is the far greater peril of the Eldar mind. Adrift from the Eldar path and without the guidance of past masters, an Eldar can drift into the waiting arms of damnation. It is all too easy for a Eldar to embrace the obscene virtues of Chaos, for Slaanesh is nothing more than a manifestation of the Eldar mind in its most wild and unconstrained form. Human morality is meaningless to the Eldar, and to the dark side of the Eldar mind all life is worthless. Cruelty and generosity are but whims of a moment. Beauty and sensuality are virtues which can be expressed in bloodshed just as easily as in song. To an unfettered Eldar mind there is neither sanity nor madness, but merely a wave of perfect existence fulfilled by its OWN Savage momentum. Of all the servants of Chaos there are few as truly damned as the Eldar Chaos Champions, nor any as utterly at the mercy of their Chaos masters. They are lost to the Eldar race, unacknowledged and forever forgotten by their kinfolk, their souls eternally barred from peace.

THE CRONE WORLDS
When the Eldar worlds were overwhelmed by the rift in time and space known as of Terror they were not destroyed. They were drawn into the warp altered, so that they became abodes of daemons and other foul chaos entities. These worlds still exist in this timeless limbo today, half real and half part of the warp. In this environment both daemons and mortals can survive, and the physical laws of the material universe intermix with the endless of Chaos to produce hellish nightmare planets. [t is impossible to imagine more vile or outlandish where the skies burn with fire, rivers run with blood, and mortals are driven to torment by their daemonic masters. Every world is a hell whose form is a creation of a mighty Daemon Prince, the most favoured servants of the Chaos Gods.

To the Eldar these worlds are known as Crone Worlds. According to tradition the Crone Worlds still preserve some of the Eldar's greatest treasures despite the changes that Chaos has wrought upon them. It is said that there are worlds where Eldar still live, the descendents of chaos worshipping Eldar of ancient times, spared or recreated by Slaanesh to serve his evil purpose. Sometimes adventurous Eldar Outcasts visit these worlds searching for treasure or friend. They rarely return and those that do are often so badly wounded in mind and spirit that they soon seek the solace of the Infinity Circuits.

 

[MolotovKraken]

At the heart of every Craftworld there is a sealed chamber. Within this chamber, upon a throne of smouldering iron, sits an Avatar of the bloody-handed god. Kaela Mensha Khaine, the old god of the Eldar now driven into fragmented exile in the material universe by Slaanesh, the Bane of the Eldar. The Avatar sits as still as a statue of ancient metal, pitted with age and encrusted with the patina of corrosion. His eyes reveal only an empty shell. The chamber that surrounds him is built of gleaming wraithbone whose skeletal structure stretches throughout the entire Craftworld, its strands connecting every part to the throne of the Avatar.

When the Eldar prepare for war their thoughts and their souls are directed to their The Avatar begins to glow as the heat of his fiery blood is kindled. His metal heart begins to quicken and his iron flesh begins to pulse with life. Liquid iron boils through his veins and his smouldering skin crackles and hisses like a furnace. As the Avatar stirs upon his iron throne the whole Craftworld reverberates with power. The Eldar Exarchs and Aspect Warriors sense the psychic vibrations beating through the wraith bone spreading through the naked ribs of its caverns and chambers. The shrines of the Warrior Aspects begin the rituals of preparation as the battle call of Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-handed God, fills the Eldar with an unquenchable thirst for blood.

 

[MolotovKraken]

SOLITARE
The Solitaire is the most strange and certainly the most deadly of all the Harlequins. He stands apart from the other Harlequins both on the battlefield and at other times, for his chosen role forbids him from associating with or even talking to other Eldar. During the Harlequin ritual recitations he plays the part of Slaanesh, the Great Enemy, and to do so he must tread upon the most dangerous path of all, the Path of Damnation. When he dies his soul must be fought over by the Laughing God and the Chaos God Slaanesh, an uneven match which is likely to be won by Slaanesh unless the Laughing God can somehow trick the Great Enemy out of his prize.


ASURMEN
Of all the Phoenix Lords the oldest of all is Asurmen, whose name means the Hand of Asuryan. I*z is also known as the Hand of the Phoenix King. In the Eldar mythic cycles Asuryan, the Phoenix King, is the chief and greatest of all Eldar gods. Where Asurmen walks the foes of the Eldar quail in their terror, for his extraordinary powers place him at the Pinnacle of Might. In the time of the Fall, Asurmen led his people into exile, abandoning his world to the horrors of the warp. He founded the first of the Aspect Warrior shrines, the Shrine of Asur, upon a barren world his people settled. From the Shrine of Asur sprang the first Aspect Warriors, and the Path of the Warrior was opened for the very first time. Those Eldar learned at the feet of their master, and in their turn they assumed the mantle of Exarchs before spreading throughout the galaxy.

The first Exarchs, the Asurya, the children of Asur, founded the shrines of the Warrior Aspects as we know them today. It was then that the different Warrior Aspects were formalised, taking as their model the skills and teachings of their founders. Shrines were built on the Craftworlds as they took to deep space so the warrior skills of the Asurya were preserved in exile. The planet of Asur was destroyed during the Fall and Asurmen’s first incarnation ended in battle against the Chaos legions of Slaanesh. But it was not the end of Asurmen. There would always be heroes drawn to his mould, heroes who would take up the armoured suit and battle-gear again. Asurmen joined the Asurya in founding shrines and founded more shrines on more Craftworlds than any other Exarch. His shrines were all dedicated to his own multi-complex skills, and his Aspect Warriors became the Dire Avengers. Soon he vanished again, but tales of his deeds persisted. He was reported fighting against the Great Enemy Slaanesh in the depths of the Eye of Terror. He was seen on the galaxy’s nm, and tales of his valour spread from Craftworld to Craftworld.

Asurmen’s armour carries a specially adapted shuriken weapon which is connected to each of his vambraces in such a way that it can be fired either handed without loss of accuracy. This arrangement also leaves his hand free so that he can grasp his power sword with two hands. This itself is no ordinary power sword but the potent Sword of Asur. Asurmen also carries a shuriken pistol, so he has the option of fighting in close combat with the Sword of Asur and pistol, or else the sword alone grasped in two hands.

 

[MolotovKraken]

When an Eldar dies his spirit is trapped within a crystal spirit stone and so escapes the Chaos God Slaanesh who would otherwise consume it. The Eldar who live on Craftworlds rebease this spirit into the Craftworld’s infinity circuit, and the spirits of the Exodites find similar refuge within the world spirit of their planet. But the Harlequins belong to the Laughing God himself. Their dying spirits merge together with their patron, strengthening his powcr, so that he may continue to watch over the living. The power of the Laughing God hides within the warp tunnels of the Webway, where not even the mightiest Chaos god can find it. The only Harlequin not protected on this way is the Solitaire, who plays the role of Slaanesh in the ritual recitations, and whose spirit belongs to the Chaos God.

 

[MolotovKraken]

The sun’s dim red light shone fitfully through the angry black clouds, turning the great hab-blocks into giant crypts, each window the colour of blood. Here and there among the rubble of the ruined city there were signs of movement as the Eldar forces arrived. From his place atop the city’s tallest tower Farseer Karhedron watched and was satisfied.

He pulled his long thick robes tighter against the cold breeze, and offered up thanks for the sealed crystal eyepieces of the Warlock mask that protected his eyes from the stinging wind. His hand tightened on the hilt of the rune-covered witch blade that had served him so well in a hundred other conflicts. His mind felt the tug of the psychic currents, as eddies set up by the presence of the Avatar disturbed the warp tides.

Overhead Swooping Hawks drifted, crucified on the thermals. As he watched they played a terrifying game, rushing directly at the black, burned out buildings with frightening speed. At the last moment, just as Karhedron was convinced that they were about to dash their brains out on the plascrete walls they would catch the updraft where the sides of the building forced the rushing wind upward and ride the air currents up the side of the building. Karhedron shuddered. There had been a kind of madness in the air ever since the Eldar force had arrived on this ravaged world.

It was always the same when they fought against Chaos. Ancient primordial hatreds and fears, long buried in the Eldar psyche, came to the fore. The terrible knowledge that in death their souls could be devoured by the daemon god Slaanesh became foremost in every warrior’s mind. Somehow, at times like this, even the promised protection of the spirit stone seemed somehow a fragile thing.

Still, Karhedron was proud of his people. They had come here to fight on a world that was not theirs, to take part in a struggle that seemed only tangentially related to their lives on the Craftworld. They had come on the word of Karhedron and other Farseers like him when the runes had revealed that this conflict was necessary, and they had done it without question, trusting to their implicit faith in the Farseers’ vision.

There were times when Karhedron wondered about that. Sometimes, in his darker moods, he speculated that there might be another reason why the Eldar were so ready to follow their prophets to war. Sometimes he suspected that the peaceful life of the Craftworld hung heavy on their hands, and that the Eldar craved the excitement only warfare could give them. There were times when he suspected that ennui was the curse of their centuries-long lives and that they would seek any means to combat this.

Karhedron cursed, knowing that it must be the presence of the forces of Chaos so close to hand that put such thoughts in his mind. He knew that his speculations were coming dangerously close to the sort of heresy that had caused the long ago fall of the Eldar, when most of the Eldar race had followed the seductive path of gratifying their every whim. That path had led to the darkness and the birth of Slaanesh.

Karhedron knew that the universe was not neutral, that one was called upon to take a side. He knew that you were either against the dark thing that was Chaos, or you were its tool. Inaction was not an option. It merely - meant standing by and letting evil grow. Karhedron also knew that the Eldar were few in number now, and could not afford the massive commitment of troops that the human Imperium could. It was best not to think of warfare as a release from boredom. It was best to see this operation as a piece of surgery.

The Eldar were here because if the cancer of Chaos was not excised from this world it would swiftly spread to others and would, consequently, be ever more difficult to deal with in the future. It was best to commit troops now, when the foe was fewer and the risks less than to wait for some day of universal Armageddon further down the line.

Here on Mazoth there had been a rebellion by human supporters of Chaos. They had overthrown their lawful government in violent civil war, and now the entire planet had descended into anarchy and despair. It would be months before the Imperium could respond to this threat, so the Eldar would deal with it now.

On the rooftops across the way a squad of Dark Reapers surveyed the street, training their huge missile launchers on anything they suspected was a potential threat. In the streets below formations of Guardians spread out in loose lines ready to move out and confront the enemy. On the street’s edge columns of Fire Dragons Aspect Warriors prepared to advance in” support, clearing any dug-in enemy from the path of the advance.

Karhedron knew that it would not be long now before the order to move out came.

 

[MolotovKraken]

Elshar clambered up and threw himself flat just before he reached the brow of the hill. From this vantage point he surveyed the surrounding terrain. The place had been a park before the uprising, before the followers of Chaos had raised their standard on this world. Once there had been green trees and flowerbeds and shady nooks there.

Elshar did not care. He was an Exarch, and beauty and peace meant nothing to him. For him a tree was only another piece of cover, a valley was place where he could be temporarily out of an enemy’s line of sight, a shadow was a place where death might lurk. For an Exarch there could be no peace; there were simply times when the killing stopped, when a warrior could hone his skills before the next battle.

Once, so long ago he could barely remember, it had been different. He had lived in his own chambers and followed a different destiny. He had memories of a time when he had known friendship, and joy, and laughter. But that was before he had heard the call of the Avatar, before he had become locked into the role of the Eternal Warrior. Those memories really belonged to someone else, to the being he had once been, a person that had no relevance to his life today.

He caught sight of movement up ahead. He ducked back and gestured for his squad of Striking Scorpions to halt. Years of constant training under his supervision had taught them to respond instantly to his commands. They froze, becoming still as statues, into an immobility that would draw no watching eye.

Elshar threw himself flat and scuttled, like a scorpion, up the slope on his hands and knees. He kept himself flat and low as he crossed the top of the slope, and found cover in the moonberry bushes on the other side. Instantly he froze, watching. Any second he expected a blast of enemy fire to cut him down. He felt no fear at the idea, only a dim sense that it would be a waste for him to die without taking any of the enemy with him.

His eyes studied the ravaged landscape, indexing the craters and the bushes and the burned out trees, noting the points where enemy might lurk, where lethal crossfires might be set up, where the killing grounds were. Once he might have been appalled at this waste of beauty, and the torment the land had been put through. He could remember a time when the sight of a dead body had made him sick, but that had happened to that other person when he was young, after his first battle, when the horror and the fear had combined in a terrible reaction. There could be no such reaction now. A dead body was simply that. A husk that no longer contained a soul, a vehicle without a driver.

He wondered when the slow irreversible process of emotional petrification had begun. Perhaps when he had first donned his Aspect suit, when he had been like young Gharonael back there, just beginning to study the path of the Scorpion. That had certainly marked the beginning of the change but it was not what had changed him into an Exarch.

No, he thought, that had probably come on Taneloth, when he had witnessed the daemonic Keeper of Secrets devour the soul of the Howling Banshee called Shiera, and his entire squad had been slain save for him. He had known others who had gone mad after that battle but he had not. He had chosen to preserve his sanity in the only way he knew. He had elected to become as proficient a death-dealer as it was possible for him to become.

His patience was rewarded, he caught sight of human figures moving forward through the trees. Their battered armour and ill-maintained weapons marked them as rebels. The Eye of Horus sign on their banner re-inforced that impression. They advanced cautiously. As he watched he saw their leader kneel and speak into a comm-net mouth piece. They seemed unaware of his presence.

His hand tightened involuntarily on the grip of his Web of Skulls. It was the sight of the Chaos banner that did it.

In the frozen core of his mind, he felt the icy hatred flare. Taneloth had been a watershed for him, as it had been for so many others aboard the Light in Infinite Darkness. All of the Craftworld’s warriors had been changed by their encounter with the daemon and his minions. It had been the point when he had first realised that death, and worse than death, was possible for him. Till that fateful day he had been used to the idea that when he died his soul would be taken into a soulstone, and patched into the infinity circuit aboard the Craftworld. He had thought that after his body died his soul would be preserved forever, in constant contact with the millions of other Craftworld dead. After Taneloth he had known that there was a worse fate waiting. He had seen Shiera’s soulstone devoured by the daemon as surely as Slaanesh had devoured the souls of the ancient Eldar. He had known that not even the final refuge of the Eldar race was safe, and since that day he had been troubled.

The humans advanced now. They moved warily, their heads scanning from side to side, as they moved into the little valley. Their weapons were held in positions of exaggerated wariness. Occasionally they exchanged nervous words in their guttural, croaking language. They all seemed young and clumsy to him. Their movements lacked grace, just as their language lacked beauty. Mankind seemed such an ill-made race to him. Nonetheless he knew that their weapons were deadly.

In the distance he heard the rumble of tracks, and knew that some sort of tank was on the move. The Farseer’s predictions were accurate then, he realised. There was to be a major thrust across this parkland towards the Eldar landing site. He knew it was imperative for them to stop the humans here, so that more warriors and materials could be transported down from the Craftworld’s ships and a beach-head established.

It struck him that at this moment, across this vast city, this scene was being replicated a thousand times. In buildings and parklands, in ruined temples and twisting alleys Man and Eldar waited and watched, each prepared to deal violent death to his enemy. The thought seemed irrelevant to him so he dismissed it. The important thing here was to fight and to win. Nothing else mattered.

He took deep regulated breaths. His muscles were loose, ready to respond in an instant to his mind's commands. Once, at a time like this, he would have been tensing and relaxing his muscles to keep them limber, to ease out the nerve-wracking tension. Now he was relaxed, in a state of constant readiness. For all the difference it made he might as well be back in the Temple Chamber practising with his weapons. And he knew, as a master fencer knows the strengths and weaknesses of his blade, that such relaxation would make a great difference. He knew he would not freeze when the moment to fight came. He knew that he would not stand muscles locked, mind numb with terror waiting for the killing blow to fall. The nearest human was within striking distance now. It was time.

Elshar sprang , whirling the Web of Skulls in his hand. He felt the killing power in the weapon even as he released it. It spun through the air like an enchanted bolas. Each heavily weighted skull smashed into a target smashing bone and crushing heads. Three men fell and with an eerie whine the Web returned to his hand. The humans stood frozen in shock. Their leader shouted a hasty order to them and they began to swing their weapons to bear. They were too slow.

Elshar leapt among them focusing all his rage and hatred, and using it to propel his weapon. The Web lashed out like a great whip. The human sergeant fell with his head smashed to jelly. A second man went down as the Exarch chopped him with his chainsword. His mandiblasters spat death into the face of a third. The humans started screaming, unable to cope with this juggernaut of death that raged among them, its movement too swift for them to follow.

Elshar lashed out with the Web of Skulls once more it whirled among the men, sending them flying unconscious to the ground. The last survivor turned to run. Elshar watched him go. He twitched his weapon in his hands feeling the weight of it. The human had almost reached the cover of the trees when Elshar let fly. The bolas surged out wrapping themselves round the man’s throat, choking the very life out of him.

When the Aspect Warriors of Elshar’s squad arrived there was nothing for them to do except to dispatch the wounded.

 

[MolotovKraken]

WORLD SPIRITS OF THE EXODITES
The wraithbone core of each Craftworld acts as a repository and conductor of psychic power. It is also the ultimate refuge for the spirits of its people in death. Every Exodite world has its own equivalent to the infinity circuit which is called the world spirit. This is an immense store of psychic energy where the minds of dead Eldar are preserved forever. Exodites too wear spirit stones and when they die they are taken beneath the earth into one of the great tribal barrows. They are laid to rest there and their spirit stones are broken upon the altars of the world spirit.

Each world spirit is a complex psychic energy grid which extends over the entire planet, stretching between the tribal barrows, stone circles and standing stones. These important places are where the spirit world and the material world can interact, where the spirits of the dead can flow together, and where the living can talk to the dead if they have the power. The stone circles and standing stones are made from psychically interactive crystal. These towering stones are gigantic spirit stones which anchor psychic power into the earth. The links between them form part of the Eldar Webway, but the paths from the Webway into the world spirits are well hidden and protected. Eldar are able to move between the Craftworlds and Exodite Worlds by means of the Webway, and there are paths over the Exodite worlds themselves. The most potent link in the entire world spirit network is the royal circle of the planet's king. This impressive structure consists of a system of concentric circles connected by avenues of megalithic spirit stones. The royal circle is supported by outlying menhirs which carry power throughout the entire planet and focus the energy of the world upon that one spot.

Because their worlds are home to their departed spirits and shelter them from the predations of Chaos, the Exodites will fight very fiercely to protect their planets. To abandon a world 1s akin to abandoning the souls of your ancestors to the warp, for without constant replenishment the world spirits diminish slowly and become vulnerable. Just as the wraithbone core of a Craftworld can unwittingly harbour a daemonic intelligence, so the standing stones can provide egress to daemons from the warp should the psychic paths be left unguarded. For a daemonic army to pour from the barrows and standing stones of the Exodites would be the realisation of their worst nightmare, but such things have happened in the distant past and remain an ever-present danger today.


THE PIRATE FLEETS
Some Eldar yearn for the undiscovered vistas of open space. They join fleets of exploration and disappear into the untrammelled warp-space tunnels of the Webway. Most do not return, though a few come home laden with alien treasures. They bring tales of new worlds, fabulous discoveries, and courageous battles on the edges of the galaxy. It is not unknown for humans to come into contact with these adventurers, for these are the only Eldar a human is likely to meet other than on a battlefield. The wildest of all the spacefaring Eldar become pirates and raiders. They often continue to trade and visit their Craftworld or the Exodite worlds whilst plundering the ships of humans, Orks and even other Eldar. They even sometimes hire out their services to alien races. The distinction between Eldar exploration fleets and pirates or raiders is not always a clear cut one as many voyages of exploration soon turn into military ventures. As home and the Eldar path become increasingly remote, the naturally wild and amoral character of the Eldar re-surfaces. Eldar pirates are quick tempered and unpredictable, equally inclined to magnanimity and wanton slaughter.

There are many Eldar pirates whose names have become infamous throughout the Eldar Craftworlds and beyond. Some of these are bloodthirsty individuals who fall prey to the same weaknesses of character which led to the Fall. Galadhar the Grey was one whose bloody deeds will live forever in the memories of the people of Duro, This was the Exodite world which he used as a base and from where he plundered a hundred planets before an Imperial fleet hunted his ship down and destroyed him. Such individuals will murder on a whim, devastate whole cities without a single qualm, yet sometimes display the greatest compassion to their defeated enemies if it pleases them to do so. Of all the great pirates and raider chieftains Yriel of lyanden is one of the few to return to the Eldar path. Formerly the admiral of all lyanden fleet, Yriel was stripped of his position after leaving Iyanden prey to a Chaos fleet whilst leading an attack into the Eye of Terror. Although he arrived in the nick of time to save Lyanden, he was subsequently removed from office and disgraced. Enraged by the ingratitude of his fellow Eldar he became an Outcast. Together with a band formed from his old crew they took to the space lanes as Yriel’s Raiders.

For years Yriel raided the nearby shipping routes. He also hired out his raiders to local planetary lords as mercenaries, and achieved considerable success as a power broker amongst the nearby human worlds. His reputation grew with every fresh success, but he never fell prey to the excesses of wanton slaughter that characterises many pirate fleets. In the end he returned to lyanden to save the Craftworld for a second time, destroying the Tyranid fleets and afterwards returned to the Eldar path.

GUARDIANS
Every Eldar is trained and ready to fight if need be and the Guardians are the Craftworld’s most numerous body of fighting troops. Every Craftworld has a distinctive style of clothing typified by the use of certain colours and patterns. These are not a fixed uniform as such and vary considerably from squad to squad and even between individuals within squads. For example, the Guardians of Ulthwé are known as the Black Guardians after the predominant colour of their uniforms. Black is the Eldar colour of mourning and the Craftworld of Ulthwé has much to mourn, for it lies close to the Eye of Terror and has suffered the attacks of Chaos warbands many times in its long history. Other Craftworlds use equally distinctive colours or combinations of colours. Alaitoc favours blue or a striking mixture of blue and yellow, for example, while Saim-Hann has red or fiery orange uniforms, and Biel-tan uses white, grey or pale green.

ELDAR SCOUTS
The confinement of the Craftworld homes can become oppressive for the Eldar, some of whom choose to spend part of their lives as wanderers away from their home worlds. These adventurers form the bulk of spacecraft crews, but many are lonely figures, travellers who often leave Eldar society altogether and travel amongst the worlds of men. These Eldar adventurers are the only Eldar likely to be encountered by men except on the battlefield. They are gaunt and haunted figures, torn between the love of their Craftworld homes and the greater glories of the forbidden universe. Their instincts lead them to lives of danger, seeking lost civilisations, rooting out the hidden threat of Chaos, and visiting the ancient Exodite clans on the far rim of the galaxy. Eldar Scouts are resilient, independent, world-weary warriors used to looking after themselves. Those who survive often return to their Craftworld to settle down into a more conventional life, but most do not return, they die deep in space, alone with their secret anguish, their spirit stones drifting forever in the darkness. When a Craftworld is threatened its Scouts may hear its psychic distress call, take up their weapons and come home to war again.

HARLEQUINS
The Harlequins are followers of the strange Eldar god the Great Harlequin, one of only two Eldar gods to survive the Fall. The Harlequins are not tied to any particular Craftworld but wander from world to world through the network of interspacial tunnels that binds the Craftworlds together. Only they know the whereabouts of the Black Library, for they are the keepers of its terrible secrets about the Fall and the true nature of Chaos. The Harlequins are warrior troubadours whose carefully constructed masques and impressive displays of mime and acrobatics tell the many strange stories of Eldar mythology. They wear exotic multi-coloured costumes, brightly patterned to represent figures from the Eldar myth cycles. They never show their real faces but conceal them beneath a shifting costume mask which can assume any image at the will of the Harlequin. When the Harlequins fight in battle their masks are said to reflect the worst nightmares of all those who gaze upon them, causing their foes to quail with supernatural fear.

 

[MolotovKraken]

ELDRAD ULTHRAN
The Farseers of the Eldar Craftworlds are the most powerful mystics in the galaxy. Their minds move upon the silent threads of destiny which form all possible futures. Events of the least significance change and rearrange the infinite possibilities that lie ahead. The Farseers guide the Craftworlds through a mire of potential extinction. It is a path that must be walked with care, for one wrong step could easily lead to the destruction of the Eldar race. Whenever cataclysm has threatened the Eldar it has always been foreseen and vanquished, redirected, or ameliorated, The Farseers guide the armies and fleets of the Eldar against the nascent peril, and often end a threat even before it has begun. A pre-emptory strike against a small Ork Warlord may prevent him growing in power and thereby stop the full force of a Waaagh! An unexpected attack on a human outpost could slay a Chaos brood even before its masters have struck their unholy allegiance. To outsiders these attacks are random acts of aggression, but in reality they are all part of a careful strategy of manipulation.

Chief amongst the Farseers of Ulthwé is Eldrad UIthran, which means Eldrad the foremost of Ulthwé. Eldrad has lived for many years, and had successfully guided his people through the twisting paths of fate. It was his prognostications which resulted in the armies of Ulthwé moving suddenly and unexpectedly against the Orks. As a result of Eldar raids the balance of power amongst rival factions was changed to favour one powerful Ork Warlord rather than another whose ambitions were more directly perilous to the Eldar. As a consequence it was the human world of Armageddon that felt the full wrath of the Warlord Ghazghkull Thraka. Neither Orks nor humans ever suspected that this was the fulfilment of a deliberate Eldar policy to direct Orkish aggression away from the Craftworlds. Such is the way that the Farseers manipulate the time-stream, with great skill and subtlety, without ever raising the suspicion of other races. The most important prediction of Eldrad Ulthran was the sudden opening of the massive warp-space rift which preluded the many battles on the Exodite world of Haran. Ulthran foretold how the Chaos gods would force a great rupture in space, creating a hole through which the forces of Chaos could pour into the universe. The place where they would attempt this was the Exodite world of Haran. Why this place rather than any other was difficult to guess, but it may be that the Chaos Gods planned to infiltrate the Webway from Haran, using the warp-tunnels to reach other planets and Craftworlds.

When the rift opened the Eldar were prepared. Chaos Space Marines joined the daemons that poured through the rift and battles raged across the planet. The Eldar forces were mustered in strength, but could barely contain the forces of Chaos. Eldrad himself led the warriors of Ulthwé. From all over the galaxy came Phoenix Lords and Outcasts to fight the Eldar cause. The nft grew bigger as more daemons infiltrated the world, but as the Eldar destroyed them the nft closed up again. The war for Haran went on for many long months. Sometimes Chaos won the upper hand and the rift threatened to engulf the entire planet and become a permanent warp-real space overlap. At other times the Eldar pushed back the forces of Chaos and the rift almost closed, banishing the daemons forever. Eventually, the Eldar triumphed, though at terrible cost, and Haran was denied to Chaos. The planet was known thereafter known as the Haranshemash, the world of blood and tears. Although ancient in years Eldrad Ulthran is immensely resilient and very powerful. Like many of the most ancient Farseers he is growing apart from the world of flesh and blood, and he spends long days in the Dome of Crystal Seers. Soon he will retire from the flesh and his soul will mingle with the souls of his ancestors. His movements are slow compared to the natural speed of the Eldar, and eventually his body will turn to transparent crystal.


BAHARROTH — THE CRY OF THE WIND
Baharroth is the oldest of the Swooping Hawks, the first of the winged Exarchs, and the founder of the Warrior Path that is represented today by Swooping Hawk shrines throughout the Craftworlds. He learned the arts of war from Asurmen himself, in the first and greatest Shrine of Asur, when the Fall was a living memory in the minds of the Eldar. Since then he has been reborn many times. Innumerable battlefields have felt his anger. Countless foes have fallen before his might. Baharroth means the Cry of the Wind, for he is the master of flight. It is said that his final death will come fighting alongside the other Phoenix Lords at the Rhana Dandra, the battle between Chaos and the material universe that will end with the destruction of both. He carries a potent lasblaster as well as a power sword and shuriken pistol. He also has Swooping Hawk wings and a grenade pack.

KARANDRAS — THE SHADOW HUNTER
Karandras is one of the most mysterious of the Phoenix Lords. No-one knows where his shrine originally lay, but perhaps it was on one of the small Craftworlds which survived the Fall but was destroyed soon after. He is not the oldest of the Exarchs of the Striking Scorpions, for that honour belongs to Arhra the Father of Scorpions, the most sinister of all the Phoenix Lords, the Fallen Phoenix who burns with the dark light of Chaos. Karandras has the most potent sting of any Striking Scorpion, for the mandiblasters of the Aspect Warriors are but a pin-prick compared to the fearsome bite of this Phoenix Lord. These twin weapons are called the Scorpion’s Bite.

MAUGAN RA — THE HARVESTER OF SOULS
Altansar was one of the many Craftworlds, both large and small, that survived the Fall. Altansar rode out the psychic shock-waves that destroyed the Eldar realms but was subsequently caught in the gravity well of the Eye of Terror. Although the Eldar of Altansar fought valiantly against the encroachment of Chaos, they were unable to escape their inevitable doom, and within five hundred years of the Fall their Craftworld was swallowed into the warp. Of that world nothing now remains except for the Phoenix Lord known as Maugan Ra, the Harvester of Souls, most mighty Exarch of the Shrine of the Dark Reapers. Maugan Ra carries an archaic weapon called the Maugetar, which means The Harvester in the Eldar tongue. It consists of a Shuriken Shrieker Cannon combined with a deadly scythe shaped power blade. This weapon can be wielded in two hands in the same way as a power axe.

EXODITE DRAGON KNIGHTS
An Eldar army may contain any number of Exodite Dragon Knight squads. The Exodites are brave warriors who ride fearsome carnivores. They come from the Exodite worlds and must often fight to protect their planets from humans, Orks and Chaos raiders.

 

[MolotovKraken]

Alarielle walked softly, aware that death A etc and waited close at hand. The city was quiet but it was not the quiet of death that lay over the place. It was the quiet of a hunting beast, lying in wait for its prey. He felt like a fly walking along a twitching spider web. The difference, he told himself, was that he was a fly who was aware of his situation, and who could deal death as well as receive it.

His shuriken catapult rested comfortably in his hands. His comrades were strung out in a long line behind him. All around the remains of the burned out hab units showed signs of recent battle. The scorch tracks of lasers marred the walls. Bolter shots marked the doorways. This was the last great habarea of the hive city to be cleared.

The sound of stealthy movement close at hand drew his attention. In a movement too fast for a human eye to follow, he whirled, bringing his weapon to bear on the source of the noise. For a moment he tensed, then he realised that it was another Eldar squad — Warp Spiders. Their movements were sinister and scuttling, their strange four-armed battlesuits making them look like daemons from ancient legend.

Alarielle eased his grip on the trigger. The Warp Spider made a strange flowing gesture, indicating that Alarielle and his squad of Guardians should move on, and that they would follow. It was typical of the Spiders. When they took on their Aspect they became obsessed with stealthiness and surprising their prey.

Alarielle wondered what it must be like to enmesh your mind in the strange tangled path of the Spider Warriors. Of all the Aspect warriors he knew they were the furthest removed from the normal Eldar mindset. There was something strange and frightening about them, even to their fellow Eldar. Many had become lost in the Spider Path, caught in its web, lost forever to their kin, as they locked themselves into their Exarch persona. Still he knew, that was ever the danger for any who became too enamoured of their Aspect path, that they would become addicted to the alien perspective they assumed, and not wish to return to their everyday selves.

Even Alarielle had felt something of that seductive tug. Even as a Guardian, he knew what it was like to put aside certain aspects of himself. When he donned the armour and the mask it became necessary for him to suppress that side of personality that knew fear, and any part of him that might feel the slightest empathy for the enemy. When he donned his armour and put on his mask he became a killing machine, ruthless, fearless, deadly. It was a necessity in these kill-or-be-killed situations.

Behind him the others in his squad moved cautiously, gliding their feet forward carefully, testing the ground on which they walked before putting their weight on it. Two days ago they had almost lost Kethrian when he fell through a floor that had been weakened by the ruin of the building.

Ahead of them was a doorway. Alarielle gestured for Kethrian to go forward on point. Moving in a fighting crouch, his weapon held ready, the youth advanced and moved through the doorway. Alarielle counted slowly to three and then followed him.

The chamber he had entered was a huge one. Obviously it had been some sort of assembly hall for this section of the hive city, perhaps even a temple of sorts. Dust motes danced in the columns of light that filtered in through the stained glass roof. illuminating and area full of debris. Alarielle inspected the roof. It was astonishing. Somehow the enormous stained glass representation of the Emperor of Mankind had remained intact, through the long months of civil war, and the subsequent Eldar strike. It was a work of beauty to compare with any his people had ever created. He was surprised that the Chaos spawn had not destroyed it as they had destroyed so much else. He knew also that when this battle was over, he would draw inspiration from the sight of it, and use it as the basis for one of his own paintings.

He pushed that thought aside. It was a thought for when the war was over, not now when he was a Guardian. Through other arches Eldar warriors entered the ruined temple. He saw a squad of Howling Banshee Aspect Warriors, and an Exarch armed with a Web of Skulls. They advanced into the temple and as they did so other Eldar squads entered. Suddenly Alarielle caught sight of a flicker of movement around the ruined altar. Without thinking he brought his gun up and fired. He was rewarded with a scream of pain and the sight of a raggedly clad cultist tumbling backward out of cover. His men o fire round about him, chipping bits of plascrete from the altar and reducing the image of the Emperor to a shapeless outline.

Laser fire ripped up the air as the humans responded, their ambush sprung prematurely. Alarielle heard Kethrian scream as his armour bubbled and melted, and his head exploded, brains evaporating in a cloud of super-heated steam. Alarielle threw himself forward, seeking cover behind one of the enormous plascrete pillars, hoping that his warriors would do the same.

He took a moment to check the situation. From their position of cover behind the altar about a dozen shabbily dressed humans fired with laser weaponry. Others were entering through the far archways of the chamber. Among them were many heavily armed Beastmen, They were led by a group of black armoured Chaos Marines who advanced, bolters spitting death. There was even an enormous construct that looked like some sort of daemonic robot save for the fact that it rolled forward on two great wheels.

All was bedlam now. The howling of the Banshees increased as they cart-wheeled towards their enemy, in an eye-blurring dance of evasion that took advantage of every shred of cover. The Exarch hurled his Web of Skulls at the wheeled thing and was rewarded by seeing it entangled. Alarielle took careful aim at one of the Chaos Marines and let fly. His shots glanced of the Chaos worshipper’s baroque, ornate armour.

Laser bolts crackled through the air. Bolter shells carved great gouges out of the pillar behind which Alarielle sheltered. He heard the demented screams and chants of the Chaos worshippers as they invoked their daemon gods to watch over them while they fought. Their screams turned to howls of agony as the Banshees leapt among them, striking left and right with their weapons, sending men toppling headless, blood fountaining from their necks.

Heavy treads came ever closer. Alarielle watched as the Chaos Marine raced towards him, a mighty chainsword brandished in his black-gauntleted fist. The weapon's eerie wail filled the air like the scream of a soul in torment. Alarielle took a quick snap shot but was driven back into cover by hail of fire from the newly arrived humans. he suddenly realised that the Eldar here were outnumbered andthat things looked grim. This had all the hallmarks of a trap.

The Chaos Marine sprang into view, chainsword swinging. Alarielle ducked. The great teeth of the chainsword’s blade took an enormous bite out of the pillar. Chips of plascrete, thrown off by the rotating blades, pinged off Alarielle’s armour.

Old Saaraine sprang to his sergeant's assistance, swinging the butt of his shuriken catapult in a huge arc to connect with the Chaos Marine’s head. There was a great clang, like the pealing of a hellish bell as he made contact. The Chaos Marine did not even sway. He simply turned his burning red-eyed gaze on the Guardian for a moment before his chainsword cleaved away Saarainne’s arm. With a shout of rage Alarielle threw himself forward, sweeping his weapon up to fire at the Chaos worshipper from point blank range.

He never had a chance to fire. The Chaos Marine lashed out with his mighty mailed fist and sent the sergeant tumbling to the ground. All around silver stars mingled with the laser blasts flickering across Alarielle’s vision. He looked up at the towering black-armoured form of his foe, suddenly aware of even the tiniest of details.

He noticed as if for the first time the tiny brazen skulls worked into the Marine’s armour, and the eldritch runes that blazed with their own internal fire on his chestplate. He saw the little flecks of blood and gristle on the blades of the chainsword as the Chaos Marine raised it high above his head. He saw the strange expression on the face of the stained glass Emperor who glared down over the daemon worshipper’s shoulder.

Desperately Alarielle tried to force his battered body to move. Slowly, far to slowly his body began to respond. Alarielle knew that he was going to die.

Then it happened.

The air shimmered and a weird four-armed figure materialised from the empty air beside the Chaos Marine. Before the enemy could respond he was entangled in a spinning web of monofilament wire. All features were temporarily obscured in the glistening silver haze, then the Warp Spider made a tugging gesture with the hand that held the mono-filaments, and the Chaos Marine simply fell apart, cut into tiny pieces by the incredibly sharp edges of the mono-filament weapon.

Alarielle wiped the blood from his faceplate and looked up gratefully into the enigmatic mask of the Warp Spider. The Spider made a cryptic gesture with its right lower hand and then the air around it shimmered as it vanished again.

Hastily Alarielle pulled himself to his feet and opened fire at the distant altar. There was still a battle to win and the situation looked desperate.

 

[MolotovKraken]

MAUGAN RA - The Harvester of Souls
Altansar was one of the many Craftworlds, both large and small, which survived the Fall. Although the Eldar of Altansar fought valiantly against the encroachment of Chaos, they were unable to escape their inevitable doom, and within five hundred years of the Fall their Craftworld was swallowed into the warp. Of that world nothing now remains except for the Phoenix Lord known as Maugan Ra, the Harvester of Souls, most mighty Exarch of the Shrine of the Dark Reapers. Maugan Ra is armed with an archaic weapon called the Maugetar, which consists of a Shuriken Shrieker Cannon combined with a deadly scythe - shaped ~ power blade.

GUARDIANS OF ULTHWE
Constant warfare against Chaos has hardened the people of Ulthwé, and the Guardians of Ulthwé are known as the Black Guardians. ) OF ULTHW E Their uniforms are predominantly black with golden yellow helmets.

THE AVATAR
At the heart of every Craftworld sits the Avatar, its own incarnation of the Bloody-Handed God of the Eldar, Kaéla Mensha Khaine. Aroused from his throne of smouldering iron, the Avatar leads the warriors of his Craftworld to battle. The Avatar glows with supernatural heat as molten iron flows through its metal body. Huge and all powerful, the Avatar is a deadly opponent for even the mighty powers of Chaos.

 

[MolotovKraken]

Karadryel looked out at the ruined city and shivered. The young Eldar always found that there was something ominous about the cities of man. At best they loomed brutally out of their settings, their ugly hard-edged buildings like naked attempts to dominate the landscape. At worst, like now, when they had been devastated by months of constant battle, they resembled vast haunted gravesites. Each massive skyscraper was a tombstone for thousands. The skeletal bulk of that burned out refinery was like some undead monster waiting to reach down and scoop up any living thing that passed.

Karadryel turned and looked at the rest of his unit. The Eldar warriors sat cross-legged, in positions of meditation, beside their long sleek jet-bikes. Their tall, oval helmets made them seem blank-faced and intimidating as stinging insects. It was hard to imagine the faces of his friends and relatives lay behind those face-plates, the faces of people he had known for years, had laughed and talked and worked with. When the time of war came every Eldar on a Craftworld changed, assuming the personality of a warrior, of someone completely different from his everyday self.

Lorizael there was no longer a prankster but a grim determined warrior who saw humour in nothing. Peaceful, garden-loving Aya turned from a gentle man who would carefully remove an aphid from his beloved moonroses into a bloodthirsty killer who could not slaughter enough of the enemy. Karadryel himself could barely remember his vocation as a singer. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had composed songs on his microharp. It was barely two weeks.

Two weeks could be a lifetime when the Avatar was called forth from the core of the Craftworld and the Eldar went to war. As with everything they did, when they made a commitment to fight, the Eldar made it totally. What had gone before the Warsong had been sung and Khaela Mensha Khaine had been invoked was irrelevant. For the moment the Eldar lived in the Now, and this now meant war.

Karadryel scanned the ruined street, noticing the blasted shop fronts where once merchants had plied their wares. He looked at the burned out remains of groundcars that once might have been their owners’ proudest possession and were now coffins of melted plasteel. He studied a playground in which children had once played. It was now a killing ground for any who tried to pass this way.

He wondered when the order telling them to move would come. He and his men should be aloft, scouting out the enemy positions. This constant waiting was stretching his nerves to the breaking point. Now every noise seemed a warning of imminent danger. Every shattered window could conceal a lurking sniper.

Karadryel told himself not to let his imagination run wild. He told himself he just felt insecure because he stood beneath the vast and distant sky of a planet rather than within the comforting curved halls of his Craftworld. He told himself that there was nothing to worry about. In his heart of hearts he knew he was lying to himself. There was everything to worry about.

This world teetered on the edge of annihilation. The forces of Chaos had come, urging the people to rise against their human masters and throw off the rulership of the Imperium. The uprising had been executed with’ - all the brutality and madness that one would have expected from the worshippers of the Powers of Chaos. The slaughter of the ensuing civil war had been immense judging by the condition of this vast half empty city.

Karadryel had no idea why the Craftworld had committed its forces here. He knew that the Farseers had advised that it would be necessary, their divinations had revealed that this place was a locus of destiny. That events here would have a knock-on effect, cascading through many worlds and many possible futures. The consequences of Chaos victorious here meant some catastrophe for the Eldar in the future. Karadryel had no idea what. He did know that he personally would fight without needing any more reason than his hatred of the Chaos worshippers.

At first finding that hatred in his heart had surprised him. He had thought of himself as a gentle being, bearing malice to nothing that lived. That had been before he had seen what the forces of Chaos were capable of, If Karadryel had not seen the evidence himself he would not have believed it. But he had seen the pits of charred and cracked human bones where the dark feast had been observed. He had seen the makeshift altars bloody from human sacrifice. He had seen the howling, frothing bloodstained fanatics wearing the tattered livery of the Planetary Defence Force. He had seen the black armoured Chaos Marines that led them.

A faint chiming sounded in his left ear, where the comm-jewel was placed. He heard the small distant voice of Farseer Kelmon tell him that now was the time to get aloft and advance across the city. Unconsciously Karadryel nodded. Seeing his changed stance his warriors were already rising and taking up position astride their machines. Karadryel leapt into the saddle.

Sensing his weight the machine let out a smooth low tone and rose into the air till it hovered an arm’s length above the ground, bobbing slightly like a small boat in a swell. Karadryel reached out and grasped the handlebars, the small patches of psychotropic crystal in his gauntlets coming into contact with the control gems on the handgrips. Instantly he was aware of the machine's status. He sensed its readiness for flight. With a mental command he switched the weapon systems to ready. Then he gunned the engines.

The how! of the jets rose like a banshee shriek. The jetbike rushed forward like a rocket. Karadryel rocked back in the saddle, pulling the handlebars back and aiming the vehicle’s long nose towards the sky. The jetbike zoomed upward, barely missing the wall that loomed before him.

Karadryel found himself smiling. The sheer joy of riding his vehicle was exhilarating. He leaned to the left and tugged the handlebars once more, sending the jetbike into a long looping curve that took it past the edge of the nearest building and sent it racing down the abandoned street.

He willed the vehicle to move ever faster and shifted his weight to send it jinking from side to side. and an erratic flight pattern were now his best defences against enemy fire. There was no cover now that he was airborne.

He tossed a glance back over his shoulder and saw his unit strung out in a long line behind him. They seemed oddly stationary as the buildings flashed by, but he knew their velocity matched his own. He looked at the ground blurring below his boot where it lay on the footrest. Shattered groundcars came and went as if ona conveyor belt. It was hard to resist the illusion that they were moving and he was standing still so well did his armour and helm insulate him against the wind.

He willed the jetbike to move faster and the resistance of the air pushed him back into his padded seat. The wind's ghost voice was now audible as a keening whine. He glanced around and became aware of a glittering point of light in a nearby window. All too aware that it might be the barrel of a sniper’s rifle catching the sun, he threw his weight to one side and pushed the nose of the jetbike down. The muscles of his arm tensed as he felt his vehicle resist. Its shape naturally inclined it to level or upward flight. A searing flash of light passed overhead. Las-rifle, he told himself. It was gone now too fast to worry about. He threw himself to the right and pulled the nose up, sending the jetbike arcing to the right into another street. Following his hasty command his men did likewise.

Now he felt fully alive, mounted on a fast moving jetbike, racing against death from enemy fire. He was on the edge. This was a sensation he could never get in peacetime This was a thrill that no song could ever give him. he knew now the full attraction of Khaela Mensha Khaine to the Eldar. There was part of their psyche that craved danger and violence and s even while other parts of their soul rejected it. This was the secret mystery of Khaine’s attraction.

He brought the jetbike down till it skimmed just above ground level. Here and there burned out vehicles, both military and civilian, littered the road. He had to jink left and right to avoid them, and he had only a fraction of a second to make the decision. He told himself that he was doing it for the extra cover but he knew that he was really doing it because he wanted to. The sound of engines coming from behind him told him that the others in his unit felt the same way.

Control yourself, he told himself. This is not a joyride. It is a military mission and you have just entered enemy territory. He pulled himself up just enough to skim above the wrecked cars and raced on.

It was like rushing down the base of a vast plascrete canyon. Buildings flickered by on either side. Occasionally there was a sudden blaze of light as he emerged from the shadow of one of the skyscrapers into a patch of light created by the collapse of some building.

Up ahead now, he could see small figures moving behind barricades. They were not Eldar. They were the enemy. He spoke a hurried command into the comm- net and cut back the throttle a little, giving his unit time to form up in the great V of the attack formation. He was at the point. Formation achieved he gunned the engine once more.

 

[MolotovKraken]

Karadryel had hoped that the attack would be so swift that the enemy would be taken by surprise and his hopes were exceeded. They flashed ever closer to the unsuspecting humans and then as soon as they were in range they opened fire.

Shuriken catapults accelerated their deadly projectiles towards their targets. Karadryel watched his weapons kick up twin streams of dust as they came ever closer to the barricade, then they shredded the wood and rubble as if they were papier maché. Karadryel caught the team of a heavy bolter in his sights and let fly. As he watched the humans were ripped apart by shuriken. It was as if they were torn apart by an invisible shredder. They simply seemed to disintegrate.

Other men fell, some clutching the stumps of amputated limbs, others with their heads exploded, as Karadryel's fellows let fly. Karadryel kept firing until the last second as whizzed above the barricade. He saw men duck and throw themselves flat even though he was well above their heads.

The jetbikes pulled into a steep climb. G-force pushed Karadryel back and tugged at his cheeks. He felt his eyes bulging within his helmet. He brought the jetbike round and pulled into tight left turn, struggling against losing control as he did so. Other members of his unit flashed by, unable to maintain their formation in the stress of making such a tight turn. Karadryel gave the command to break and make individual attacks.

This pass was not the easy one the first had been. Karadryel dived through a hail of las-fire. Laser bolts flashed past on either side of him. He jinked and weaved, knowing it was more down to luck than skill whether he avoided the incoming fire. He willed his jetbike’s weapons to open fire once more and sent a stream of death down to play over his foes. More men died before they knew what hit them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Karadryel saw that Aya was hit. A plume of oily black smoke from the broken carapace of his jetbike. His armour was melted and fused in a dozen places. Even as his vehicle fell from the sky, he kept firing and accelerating, aiming for the largest concentration of enemy troops. His jetbike clipped the top of the barricade, and tumbled end over end for hundreds of yards down the street before exploding. Karadryel offered up a silent prayer for Aya’s soul. There was no way anyone could have survived a crash like that.

Down the street behind the barricades Karadryel could see plumes of dust rising as other vehicles approached. His keen eyes quickly deduced that they were Rhinos bearing human reinforcements. Without a second thought he gave the order to retreat and raced back along the streets down which he had come, all the time fearing to feel the white hot blast of lasfire between his shoulder blades. He did not relax till he had pulled round the corner out of sight.

He pulled his vehicle to rest, letting it slide down till it floated just above the ground. The rest of his unit flashed into view, slowed and came down to join them. Aya had been the only casualty. Already Karadryel had conceived a plan. They would circle round this building and attack the humans from a different direction. They had the rest of the day to make hit and run attacks against the human line, and with any luck they would tie up far more than their number of . Swiftly Karadryel outlined his plan, sensing eagerness in all his comrades. Soon they were aloft once more, this time filled with grim purpose.

It was going to be a long day.