Warhammer Battle Manual (1992), Warhammer Compilation (1991) Slaanesh / Heresy Lore
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WARHAMMER COMPILATION
Space Marine Armour described by Rick Priestley
Most humans who have any contact with Space Marines will know and recognise the most common types of Space Marine armour quite readily. However, there are other older types which remain in service to this day and which are very different in their design. Some Space Marine Chapters use only a single type of armour while others make use of several different types. Many of the older variants have special associations for particular Chapters and may be worn by ceremonial guards or by elite units for example. Other Space Marine Chapters are less formal in their use of armour, mixing various types into their fighting units with little or no regard for conformity. The degree of uniformity within a Space Marine Chapter varies a great deal from Chapter to Chapter and is often determined by historical precedent or tradition, The initial evolution of Space Marines and their armour occurred during the long period of Earth's isolation that preceded the rise of the Imperium and which later became known as the Age of Strife. The Age of Strife lasted from approximately the 26th millennium to the beginning of 31st ie roughly from 25000 AD to 30000 AD - further references to dates are given in terms of millennia). During these five thousand years the ancient pan-galactic human civilisation of the past broke down and was replaced by many thousands of local civilisations based around either a single solar system or, occasionally, a small cluster of nearby stars. The reason this happened is that warp travel (the means by which spacecraft travel throughout the galaxy) became dangerous and eventually impossible due to colossal disturbances in the fabric of the warp. These disturbances, known as warp storms, were caused by the growth of the Chaos Power Slaanesh - a thorough discussion of which appears elsewhere in this volume, along with a description of the Fall of the Eldar.
During the Age of Strife Earth and the other planets of the Terran solar system were unable to communicate with other human worlds, but maintained contact with each other. For much of this period the government of Earth held sway over the entire system, at other times Mars and the Moon were dominant. For much of the time the different worlds found themselves at war. During the 28th millennium Earth government broke down completely and the planet divided into dozens of inter-warring nations. After two and a half thousand years of continuous warfare litle remained of the once sophisticated civilisation of the past. The planet had become a battleground fought over by techno-barbarian warlords and their warrior hordes. This was a dark time for the people of Earth: a time dominated by brutal rulers like Kalagann of Ursh, Cardinal Tang, and the most infamous of all, the half-mad half-genius Narthan Dume Tyrant of the Panpacific Empire, It was against this background of techno-barbaric warfare that the first Space Marines were created and the first Space Marine Armour type developed.
Space Marine Armour described by Rick Priestley
Most humans who have any contact with Space Marines will know and recognise the most common types of Space Marine armour quite readily. However, there are other older types which remain in service to this day and which are very different in their design. Some Space Marine Chapters use only a single type of armour while others make use of several different types. Many of the older variants have special associations for particular Chapters and may be worn by ceremonial guards or by elite units for example. Other Space Marine Chapters are less formal in their use of armour, mixing various types into their fighting units with little or no regard for conformity. The degree of uniformity within a Space Marine Chapter varies a great deal from Chapter to Chapter and is often determined by historical precedent or tradition, The initial evolution of Space Marines and their armour occurred during the long period of Earth's isolation that preceded the rise of the Imperium and which later became known as the Age of Strife. The Age of Strife lasted from approximately the 26th millennium to the beginning of 31st ie roughly from 25000 AD to 30000 AD - further references to dates are given in terms of millennia). During these five thousand years the ancient pan-galactic human civilisation of the past broke down and was replaced by many thousands of local civilisations based around either a single solar system or, occasionally, a small cluster of nearby stars. The reason this happened is that warp travel (the means by which spacecraft travel throughout the galaxy) became dangerous and eventually impossible due to colossal disturbances in the fabric of the warp. These disturbances, known as warp storms, were caused by the growth of the Chaos Power Slaanesh - a thorough discussion of which appears elsewhere in this volume, along with a description of the Fall of the Eldar.
During the Age of Strife Earth and the other planets of the Terran solar system were unable to communicate with other human worlds, but maintained contact with each other. For much of this period the government of Earth held sway over the entire system, at other times Mars and the Moon were dominant. For much of the time the different worlds found themselves at war. During the 28th millennium Earth government broke down completely and the planet divided into dozens of inter-warring nations. After two and a half thousand years of continuous warfare litle remained of the once sophisticated civilisation of the past. The planet had become a battleground fought over by techno-barbarian warlords and their warrior hordes. This was a dark time for the people of Earth: a time dominated by brutal rulers like Kalagann of Ursh, Cardinal Tang, and the most infamous of all, the half-mad half-genius Narthan Dume Tyrant of the Panpacific Empire, It was against this background of techno-barbaric warfare that the first Space Marines were created and the first Space Marine Armour type developed.
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FORMATIVE MARINE ARMOUR
This first type of armour is now often referred to as ‘Mark 1’. In fact this is the sort of armour worn by the techno-barbarian warriors that dominated the Earth. When the Emperor began his conquest of the planet his retinue was equipped and armed in the same way as the troops of other warlords. The first Space Marines formed part of that retinue and were equipped with the same sort of armour as other warriors of the time. The thunder-bolt and lightning emblem on the breastplate of this suit was the personal badge of the Emperor in those days, predating the Imperial eagle which only became the symbol of the Imperium much later. This emblem gives the suit its other common name - Thunder Armour.
MARK 2
Once the Terran system was secure and the process of rebuilding firmly in hand, the galactic conquest could begin. Even before the warp storms and the Age of Strife ended, the Emperor started to make provisions for his Great Crusade. Part of these plans included the reequipping of the Space Marine armies with a far more sophisticated fighting suit. With its advanced technology the newly conquered planet of Mars became the centre for munitions development. New types of armour were produced in great numbers in the Martian factories under the direction of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the ruling class of Techpriests installed to administrate its affairs on behalf of the Emperor. This enabled the entire Space Marine Corps to be re-equipped. The new type of armour was the Crusade Suit, which became soon became known as Mark 2 armour while the old style became Mark 1 retrospectively. The armour is totally enclosed and life-sustaining, and so suitable for fighting on alien worlds as well as in deep space. It is arranged into articulated hoop-shaped plates for ease of movement and these now cover the legs as well as the chest. The additional energy cabling required to operate the leg armour can be seen in the example illustration while the chest coils are enclosed by armoured plates. The old armour had deliberately placed these coils on the outside to help keep the armour cool, but more efficient coolers in the Mark 2 did away with this necessity,
This is not really a single enclosing suit and offers no atmospheric protection or life-support facilities - all of these being unnecessary while fighting was restricted to Earth. The helmet and the top plume are fairly typical, but these early suits were manufactured on an entirely local basis and their exact designs were often a matter of personal taste. The main part of the armour is the massive powered torso which encloses the chest and arms. Beneath the armoured chest plate coiled energy cables transmit power into the arms, effectively multiplying the wearer's fighting abilities three or four times over. During this period most fighting consisted of close combat, warriors preferring to grapple with each other rather than use long range weapons - the power of a warrior’s chest and arms was therefore of paramount importance. The warrior’s legs are not power armoured at all but enclosed in tough padded breeches. In the example shown the warrior wears armoured greaves and armoured boots. These were not standard by any means, but were worn by many of the better equipped warriors and were common amongst the early Space Marines. The warrior wears a backpack which provides his suit with power - most of its bulk is taken up by a cooling mechanism meant to prevent the power unit from overheating.
Warriors equipped in this way fought during all the Emperor's wars on Earth, and also on the Moon and Mars which have Earth-type atmospheres. Mark 1 armour is unlikely to be seen on the 41st millennium battlefield but ceremonial units are sometimes equipped in this way.
MARK 3
The Mark 3 armour variant dates from the inner-galactic wars between the Emperor's forces and the inhabitants of worlds close to the galactic core, which included many of the Squat Homeworlds, not all of which were entirely pleased to find themselves the object of galactic reconquest, Mark 3 armour was never intended to replace Mark 2, but to provide an optional heavy armour type suitable for fighting on board spacecraft and in tunnel complexes. High casualties suffered during early battles had shown the need for such armour. Mark 3 therefore placed considerable emphasis on frontal protection, while the rear armoured plates were lightened to compensate. This armour was reckoned ideal where cover was minimal and combat was a matter of frontal assault. The suit itself is a highly modified Mark 2 with the addition of fixed armour plates to the body and limbs and a new heavy armoured helmet. The sloping plates of this helmet were intended to deflect shot to the left and right, and was to inspire the Mark 4 and 6 helmet designs. No Space Marine forces were ever equipped solely with this mark although many modern Chapters still use Mark 3 armour for boarding actions and tunnel fighting. While a successful solution to a specific need, Mark 3 armour is too clumsy and uncomfortable for everyday use. As the most visually brutal of all Marine armour, it is sometimes used as a basic uniform for ceremonial guards. Mark 3 armour is sometimes called the Iron Suit or Armorum Fernim in recognition of its great strength.
The back pack retains the old shape but is now much more efficient and contains all the extra equipment needed to maintain life-support, air recycling, fluid recovery, and the various automatical medical functions which have remained common to Space Marine armour ever since. The helmet is now fitted with automatic sensory devices developed in the Martian workshops. These consist of exterior sensors which gather visual and audio stimuli from the immediate environment - effectively functioning as eyes and ears. The information gathered in this way is processed by a computer brain and then transmitted directly into the wearer's mind by a neural connector. The practical result for the wearer is that he appears to see and hear quite normally, but he can also see infra-red and ultra-violet light, and hear a wider range of sound frequencies. The wearer is also able to selectively enhance a visual image or sound should he wish.
If exposed to blinding lights or deafening noises, the computer processor acts as a safety valve and dampens down the stimuli preventing damage to the Space Marine. This sort of armour was used throughout the Great Crusade, Many maintain that it is the most efficient of all Space Marine armours, although its overlapping plates are notoriously difficult to repair. Actual examples of this armour, much repaired and carefully maintained, are still used in small numbers by many Space Marine Chapters.
MARK 4
The Great Crusade lasted for approximately 200 years at the end of which came a period of political consolidation. The Space Marines were now scattered far and wide throughout the galaxy, many serving as garrisons rather than as campaigning armies, and their size was scaled down to reflect this new role. Much of the equipment of the past was rapidly wearing out, including the old Mark 2 and 3 armour suits produced on Mars. While some Marine Chapters chose to continue local production and maintenance, the Martian factory hives of the Adeptus Mechanicus set about producing a new variant. This was to be the Mark 4 or Imperial Maximus Suit. The main change was to abandon the separate abutting plates in favour of larger inflexiblevarmour casings incorporating the flexible joints originally developed for the Mark 3. The result was only marginally less mobile than the earlier type and considerably easier to produce and maintain. Technical secrets uncovered on newly conquered worlds enabled the Martians to develop a more efficient armour, improving the quality of protection and reducing the weight of the suit at the same time. Improved armouring of the power cables enabled the main arm and chest supply to be safely relocated on the exterior of the armour, while use of new material also allowed the size and number of cables to be reduced. The helmet is an entirely new type, the basic shape inspired by the sweeping front of the Mark 3. In earlier armour the helmet is fixed and the wearer's head is free to move inside. In Mark 4 and later versions the helmet is not fixed but moves with the wearer’s head. This facility reflects the constructors’ increasing experience with neural connector gear and the use of new materials which flooded into the Martian workshops as the Great Crusade progressed. Mark 4 armour was designed to be the ultimate and final type of Space Marine armour, able to offer the best protection in a variety of conditions. The Martian factories were turned over to its production and many of the Space Marine armies were entirely or partially re-equipped.
MARK 5
The general issue of Mark 4 armour was only half complete when the Horus Heresy broke out. This threw the entire program of supply into turmoil. In fact many of the most recently supplied Chapters were to turn against the Imperium while many loyal Chapters were forced to continue with older variants, and the confusion was considerable. The Space Marine armourers (Techmarines and Antificers) had hardly got used to the new armour and many were as yet unable to maintain it properly let alone duplicate it as was originally intended. With the Mark 4 newly in service the need for large numbers of spares had not been anticipated, so that suits quickly became unusable due to quite minor battle damage. It was soon found that the new and rather specialised materials used in the construction of the Mark 4 were unavailable locally and this increasingly became a problem as Chapters moved from battle-zone to battlezone. ‘The Imperial forces were soon forced into a fallback position. Production of Mark 4 armoured ceased, and a new type of armour was designed almost literally over-night. This was the Mark 5 or Heresy Suit. The Mark 5 used as many pre-Mark 4 components as possible. Large stocks of these existed and the Marine Artificers were already familiar with their application. Once supplies of the new materials used in the Mark 4 armour dried up it became necessary to re-use older substances. In the illustration the lighter chest, arm and leg cabling of the Mark 4 has been replaced by older and heavier style cabling made from more readily available materials. However the cables are now exposed because they are too bulky to fit under the new style chest plate. This was to prove a consistent weak spot in the design leading to the fitment of all kinds of improvised chest armour.
A distinguishing feature of the Mark 5 armour were the heavily studded armour plates. This was an attempt to reinforce the Mark 4 pattern plates when inferior materials were used due to lack of the proper supplies. An extra skin plate was fitted around the armour using molecular bonding studs. The extra weight was considerable, especially if a further chest plate had been added, leading to increased pressure for energy from the power pack. As a result the wearer either had to turn up the power output and suffer intolerable heat build-up, or leave the power supply as it was and accept reduced power levels. The helmet type illustrated is a spin-off from the Terminator development program, an early type of preproduction helmet, sharing the same type of auto-sense components as contemporary Terminator suits. Being something of an improvised stop-gap, it is common for Mark 5 suits to vary a great deal. Where Mark 4 helmets, armoured plates and cabling were available these were often used.
Despite its inauspicious origin the Mark 5 armour proved remarkably durable and equally importantly it was easy to produce and maintain. Huge quantities were shipped out to Space Marine Chapters during the Heresy, including to Chapters which subsequently went over to Horus. As Horus's own supply position became tenuous Mark 5 suits were scavenged from fallen enemies and used by his forces. After the Heresy most of the Mark 5 suits were broken up or dismantled to provide spares. Few Chapters maintain examples of the design, preferring perhaps to forget the dark days of the Heresy. Renegade Space Marine Chapters may still be equipped with this armour.
MARK 6
At the same time as production of Mark 4 armour ceased, work began on a long term development program to replace the Mark 4 with a more durable type. The Mark 5, or Corvus Suit, was only ever perceived as a stop-gap design. The weapon development workshops on Mars began to experiment with a mixture of new and old technology, making the newer materials more durable where possible. A notable feature of the resulting armour types (Marks 6 and 7) is the provision of dual technology circuits. These permit relatively rare or sophisticated functions to be temporarily replaced or repaired using common or very simple technology. Although development was incomplete the new armour was rushed into production while the forces of Hors advanced throughout the Terran solar system. Hastily equipped Space Marines wore the new style Mark 6 armour into battle while the development laboratories were disassembled and prepared for transfer to Earth. During the Martian campaign forces of Horus eventually overran the production facilities for Space Marine armour and soon began to manufacture new suits for their own use. Consignments were distributed to other forces elsewhere in the galaxy so that this new type of armour became quite widespread. Distinguishing features of the Mark 6 armour are its relatively clean appearance due to rehousing the main power cables under the armour plates. The exterior chest and arm cables are duplicated under the chest plate and automatically isolated from the main system if damaged - thus providing a failsafe and overcoming the vulnerability of the Mark 5. The helmet is an improved version of the Mark 4 rather than a new type, although a new type was under development and was to be used on the Mark 7. The left shoulder armour retains the same construction method as the earlier Mark 5 and for the same reasons. Where supplies of material were short it is the right side of the warrior which needs to be better protected while he fires his weapon, thus the left side could be most easily replaced by slightly less effective plates. The need to economise in this way was very real at the time. Later the studded pad became associated with the Terran campaign and the final heroism of the Space Marines so that it became a traditional emblem of those days.
MARK 7
While the final battle for Mars was underway the Imperium, realising that the planet would eventually fall, set about duplicating the munition production lines back on Earth, The armour development teams from Mars were transferred wholesale to continue the development program and incorporate their latest work into a new armour type. As Horus’s forces finally overcame the defenders of Mars new Mark 7 armoured suits started to reach the Space Marines on Earth and the Moon. Mark 7 represents the fulfilment of the new design program which was really only half complete in the Mark 6, In fact, so effective was the Mark 6 that both types continued in service thereafter and many Chapters chose to continue with their old armour rather than adopt Mark 7. The main improvement is the newly designed chest plastron which covers the chest and arm cabling. This bears the eagle device and gives the armour its common name of Armorum Impetor or Eagle Armour. The other main difference is the abandonment of the studded right shoulder piece and the substitution of the new helmet for the old Mark 4 derived model. Improvements were made to the knee joint articulation, but this modification had already been incorporated into many of the later Mark 6 suits. On the whole it is fair to say that Mark 7 represents the final development of Mark 6 and that the two sets of armour have a great deal in common. Parts from one are readily interchangeable with parts from another, so that a Mark 7 helmet will fit a Mark 6 suit and vice versa,
CHAPTER VARIANTS
The 7 basic marks of Space Marine armour were all developed up to and during the period of the Horus Heresy. During the production history of each mark various improvements were incorporated in the light of field experience. Thus there is a certain variation even within each mark although this is usually limited to the types of material used rather than to stylistic changes. Following the end of the Heresy much in the Imperium changed, including the organisation and number of the Space Marine Chapters. Whereas up until this time there had only been twenty Chapters, henceforth the huge pre-Heresy forces were to be broken up into many smaller Chapters. The new Chapters that were founded were equipped with whatever suitable armour and weaponry was available. For the most part the armour used was either Mark 6 or 7, but with a fair sprinkling of older types. Since that time each Chapter has largely taken over the production of its own equipment. That is not to say that every Chapter produces every single item of hardware that it uses. Some Chapters trade items with other Space Marine Chapters, or they commission work from local fabricators. This latter option is especially common where Chapters hold the governorship of the world they live on - in which case the planet is effectively owned by the Chapter and its resources can be organised by the Space Marines as they wish. In other Space Marine Chapters supplies are purchased through the Adeptus Mechanicus.
MARINE ARTIFICERS
Within each Chapter Space Marine armour is maintained by skilled Marine Artificers. These are not Space Marines, but highly trained and dedicated servants who spend their entire lives working for the Chapter. Artificers are just one of the many types of ‘civilian’ servants who work for their Space Marine Masters. In some Chapters these Artificers traditionally work together in a single huge workshop and their products are distributed amongst the Space Marine Chapter as a whole. In other Chapters individual Artificers are the personal servants of either a Squad of 10 Marines or an individual officer. These Artificers are very proud of their Space Marine masters, considering the status and reputation of their unit or officer to be of the utmost importance. In their turn the Space Marines are equally proud of the Artificers whose fine workmanship adorns their armour and weapons. Over the history of a Chapter especially talented Artificers become famous and justly celebrated, and examples of their work are much sought after. In many Chapters it is traditional for Artificers to come from special families, and for fathers to pass on their skills and position to their sons. In other Chapters the position is open to all, but involves a long period of apprenticeship to an older Artificer. The Artificer’s job is to decorate and maintain the Chapter’s armour and weapons. In fact, the Chapter also has Engineers and Techmarines whose role is to manufacture much of the equipment, so the Artificers are involved more with decoration, engraving, customising and modifying the basic equipment. For example, when a Space Marine earns a combat honour it is the Artificers who make the honour badges and fasten them on to the Marine’s armour. Similarly, the Artificers make rank badges, long service badges and other marks of distinction that are used by their Chapter.
Older types of armour are associated with the past history of many Chapters and often with the deeds of heroic individuals. Artificers will carefully hunt down examples of ancient armour to use as the raw material on which they can engrave honour marks or purely decorative features, Such pieces will be lovingly restored, often plated with silver or gold, and then painstakingly engraved with naturalistic scenes, abstract designs or Chapter badges. A piece of armour that can be shown to have belonged to an old Chapter hero is valued above all others. As successful Space Marine Officers are often presented with ancient pieces of armour, a single armoured plate or helmet might have a long and famous history and could have belonged to a whole succession of Space Marine heroes and been worked on by many famous Artificers.
INDIVIDUALISED ARMOUR
As well as resurrecting old pieces of armour for notable Space Marines, the Artificers also decorate new armour and modify armour to suit particular individuals. Only Space Marines earning some kind of reward or honour would be given such items. As a result of their efforts over the many thousand years the Chapter has been in existence, it is quite common to find suits which combine elements of the different marks as well as quite unique suits which have customised armoured plates or helmets. Some Chapters reserve such armour for special individuals, officers, or high ranking commanders. There is no fixed rule on this, it is a matter of Chapter tradition and preference how such armour is used. However, it is generally the case that very high ranking officials inherit special suits of armour, which they may then combine with their own existing suits so that their individual honours or personal pieces of armour are retained when they are appointed to a new position.
SLAANESH
The warp is an alternative universe inhabited entirely by psychic energy generated by the thoughts, emotions and mental life of the inhabitants of the material universe including the Eldar. These thoughts and emotions cannot die, they are eternal, so that over the ages they accrue and become stronger as they are reinforced by the similar thoughts and experiences of others. Eventually, a single idea or emotion can become so powerful within the warp that it attains a consciousness of its own and becomes a daemon or a god. These daemonic entities are known as Chaos Powers. The most powerful of these are the four Great Powers Khorne the god of war, bloodshed and anger; Tzeentch the god of change, plots and intrigue; Nurgle the god of plagues and morbidity; and Slaanesh, the god of pleasure and personal gratification. Slaanesh is particularly associated with the Eldar, and only came into being with their final Fall. Prior to this time Slaanesh was growing in power but not fully conscious - rather like a sleeping monster bellowing and kicking in its dream-disturbed sleep. As the Eldar pursued their road to destruction so their emotional life degenerated into the reckless pursuit of pleasure, exotic experience and intellectual indulgence. The mental energies released into the warp as a result coagulated into an entity, an entity which was potentially very powerful but which was not yet fully conscious. This was, of course, the entity called Slaanesh. Although Slaanesh was not yet fully conscious some Eldar had already begun to worship the god’s sleeping form. For centuries the Eldar had predicted the Coming of the Lord of Pleasure, so that many had come to disbelieve the prophets and their endless tales of doom. As the disturbed dreams of Slaanesh began to infiltrate the psychic minds of the Eldar, so their degeneration accelerated apace, further feeding Slaanesh in the warp, and creating an unbreakable cycle of doom. While there were Eldar sane enough to be appalled by the degeneration of their race, their horror kept Slaanesh from achieving full consciousness.
When the cataclysm finally came there were few sane Eldar left on their home planets, only millions of millions of squawking, insane creatures crying and squealing with self-inflicted torment. The quickly-accelerating decline of the Eldar had fed the energy of Slaanesh until the god was ready to burst into consciousness, like a mighty dam about to break and release immeasurable flood waters. As the few remaining sane Eldar fled aboard the flotillas of trading ships Slaanesh finally awoke. With a scream the god was shaken to consciousness and the other three Chaos Powers were driven scattered through the warp by the waking terror of Slaanesh like ships before a storm. The energy of that scream swept across the entire galaxy, and blew through the minds of psykers everywhere, destroying them in untold millions. Where the energy was concentrated most, in the area where the Eldar home planets were, the boundaries between the warp and real Space were torn apart. The intermixing of the two realities wiped out most of the inhabitants of the Eldar planets and formed the areas of warp real-space overlap the largest of which is now known as the Eye of Terror. Those Eldar who had succumbed to the temptations of pleasure were particularly vulnerable. Other Eldar, those who had resisted the decline of their civilisation, were better protected. Even so, many billions died even as they fled in the giant trading ships, but some survived - protected by their mental resilience or by the psychically impervious Wraithbone structure of the spacecraft themselves.
THE ELDAR AND DEATH
The Fall was to have a further terrible result for the Eldar race, for their natural psychic natures made them especially vulnerable to the predations of daemonic creatures and especially to the newly awaked Slaanesh. As the representation of the Eldar mind, Slaanesh is able to gather up the psychic energy of Eldar as it flees their dying bodies. This means that when an Eldar dies the eternal psychic part of him, his soul, is immediately consumed by Slaanesh. Needless to say, this evokes great horror in the Eldar who will go to any means to avoid this fate. In order to save their souls from destruction by Slaanesh, every Eldar wears a small spirit stone called a Waystone. If the Eldar dies his psychic self is absorbed by the Waystone. The Waystone can then be taken back to the Eldar’s own Craftworld and embedded into the Wraithbone core where it will grow into a larger spirit stone, Once the spirit stone is implanted, the soul of the Eldar can travel freely through the Wraithbone, mingling with other Eldar souls and forming part of the communal spirit of the Craftworld itself. All the souls contained within a Craftworld are collectively known as the Infinity Circuit. Individual Eldar souls can enter specific parts of the Craftworld to provide the energy and controlling intelligence which is needed by many Eldar Technical devices. Other souls can leave the Infinity Circuit for a short while by entering Waystones which are then placed within robot bodies. The soul contained in the Waystone animates the robot body and enables the dead Eldar to move about the Craftworld and even fight alongside the living in the form of Wraithguard.
THE SURVIVAL OF THE ELDAR
The Eldar are fully aware of their extreme predicament. From an early age they are taught about the tragedy of their race, and how their eternal souls face extinction due to the predations of Slaanesh. Their numbers are now a tiny fraction of the teeming billions which once spread across the universe. Now the Eldar race maintains its grip upon existence only because of a grim determination to survive. That determination is fuelled by an awareness of their past failing to control their own nature leading to the creation of their greatest enemy Slaanesh. Because of their vulnerability to Slaanesh the Eldar have developed ways of protecting themselves when they use their natural psychic powers The most important of these is the development’ of the Eldar Path - a social learning system which restricts the abilities and experiences an Eldar is subject to until such time as he is mentally strong enough to face them. Another important development is the use of runes to protect the principle psychic members of the race - the Seers. The Eldar nurture a dream in which they confront Slaanesh in the warp, and overthrow their great enemy, freeing themselves from the constraints his existence places upon them and safeguarding the survival of their souls in the warp. Although the Eldar souls preserved in the Infinity Circuits of the Craftworlds can muster only a tiny amount of energy compared to that of Slaanesh, the Eldar hope that one day there will be enough souls to unite to fight and overthrow Slaanesh. It is a faint hope, but the only hope for the Eldar who must otherwise face the eternal threat of their own racial psyche.
The warp is an alternative universe inhabited entirely by psychic energy generated by the thoughts, emotions and mental life of the inhabitants of the material universe including the Eldar. These thoughts and emotions cannot die, they are eternal, so that over the ages they accrue and become stronger as they are reinforced by the similar thoughts and experiences of others. Eventually, a single idea or emotion can become so powerful within the warp that it attains a consciousness of its own and becomes a daemon or a god. These daemonic entities are known as Chaos Powers. The most powerful of these are the four Great Powers Khorne the god of war, bloodshed and anger; Tzeentch the god of change, plots and intrigue; Nurgle the god of plagues and morbidity; and Slaanesh, the god of pleasure and personal gratification. Slaanesh is particularly associated with the Eldar, and only came into being with their final Fall. Prior to this time Slaanesh was growing in power but not fully conscious - rather like a sleeping monster bellowing and kicking in its dream-disturbed sleep. As the Eldar pursued their road to destruction so their emotional life degenerated into the reckless pursuit of pleasure, exotic experience and intellectual indulgence. The mental energies released into the warp as a result coagulated into an entity, an entity which was potentially very powerful but which was not yet fully conscious. This was, of course, the entity called Slaanesh. Although Slaanesh was not yet fully conscious some Eldar had already begun to worship the god’s sleeping form. For centuries the Eldar had predicted the Coming of the Lord of Pleasure, so that many had come to disbelieve the prophets and their endless tales of doom. As the disturbed dreams of Slaanesh began to infiltrate the psychic minds of the Eldar, so their degeneration accelerated apace, further feeding Slaanesh in the warp, and creating an unbreakable cycle of doom. While there were Eldar sane enough to be appalled by the degeneration of their race, their horror kept Slaanesh from achieving full consciousness.
When the cataclysm finally came there were few sane Eldar left on their home planets, only millions of millions of squawking, insane creatures crying and squealing with self-inflicted torment. The quickly-accelerating decline of the Eldar had fed the energy of Slaanesh until the god was ready to burst into consciousness, like a mighty dam about to break and release immeasurable flood waters. As the few remaining sane Eldar fled aboard the flotillas of trading ships Slaanesh finally awoke. With a scream the god was shaken to consciousness and the other three Chaos Powers were driven scattered through the warp by the waking terror of Slaanesh like ships before a storm. The energy of that scream swept across the entire galaxy, and blew through the minds of psykers everywhere, destroying them in untold millions. Where the energy was concentrated most, in the area where the Eldar home planets were, the boundaries between the warp and real Space were torn apart. The intermixing of the two realities wiped out most of the inhabitants of the Eldar planets and formed the areas of warp real-space overlap the largest of which is now known as the Eye of Terror. Those Eldar who had succumbed to the temptations of pleasure were particularly vulnerable. Other Eldar, those who had resisted the decline of their civilisation, were better protected. Even so, many billions died even as they fled in the giant trading ships, but some survived - protected by their mental resilience or by the psychically impervious Wraithbone structure of the spacecraft themselves.
THE ELDAR AND DEATH
The Fall was to have a further terrible result for the Eldar race, for their natural psychic natures made them especially vulnerable to the predations of daemonic creatures and especially to the newly awaked Slaanesh. As the representation of the Eldar mind, Slaanesh is able to gather up the psychic energy of Eldar as it flees their dying bodies. This means that when an Eldar dies the eternal psychic part of him, his soul, is immediately consumed by Slaanesh. Needless to say, this evokes great horror in the Eldar who will go to any means to avoid this fate. In order to save their souls from destruction by Slaanesh, every Eldar wears a small spirit stone called a Waystone. If the Eldar dies his psychic self is absorbed by the Waystone. The Waystone can then be taken back to the Eldar’s own Craftworld and embedded into the Wraithbone core where it will grow into a larger spirit stone, Once the spirit stone is implanted, the soul of the Eldar can travel freely through the Wraithbone, mingling with other Eldar souls and forming part of the communal spirit of the Craftworld itself. All the souls contained within a Craftworld are collectively known as the Infinity Circuit. Individual Eldar souls can enter specific parts of the Craftworld to provide the energy and controlling intelligence which is needed by many Eldar Technical devices. Other souls can leave the Infinity Circuit for a short while by entering Waystones which are then placed within robot bodies. The soul contained in the Waystone animates the robot body and enables the dead Eldar to move about the Craftworld and even fight alongside the living in the form of Wraithguard.
THE SURVIVAL OF THE ELDAR
The Eldar are fully aware of their extreme predicament. From an early age they are taught about the tragedy of their race, and how their eternal souls face extinction due to the predations of Slaanesh. Their numbers are now a tiny fraction of the teeming billions which once spread across the universe. Now the Eldar race maintains its grip upon existence only because of a grim determination to survive. That determination is fuelled by an awareness of their past failing to control their own nature leading to the creation of their greatest enemy Slaanesh. Because of their vulnerability to Slaanesh the Eldar have developed ways of protecting themselves when they use their natural psychic powers The most important of these is the development’ of the Eldar Path - a social learning system which restricts the abilities and experiences an Eldar is subject to until such time as he is mentally strong enough to face them. Another important development is the use of runes to protect the principle psychic members of the race - the Seers. The Eldar nurture a dream in which they confront Slaanesh in the warp, and overthrow their great enemy, freeing themselves from the constraints his existence places upon them and safeguarding the survival of their souls in the warp. Although the Eldar souls preserved in the Infinity Circuits of the Craftworlds can muster only a tiny amount of energy compared to that of Slaanesh, the Eldar hope that one day there will be enough souls to unite to fight and overthrow Slaanesh. It is a faint hope, but the only hope for the Eldar who must otherwise face the eternal threat of their own racial psyche.
THE CRAFTWORLDS
During their heyday the Eldar travelled the galaxy in vast trading ships called Craftworlds. These trading Craftworlds were whole self-contained communities housing hundreds of Eldar families. A typical trading mission might take the Craftworld away from its home planet for centuries, travelling thousands of light years beyond Eldar space before returning home. These Craftworlds developed a strong sense of independence, so that they were for the most part unaffected by the general malaise of Eldar society. Because a Craftworld might return to its home planet only three or four times in a thousand years, the decline of their civilisation was all the more apparent to them, whilst those who remained behind grew accustomed to the slow degeneration and so failed to heed the danger signs. In the final weeks leading to the Fall, the returning Craftworld crews found their worlds in ruins. They rescued those of their kind who were still sane, and fled into the deeps of space through the rapidly collapsing warp tunnel network. Many Craftworlds lingered too long in attempting to rescue their kinsmen. Finding themselves in orbit at the moment of the Fall they were either destroyed by the psychic overspill or sucked through into the warp and consumed by Slaanesh.
Craftworlds travel through space via a system of warp tunnels which stretch through the galaxy. Long ago the Eldar learned how to make these holes through the warp which link two fixed places. It is likely that originally nearly all Eldar planets and Craftworlds were interconnected by warp tunnels. However, during the Fall a great part of the network was destroyed so that travel is no longer as easy as it once was. Some tunnels were attacked and destroyed by daemonic intrusions from the warp - their entrances had to be sealed or destroyed to keep Chaos from swallowing entire Craftworlds. Other tunnels simply collapsed or the places they led to were destroyed or desolated. Today the tunnel network still connects Craftworlds to each other and to millions of places throughout the galaxy but there are significant gaps in the system, and some Craftworlds are completely isolated. Because of the partial breakdown of their warp tunnel network, the Eldar find it impossible or extremely difficult to reach certain parts of the galaxy. Since the Fall the original Craftworlds have grown considerably in size, so that they are now ten or a hundred times larger than the original trading ships which lie at their cores. Because they have expanded steadily over the years many are at least partially ruinous and have zones which await reclamation or very old zones which are largely uninhabited.
Each Craftworld is a self-contained biosystem, with zones which contain forests and natural flora as well as urbanised areas. These natural zones act as green lungs, furnishing a breathable atmosphere and providing renewable resources for the Eldar. Vast Space Docks are located on the outside of the Craftworld housing fleets of spacecraft These Fleets carry the Eldar armies through the warp tunnels which connect the Craftworld to the rest of the galaxy. Each Craftworld is independent and conducts its own affairs and wages its own wars. Craftworlds do sometimes ally together to face a common threat, or to achieve a common objective, but such alliances are usually temporary and have no lasting significance. Of course, all Eldar are united by a common culture and racial identity, but that means little when it comes to defending the interests of their own particular Craftworld. Wars between one Craftworld and another are certainly not uncommon. Such wars are almost always fought over a locally disputed world, or colonising and mining interests. Such conflicts grow out of local disputes, and are usually resolved within a short time. For one Craftworld to actually assault and attempt the destruction of another would be regarded as a terribly wasteful and purposeless enterprise. Although such calamitous events have happened in the past they are not common.
THE ELDAR PATH
Eldar enjoy a naturally long life-span and can live for a thousand years or more. During this time, almost all of them pass through a series of distinct lifestyle stages, dramatically changing their social role at irregular intervals, For example, an Eldar might be a technician for a few decades before he adopts another role and becomes a warrior, following which he might choose to become a galactic trader or a colonist. Each new role does not totally replace those that went before, but merely adds to the Eldar's accumulated experience. As Eldar pass through these different stages they explore the many aspects of their own character. An Eldar of a thousand years or more will have usually experienced lots of different roles and attained a very sophisticated understanding of the universe. This cyclical process is called the Eldar Path. As a social institution it evolved during the time of the decline and fall of the Eldar, when their ancient society began to break apart and the whole race seemed doomed. The fall of the Eldar was due to the intensity of the Eldar character and mind. Their heightened sensibilities offered an opportunity for intellectual and emotional gratification far beyond the sluggish human comprehension. It was uncontrolled self gratification which created the Chaos Power Slaanesh and which subsequently destroyed the old Eldar civilisation, The Eldar Path was envisaged as a way of allowing every Eldar to live within their full emotional and intellectual capacity in a safely controlled and progressive manner.
By concentrating on only one facet of their complex and overwhelming character at a time, the Eldar are free to explore that area in depth without dangers of distraction. As total awareness of each facet is achieved, the Eldar move to another, thus building a deeper understanding of the universe and their own capabilities. As an Eldar grows older and his comprehension of his own nature deepens, a wider range of more challenging roles becomes available to him. One of these is the role of Warlock - Eldar who open up their psychic minds and learn to control the forces of the warp itself. One of the most demanding of all roles is that of Warrior - the Warrior Path as this facet is called. An Eldar who embarks upon the Warrior Path chooses one of the many different Warrior Aspects, each of which is characterised by a different school of martial combat, distinctive armour, special weapons and tactics.
AVATARS
When Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody Handed God of the Eldar, fought with Slaanesh the Lord of Pleasure, he was quickly overwhelmed and his energy captured by the newborn God. For the Bloody Handed God was as much a part of Slaanesh as of Khorne - being a product of that part of the Eldar nature which finds gratification in murder and pleasure in bloody violence. Khorne the Blood God, the Patron of War, Murder and Battle, roared with rage to discover one of his own taken from him in this way. Then Khorne and Slaanesh clashed headlong, the Blood God fighting to recover the portion of his power that had been robbed from him, Slaanesh driven by his uncontrollable hunger to consume everything in his path. The Bloody Handed Gad of the Eldar was tossed this way and that, at first grasped by Slaanesh, then tugged back into the compass of Khorne. Eventually the rage of the Blood God and the passion of the Lord of Pleasure were exhausted, and the boundaries between them were established. Like a leaf in the eye of a hurricane, Kaela Mensha Khaine fell among the calm, down through the Realm of Chaos and into the material universe. As he entered the material universe he divided into many shards of energy, scattering his power so that neither Khorne or Slaanesh could ever find him again. Each shard entered the body of an Eldar, filling the body with his own mind, possessing it, so that it became a virtually indestructible blood-lusting murderer - the material manifestation of the Bloody Handed God. These are the Avatars of the Bloody Handed God.
During their heyday the Eldar travelled the galaxy in vast trading ships called Craftworlds. These trading Craftworlds were whole self-contained communities housing hundreds of Eldar families. A typical trading mission might take the Craftworld away from its home planet for centuries, travelling thousands of light years beyond Eldar space before returning home. These Craftworlds developed a strong sense of independence, so that they were for the most part unaffected by the general malaise of Eldar society. Because a Craftworld might return to its home planet only three or four times in a thousand years, the decline of their civilisation was all the more apparent to them, whilst those who remained behind grew accustomed to the slow degeneration and so failed to heed the danger signs. In the final weeks leading to the Fall, the returning Craftworld crews found their worlds in ruins. They rescued those of their kind who were still sane, and fled into the deeps of space through the rapidly collapsing warp tunnel network. Many Craftworlds lingered too long in attempting to rescue their kinsmen. Finding themselves in orbit at the moment of the Fall they were either destroyed by the psychic overspill or sucked through into the warp and consumed by Slaanesh.
Craftworlds travel through space via a system of warp tunnels which stretch through the galaxy. Long ago the Eldar learned how to make these holes through the warp which link two fixed places. It is likely that originally nearly all Eldar planets and Craftworlds were interconnected by warp tunnels. However, during the Fall a great part of the network was destroyed so that travel is no longer as easy as it once was. Some tunnels were attacked and destroyed by daemonic intrusions from the warp - their entrances had to be sealed or destroyed to keep Chaos from swallowing entire Craftworlds. Other tunnels simply collapsed or the places they led to were destroyed or desolated. Today the tunnel network still connects Craftworlds to each other and to millions of places throughout the galaxy but there are significant gaps in the system, and some Craftworlds are completely isolated. Because of the partial breakdown of their warp tunnel network, the Eldar find it impossible or extremely difficult to reach certain parts of the galaxy. Since the Fall the original Craftworlds have grown considerably in size, so that they are now ten or a hundred times larger than the original trading ships which lie at their cores. Because they have expanded steadily over the years many are at least partially ruinous and have zones which await reclamation or very old zones which are largely uninhabited.
Each Craftworld is a self-contained biosystem, with zones which contain forests and natural flora as well as urbanised areas. These natural zones act as green lungs, furnishing a breathable atmosphere and providing renewable resources for the Eldar. Vast Space Docks are located on the outside of the Craftworld housing fleets of spacecraft These Fleets carry the Eldar armies through the warp tunnels which connect the Craftworld to the rest of the galaxy. Each Craftworld is independent and conducts its own affairs and wages its own wars. Craftworlds do sometimes ally together to face a common threat, or to achieve a common objective, but such alliances are usually temporary and have no lasting significance. Of course, all Eldar are united by a common culture and racial identity, but that means little when it comes to defending the interests of their own particular Craftworld. Wars between one Craftworld and another are certainly not uncommon. Such wars are almost always fought over a locally disputed world, or colonising and mining interests. Such conflicts grow out of local disputes, and are usually resolved within a short time. For one Craftworld to actually assault and attempt the destruction of another would be regarded as a terribly wasteful and purposeless enterprise. Although such calamitous events have happened in the past they are not common.
THE ELDAR PATH
Eldar enjoy a naturally long life-span and can live for a thousand years or more. During this time, almost all of them pass through a series of distinct lifestyle stages, dramatically changing their social role at irregular intervals, For example, an Eldar might be a technician for a few decades before he adopts another role and becomes a warrior, following which he might choose to become a galactic trader or a colonist. Each new role does not totally replace those that went before, but merely adds to the Eldar's accumulated experience. As Eldar pass through these different stages they explore the many aspects of their own character. An Eldar of a thousand years or more will have usually experienced lots of different roles and attained a very sophisticated understanding of the universe. This cyclical process is called the Eldar Path. As a social institution it evolved during the time of the decline and fall of the Eldar, when their ancient society began to break apart and the whole race seemed doomed. The fall of the Eldar was due to the intensity of the Eldar character and mind. Their heightened sensibilities offered an opportunity for intellectual and emotional gratification far beyond the sluggish human comprehension. It was uncontrolled self gratification which created the Chaos Power Slaanesh and which subsequently destroyed the old Eldar civilisation, The Eldar Path was envisaged as a way of allowing every Eldar to live within their full emotional and intellectual capacity in a safely controlled and progressive manner.
By concentrating on only one facet of their complex and overwhelming character at a time, the Eldar are free to explore that area in depth without dangers of distraction. As total awareness of each facet is achieved, the Eldar move to another, thus building a deeper understanding of the universe and their own capabilities. As an Eldar grows older and his comprehension of his own nature deepens, a wider range of more challenging roles becomes available to him. One of these is the role of Warlock - Eldar who open up their psychic minds and learn to control the forces of the warp itself. One of the most demanding of all roles is that of Warrior - the Warrior Path as this facet is called. An Eldar who embarks upon the Warrior Path chooses one of the many different Warrior Aspects, each of which is characterised by a different school of martial combat, distinctive armour, special weapons and tactics.
AVATARS
When Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody Handed God of the Eldar, fought with Slaanesh the Lord of Pleasure, he was quickly overwhelmed and his energy captured by the newborn God. For the Bloody Handed God was as much a part of Slaanesh as of Khorne - being a product of that part of the Eldar nature which finds gratification in murder and pleasure in bloody violence. Khorne the Blood God, the Patron of War, Murder and Battle, roared with rage to discover one of his own taken from him in this way. Then Khorne and Slaanesh clashed headlong, the Blood God fighting to recover the portion of his power that had been robbed from him, Slaanesh driven by his uncontrollable hunger to consume everything in his path. The Bloody Handed Gad of the Eldar was tossed this way and that, at first grasped by Slaanesh, then tugged back into the compass of Khorne. Eventually the rage of the Blood God and the passion of the Lord of Pleasure were exhausted, and the boundaries between them were established. Like a leaf in the eye of a hurricane, Kaela Mensha Khaine fell among the calm, down through the Realm of Chaos and into the material universe. As he entered the material universe he divided into many shards of energy, scattering his power so that neither Khorne or Slaanesh could ever find him again. Each shard entered the body of an Eldar, filling the body with his own mind, possessing it, so that it became a virtually indestructible blood-lusting murderer - the material manifestation of the Bloody Handed God. These are the Avatars of the Bloody Handed God.
The Patriarch is the ancient Purestrain Genestealer who is the progenitor of the entire brood. He would be venerated as head, even if the braod had not become a Chaos cult. The fact that he is the head of a cult simply enhances his power as an Oracle, - as it was he who made the pact with Chaos to gain power. He presides from a secluded shrine, directing the brood through the medium of the almost-Human Magus.
A Genestealer Patriarch may choose to be possessed by opening his soul and allowing a Daemon to enter. The points cost for possession is 500, regardless of the type of Daemon.
Purestrain Genestealers and Hybrids find psykers to be ideal gene-hosis, as they are amongst the prime specimens of the Human race. Once infected, the psyker becomes a brood-brother and, ultimately, a brood-parent, and will never betray the clan. Rogue psykers may be formed into units of up to D6 models, or included in units of cultists
These are the Human parents and siblings of the Hybrids in the coven, and are motivated by intense, instinctive bonds to their Hybrid relatives. This, along with the devout worship they offer to their Patriarch-Oracle, makes the Brood Brothers amongst the most fanatical members of the cult.
Once a Genestealer Cult Army has decided to march on its enemies it will call up allies from the surrounding area. One such group of allies are. Like the cult members themselves, they quickly become prey to the will of the Magus, who will expioit their animal aggression to the full.
Some Brood Brothers will inevitably degenerate through contact with Chaos. Although their fanaticism declines to acquiescence, they remain a useful resource to the cult, and retain the instinctive bonds with their Hybrid relatives.
The Magus will ruthlessly exploit mutated Brood Brothers in the interests of the brood. Because the Mutants’ instincts are only to fight for their Hybrid kin, whe they regard as pure and chosen, same may even sacrifice themselves to save the brood. The Magus provides numerous religious motives to inspire such sacrifice - offering the Mutants a cleansed spiritual existence, re-incarnation in the new world that the cian intends to forge, and so on. Mutant Bombs may be used as independent models or grouped into a unit of their own.
A Genestealer Patriarch may choose to be possessed by opening his soul and allowing a Daemon to enter. The points cost for possession is 500, regardless of the type of Daemon.
Purestrain Genestealers and Hybrids find psykers to be ideal gene-hosis, as they are amongst the prime specimens of the Human race. Once infected, the psyker becomes a brood-brother and, ultimately, a brood-parent, and will never betray the clan. Rogue psykers may be formed into units of up to D6 models, or included in units of cultists
These are the Human parents and siblings of the Hybrids in the coven, and are motivated by intense, instinctive bonds to their Hybrid relatives. This, along with the devout worship they offer to their Patriarch-Oracle, makes the Brood Brothers amongst the most fanatical members of the cult.
Once a Genestealer Cult Army has decided to march on its enemies it will call up allies from the surrounding area. One such group of allies are. Like the cult members themselves, they quickly become prey to the will of the Magus, who will expioit their animal aggression to the full.
Some Brood Brothers will inevitably degenerate through contact with Chaos. Although their fanaticism declines to acquiescence, they remain a useful resource to the cult, and retain the instinctive bonds with their Hybrid relatives.
The Magus will ruthlessly exploit mutated Brood Brothers in the interests of the brood. Because the Mutants’ instincts are only to fight for their Hybrid kin, whe they regard as pure and chosen, same may even sacrifice themselves to save the brood. The Magus provides numerous religious motives to inspire such sacrifice - offering the Mutants a cleansed spiritual existence, re-incarnation in the new world that the cian intends to forge, and so on. Mutant Bombs may be used as independent models or grouped into a unit of their own.
Daemons may be summoned by means of coven ritual before the battle. Summoned Daemons are chosen (not rolled randomly) irom the table below at the listed points cost, and should be appropriate to the patron Power of the summoning coven. instead of summoning a Daemon, the player has the option of letting it possess a randomly selected model in the cult force. This costs 500 points regardless of the Daemon type. Roll a 012 and consult the appropriate section of the table below for the possessing Daemon.
Any psychic personality may have a Daemonic Familiar as his servant. Psykers who are members of a Genesiealer cult usually have Familiars that are shaped like miniature Genestealers.
These are Mutants who have utterly degenerated. They are often moronic, and will attach themselves to individual members of the cult for guidance and reassurance on the battlefield. Chaos Spawn can either be used as independent models, or attached to any units within the cult force. A sultably shaped Spawn can be used as a riding beast by any member of the brood.
Roll a D6 for each horse; on a score of 1 the beast is a Warhorse, and has a single stomp attack. Unlimited numbers of horses, or horse-like riding beasts, are available on medieval, feral or frontier worlds. Any coven members, or complete units of Brood Brothers can be mounted on horses.
A wide variety of vehicles are available on frontier or developed worlds, Select a vehicle type from the following list, pay the points cost, and roll for the number of vehicles available. The points cost is fixed, regardless of the final number of available vehicles - although not all of the available vehicles need be taken. You may choose standard profile vehicles, random profile vehicles, or any combination of the two. Any Purestrain Human or third or fourth generation Hybrid can act as driver.
TRAITOR TERMINATORS
Of all the galaxy's warriors none are so revered as the Adeptus Astartes - the Space Marines. And of all the Space Marines none are held in such awe as the Terminators, for they are the best of each Space Marine Chapter and Mankind’s ultimate fighting men, A Terminator stands toa ordinary man as a mighty battleship to a mere rowboat; and just as a nayal battle between such unmatched opponents would be unthinkable so would an engagement between a Terminator and a lesser warrior, Indeed, they were originally fashioned for more arduous conflict, for battling the most dangerous of all imaginable foes: the creatures of deep space and daemonic creatures from the void of Chaos. Such warriors are the Imperium’s greatest asset. Yet they are also amongst its most terrible enemies, for the Legions of Traitor Marines also preserve their own Terminators, no less deadly than those loyal to the Emperor.
During the Horus Heresy the rebel Space Marine Chapters of Warmaster Horus moved against Earth. Their inner corps drew on their Terminator Armour for the final conflict; likewise those loyal to the Emperor donned their armour in anticipation of a long and bloody fight. Although only a relatively small number of Marines were equipped in this way, their combat value so outstripped their numbers that soon ‘Terminators from both sides were fighting in the Imperial Palace itself. It is recorded in the Imperial annals that as the noose closed around the Emperor he put on his own Terminator suit, and with a valiant group of like-armoured heroes teleported onto the War Barge of Horus to do battle for the possession of Earth and the right to rule over the Galaxy, It is fortunate for the race of Man that it was the Emperor and not Horus who won that battle, and the Hordes of Horus were driven finally from the world and into the depths of space to the region known as the Eye of Terror.
No mortal man now remembers the Battle of Earth and the deeds of that time are recalled only in legend, The Traitor Marines still rule in their place of exile, and though they have become as corrupt in body as in mind, they still retain much of their ancient power. The Terminators of the Traitor Legions are great Lords amongst their own kind, the nobility of a region no less infernal than hell and whose minions are in no degree less diabolic. And today, when opportunity fans the flames of hell, the Traitor Legions relive the Old Battle upon a thousand Human worlds and once again Terminator grapples Terminator to decide the fate of Mankind.
Of all the galaxy's warriors none are so revered as the Adeptus Astartes - the Space Marines. And of all the Space Marines none are held in such awe as the Terminators, for they are the best of each Space Marine Chapter and Mankind’s ultimate fighting men, A Terminator stands toa ordinary man as a mighty battleship to a mere rowboat; and just as a nayal battle between such unmatched opponents would be unthinkable so would an engagement between a Terminator and a lesser warrior, Indeed, they were originally fashioned for more arduous conflict, for battling the most dangerous of all imaginable foes: the creatures of deep space and daemonic creatures from the void of Chaos. Such warriors are the Imperium’s greatest asset. Yet they are also amongst its most terrible enemies, for the Legions of Traitor Marines also preserve their own Terminators, no less deadly than those loyal to the Emperor.
During the Horus Heresy the rebel Space Marine Chapters of Warmaster Horus moved against Earth. Their inner corps drew on their Terminator Armour for the final conflict; likewise those loyal to the Emperor donned their armour in anticipation of a long and bloody fight. Although only a relatively small number of Marines were equipped in this way, their combat value so outstripped their numbers that soon ‘Terminators from both sides were fighting in the Imperial Palace itself. It is recorded in the Imperial annals that as the noose closed around the Emperor he put on his own Terminator suit, and with a valiant group of like-armoured heroes teleported onto the War Barge of Horus to do battle for the possession of Earth and the right to rule over the Galaxy, It is fortunate for the race of Man that it was the Emperor and not Horus who won that battle, and the Hordes of Horus were driven finally from the world and into the depths of space to the region known as the Eye of Terror.
No mortal man now remembers the Battle of Earth and the deeds of that time are recalled only in legend, The Traitor Marines still rule in their place of exile, and though they have become as corrupt in body as in mind, they still retain much of their ancient power. The Terminators of the Traitor Legions are great Lords amongst their own kind, the nobility of a region no less infernal than hell and whose minions are in no degree less diabolic. And today, when opportunity fans the flames of hell, the Traitor Legions relive the Old Battle upon a thousand Human worlds and once again Terminator grapples Terminator to decide the fate of Mankind.
LEMAN RUSS
Leman Russ is one of the most famous of the ancient heroes of the Imperium. Many legends tell of his deeds during the dawn of Imperial History.
He was one of the twenty bio-engineered soneifumians who would become the founding fathers, or Primarchs, of the original Space Marine Chapters. They were created by the Emperor to be stronger and tougher than any Human before or since. From their bio-engincered genes the Space Marines were cloned, yet even they were a pale reflection of their awesome progenitors, whose genetic material had to be diluted a thousand times for a single Marine. Even before his birth, Leman Russ was the subject of titanic events. As the twenty foctal Primarchs slowly developed. suspended in their bio-support medium, Dacmonic cyes observed them from the warp. The Dacmons saw the pink and naked Primarchs lying in their amniotic tanks, and perceived the Emperor's plan, From the twenty Primarchs, a whole race of superhumans would be created. They would be Humanity's greatest champions and the scourge of aliens and Daemons alike. The Daemons saw this and raged. Aware that they could not face the Emperor himself, for he was a being of god-like power, the Daemons hatched a plan. Combining their strength, they broke down the mental barriers constructed by the Emperor to cloak the infant Primarchs, and, prevented from hurting them, sucked them into the warp. The babes were scattered throughout the galaxy, thrown onto twenty different worlds to be adopted by whatever parents they could find - parents that were not always Human.
Thus it was, on the planet of Fenris, that-asmewling infant was discovered by a she-wolf as she hunted for her new-born cubs. A lesser child would have been torn apart by the giant wolf that stood as tall as a man, but no such fate would befall this golden man-cub with eyes like a wolf-king. Gently taking the child in her mighty jaws, the she-wolf bore him back to the safety of her cave, where he grew up amongst the wolf pack as part of the she-wolf's family. Within a few short years the child was an adult, for as a Primarch he was more than a normal man and grew as rapidly as his wolf-brothers. He might have lived out all of his years with the wolves, had not Thengir, King of the people of Russ, sent his hunters into the forest to clear the pack from his land. The old grey shewolf, and many of her cubs and claw-kin, died upon the spears and arrows of the King's hunters, but the wolf-man was spared, and Brought, bound and gagged, before King Thengir himself. The King took the wild man from the forests into his care, and named him Leman - Leman of the Russ. Amongst men for the first time in his life, Leman quickly learned their skills, showing a natural aptitude for the way of the warrior. He mastered their weapons - iron axes and swords - and won many glorious victories. Great tales were told of his strength and courage: how he could pluck a tree from the ground and break it over his knee: how he could stand against a hundred men in battle, and within mere minutes have them begging for mercy: and how he could consume an entire ox and wash it down with a whole barrel of beer. When Thengir died, Leman became King of the Russ.
Under his leadership, they won many victories. for in battle Leman was all but invincible. When his armies marched, the howling of wolves heralded their path: when he fought, a pair of giant wolves battled by his side. Kings themselves, they were Freki and Geri, his wolf-brothers that had escaped from the King’s hunters, and now had countless wolf-packs of their own to command. The tales of King Leman were told far and wide, and came to the notice of the Emperor himself. Recognizing the power of a Primarch at work, he travelled to Fenris and confronted the Wolf-King, who blindly refused to pay him homage as the Master of Mankind. Challenged, Russ boasted that he could out-eat the Emperor, and proceeded to consume three whole oxen, forcing the Emperor to back down. Russ boasted he could out-drink the Emperor, and drained the royal cellars dry to prove the point. Russ boasted he could defeat the Emperor in combat; the Emperor held his powerglove aloft for a moment, and brought it down on the Primarch’s head, felling him with a mighty blow which would have killed a lesser man. Leman Russ admitted defeat, acknowledged the Emperor, and swore to serve him faithfully.
Within years, all the Primarchs had been found, and became the fathers of twenty Chapters of Space Marines. Leman Russ became the progenitor of the Space Wolves, and was counted as a loyal servant of the Emperor. Within a hundred years the Space Marines had reconquered the galaxy, and the Imperium was born. Throughout the Great Crusade the Space Wolves were at the front line, their leader at the head of the battle with two great wolves at his side, his coming announced by the howling of the pack. On the world of Dulan, the Space Wolves and Dark Angels were to assault an enemy held fortress. Russ claimed the right to lead the attack, but “Lion’ El'Jonson, commander of the Dark Angels, refused and started the attack carly. Russ was furious, and began a feud which was to continue for three centuries, The Emperor intervened to quell the fighting, and ordered that the disagreement be settled with a duel. Leman Russ faced his friend in combat and took a blade through the heart; the duel was declared a draw, and the normally fatal wound healed within weeks.
The Primarchs were to fight four more times before the death of El'Jonson. Friends to the end, they were united by shared rivalry and sense of honour. The feud would arise again, but not in Russ’s lifetime. Then came the betrayal. Like Russ, Horus was a Primarch. Unlike Russ he bore the title of Imperial Warmaster, and had complete control over five Chapters of Space Marines. Perhaps Horus was tainted by Chaos when abducted as a babe, or perhaps he was weakened by the exposure to the warp. Whatever the cause, Horus was responsible for the largest treachery Mankind has even known. In a single moment he threw away his love for the Emperor and the Imperium, he cast his pride into the dist, discarded everything he stood for, and struck out. Across a hundred worlds, a thousand million men wept for their Emperor, who had been so cruelly betrayed by a man he called friend. For the first time, Marine would fight Marine in what would become known as the Horus Heresy.
Leman Russ is one of the most famous of the ancient heroes of the Imperium. Many legends tell of his deeds during the dawn of Imperial History.
He was one of the twenty bio-engineered soneifumians who would become the founding fathers, or Primarchs, of the original Space Marine Chapters. They were created by the Emperor to be stronger and tougher than any Human before or since. From their bio-engincered genes the Space Marines were cloned, yet even they were a pale reflection of their awesome progenitors, whose genetic material had to be diluted a thousand times for a single Marine. Even before his birth, Leman Russ was the subject of titanic events. As the twenty foctal Primarchs slowly developed. suspended in their bio-support medium, Dacmonic cyes observed them from the warp. The Dacmons saw the pink and naked Primarchs lying in their amniotic tanks, and perceived the Emperor's plan, From the twenty Primarchs, a whole race of superhumans would be created. They would be Humanity's greatest champions and the scourge of aliens and Daemons alike. The Daemons saw this and raged. Aware that they could not face the Emperor himself, for he was a being of god-like power, the Daemons hatched a plan. Combining their strength, they broke down the mental barriers constructed by the Emperor to cloak the infant Primarchs, and, prevented from hurting them, sucked them into the warp. The babes were scattered throughout the galaxy, thrown onto twenty different worlds to be adopted by whatever parents they could find - parents that were not always Human.
Thus it was, on the planet of Fenris, that-asmewling infant was discovered by a she-wolf as she hunted for her new-born cubs. A lesser child would have been torn apart by the giant wolf that stood as tall as a man, but no such fate would befall this golden man-cub with eyes like a wolf-king. Gently taking the child in her mighty jaws, the she-wolf bore him back to the safety of her cave, where he grew up amongst the wolf pack as part of the she-wolf's family. Within a few short years the child was an adult, for as a Primarch he was more than a normal man and grew as rapidly as his wolf-brothers. He might have lived out all of his years with the wolves, had not Thengir, King of the people of Russ, sent his hunters into the forest to clear the pack from his land. The old grey shewolf, and many of her cubs and claw-kin, died upon the spears and arrows of the King's hunters, but the wolf-man was spared, and Brought, bound and gagged, before King Thengir himself. The King took the wild man from the forests into his care, and named him Leman - Leman of the Russ. Amongst men for the first time in his life, Leman quickly learned their skills, showing a natural aptitude for the way of the warrior. He mastered their weapons - iron axes and swords - and won many glorious victories. Great tales were told of his strength and courage: how he could pluck a tree from the ground and break it over his knee: how he could stand against a hundred men in battle, and within mere minutes have them begging for mercy: and how he could consume an entire ox and wash it down with a whole barrel of beer. When Thengir died, Leman became King of the Russ.
Under his leadership, they won many victories. for in battle Leman was all but invincible. When his armies marched, the howling of wolves heralded their path: when he fought, a pair of giant wolves battled by his side. Kings themselves, they were Freki and Geri, his wolf-brothers that had escaped from the King’s hunters, and now had countless wolf-packs of their own to command. The tales of King Leman were told far and wide, and came to the notice of the Emperor himself. Recognizing the power of a Primarch at work, he travelled to Fenris and confronted the Wolf-King, who blindly refused to pay him homage as the Master of Mankind. Challenged, Russ boasted that he could out-eat the Emperor, and proceeded to consume three whole oxen, forcing the Emperor to back down. Russ boasted he could out-drink the Emperor, and drained the royal cellars dry to prove the point. Russ boasted he could defeat the Emperor in combat; the Emperor held his powerglove aloft for a moment, and brought it down on the Primarch’s head, felling him with a mighty blow which would have killed a lesser man. Leman Russ admitted defeat, acknowledged the Emperor, and swore to serve him faithfully.
Within years, all the Primarchs had been found, and became the fathers of twenty Chapters of Space Marines. Leman Russ became the progenitor of the Space Wolves, and was counted as a loyal servant of the Emperor. Within a hundred years the Space Marines had reconquered the galaxy, and the Imperium was born. Throughout the Great Crusade the Space Wolves were at the front line, their leader at the head of the battle with two great wolves at his side, his coming announced by the howling of the pack. On the world of Dulan, the Space Wolves and Dark Angels were to assault an enemy held fortress. Russ claimed the right to lead the attack, but “Lion’ El'Jonson, commander of the Dark Angels, refused and started the attack carly. Russ was furious, and began a feud which was to continue for three centuries, The Emperor intervened to quell the fighting, and ordered that the disagreement be settled with a duel. Leman Russ faced his friend in combat and took a blade through the heart; the duel was declared a draw, and the normally fatal wound healed within weeks.
The Primarchs were to fight four more times before the death of El'Jonson. Friends to the end, they were united by shared rivalry and sense of honour. The feud would arise again, but not in Russ’s lifetime. Then came the betrayal. Like Russ, Horus was a Primarch. Unlike Russ he bore the title of Imperial Warmaster, and had complete control over five Chapters of Space Marines. Perhaps Horus was tainted by Chaos when abducted as a babe, or perhaps he was weakened by the exposure to the warp. Whatever the cause, Horus was responsible for the largest treachery Mankind has even known. In a single moment he threw away his love for the Emperor and the Imperium, he cast his pride into the dist, discarded everything he stood for, and struck out. Across a hundred worlds, a thousand million men wept for their Emperor, who had been so cruelly betrayed by a man he called friend. For the first time, Marine would fight Marine in what would become known as the Horus Heresy.
He found her in the arbor, gazing into the heart of a purple iris. She silently acknowledged his approach, continuing to study the delicate dark petals of the flower. Elshar expected no more greeting. Since he had become trapped in the Aspect of the Warrior his feelings for Irillith had lessened to such a point that he could now barely remember them. Their paths had forked apart, but he still felt respect for her. She was a fine warrior, an honour to her Aspect. All the Eldar sensed the growing tension which heralded the awakening of the Avatar and the summoning of the Aspect Warriors. A time of darkness and blood, a time when they had to trust their darker sides to preserve them from evil. He supposed she resented it, or was saddened by it, while he, as an Exarch, welcomed the the coming conflict. He found peace-time monotonous, only the thrill of battle made him feel truly alive. He was like a hunting hound being taken out to the chase.
"You've heard the news?’ he asked her. She shivered slightly at the rhetorical question, and turned to face him, her dark hair gliding over her shoulders. Yes, we go to fight again. The wraithbone hums with the message of war. I feel... him. He is beginning to wake. Soon I shall be assuming my Aspect, and you... Do we need to say farewell Elshar, or will you even care to remember me?’
Macthen drew back respectfully as Elshar strode past. The Exarch didn’t appear to have noticed him. They used to be as close as brothers when they fought together as Aspect Warriors. While Macthen had travelled the Path of the Warrior and re- emerged into the light, Elshar had become increasingly caught up in the Aspect until he entirely surrendered to it, And now the Time of War was upon them, and Elshar had been elected the Young King. Macthen didn't envy him his role. He'd once officiated at the awakening of the Avatar, and the terrible experience still haunted his dreams. Now he followed a different path he couldn't remember the details of the ceremony yery clearly, but the image of the Avatar bursting through the doors of bronze would remain with him always. Elshar was an Exarch of some standing now, his daring exploits celebrated in song and dance. through many Craftworlds. Now all that separated him from his ultimate fate was the span of two days and a mortal body. It was a great honour to join the Avatar in immortality, but Macthen found the idea and the process involved quite horrifying.
Elshar fixed his gaze to the opposite wall and held himself rigidly still. The attendant Exarchs moved around him silently, and he felt, rather than saw, them start to paint the runes on his naked body. The blood dried instantly, burning corrosively into his skin. He could feel the pattern creeping over his body, as if he were being covered with a net of fire. A tiny part of him, which he thought long gone, whimpered softly in fear, and he suppressed it viciously, He had climbed to the peak of his terror and elation, and now all feelings were falling away. Emotionally and spiritually he was growing numb, bleakness filled his soul. His thoughts, the finish and beginning of his existence were polarised into a single point of time, bearing down upon him like a ball of fire...
The moment must be very near now, thought Macthen, nearly upon us. Over his head, the wraithbone sparkled and pulsated with power. He tried not to think consciously about his work, his Seer’s mind empathically absorbing the psychic waves that danced through the core of the Craftworld, He felt the energy being channelled through his body, rippling down his arms, flowing through his wrists and hands to the sculpture. When the shockwave of the Avatar's awakening had passed, he looked down at his creation. From the crude iron ingot a leaping figure of an Avatar arced gracefully up. He was not suprised that the daemon mask of its armour echoed Elshar’s face.
He found her in the arbor, gazing into the heart of a purple iris. She silently acknowledged his approach, continuing to study the delicate dark petals of the flower. He examined her face, looking for some improvement in her mood since their return. Two months had passed since the massacre on Sarlinn’s World. Outfaced, outnumbered and outmanouevred, the Eldar forces had been forced to fight a bloody retreat back through the warp tunnel which linked them to the planet. Barely a tenth of the Eldar engaged in the campaign had returned, a bitter blow to Craftworld’s already diminished population. Worse still, in the desperate struggle against the forces of chaos there had been few chances to gather the waystones of the fallen.
Physically and spiritually the Craftworld had been dealt a mortal blow, a blow from which it was unlikely ever to recover. Their few colonies were already seriously depleted of personnel and resources, and they could expect little reprieve from that quarter. The Eldar had clawed their way out of the pit of despair, but were never able to surmount the brim of their eternal tragedy. They were too few, the omnipresent darkness of Slaanesh was too powerful. The only respite was bought at such a terrible cost of lives and souls.
The Craftworld seemed ominously empty now. It had never been very populous, but the corridors and rooms had rung with laughter and music. Every thing, every being, every creation was so precious, and they were all aware of that fact. The Eldar had continuously celebrated the joy of their existence, had fought when they needed to, had passed through the darkness back to the light again. Now, it seemed, they had lost sight of the light. The Eldar who had returned brought no joy of victory with them, only the shadow of despair. So many had died on the stony fields of Sarlinn. Worse than dead, their souls had been lost forever to chaos. The awareness of this irreplaceable loss loomed over the remaining Eldar like a close dark cloud, oppressing their thoughts and their spirits. In their tunnel vision, all they could see was a slow, inevitable decline. No more laughter, no more life, no more hope.
Strange rumours were whispered in the empty corridors, that the rooms of the dead had sealed themselves off, that Wraithguard had been seen patrolling the outer limits, that the Avatar no longer sat on his throne of iron. A deadness permeated everything, colours had lost their brilliance, tunes fell flat and monotonous.
‘Irillith?’ he said gently, touching her on the shoulder. ‘Come back with me, you look pale, you need to eat. You shouldn’t spend so much time alone, it won't help anything.’
She threw off his hand and turned to face him, violet eyes glowing in her shadowed, gaunt face. ‘Leave me alone Macthen. There’s nothing more for me out there, for any of us. You've heard what the seers have seen, nothing... Nothing!’
‘That’s not true,’ he replied, the lie coming awkardly from his mouth. ‘There is always a future. You mustn’t give up hope. As long as we have hope, we have a future. I’ve brought you something - I think Elshar would have wanted it.’
She took the bundle from him and unwound the silk wrappings hesitantly. He saw her eyes glisten with emotion as she tumed the statuette over and over in her hands, feeling its grace and symmetry. Realising he could do nothing more to help Irillith, Macthen left. As he closed the door he thought he caught a glimpse of someone standing behind her, a stooped old woman, but he couldn’t be sure. It might just have been a trick of the light.
Irillith and Berel clasped each other closely, the last moment of human contact before they assumed their warrior aspects. Around them, the walls of the shrine were humming with tension, sparkles of psychic energy minning along the wraithbone. They pulled apart and took their positions with the others on the floor. The Exarch raised her arms and the ceremony began, As the Eldar intoned the ritual chants and performed the familar gestures they felt their humanity sliding away as the dark side of their nature was slowly released. [rillith’s natural gentleness, her fears, her pity for Elshar were washed away by the relentless tsunami of the Aspect of the Warrior. As the mental breakwaters seceded, the part of her that was Irillith was swept further and further back until it was exiled to a tiny refuge in the core of her being.
Fully suited now, but still holding their masks, the Banshee warriors received the final blessing. The Exarch passsed among them, dipping her finger in blood and drawing the sacred rune of the aspect on their foreheads, The psychic tension was now almost unbearable, and the mane of hair on the Banshees’ helmets stood on end with static. As one, they closed their eyes and raised their masks to their faces. A psychic shockwave boomed through the Craftworld as, simultaneously, the Avatar burst through the doors of bronze and the Aspect Warriors donned and fastened their masks. Irillith snapped open her eyes, and a film of pure red washed down over them. Blood, she smelled blood. The call to battle raced through the veins of her body. She wanted to leap, to sing with the joy of death. Most of all, she wanted to kill,
"You've heard the news?’ he asked her. She shivered slightly at the rhetorical question, and turned to face him, her dark hair gliding over her shoulders. Yes, we go to fight again. The wraithbone hums with the message of war. I feel... him. He is beginning to wake. Soon I shall be assuming my Aspect, and you... Do we need to say farewell Elshar, or will you even care to remember me?’
Macthen drew back respectfully as Elshar strode past. The Exarch didn’t appear to have noticed him. They used to be as close as brothers when they fought together as Aspect Warriors. While Macthen had travelled the Path of the Warrior and re- emerged into the light, Elshar had become increasingly caught up in the Aspect until he entirely surrendered to it, And now the Time of War was upon them, and Elshar had been elected the Young King. Macthen didn't envy him his role. He'd once officiated at the awakening of the Avatar, and the terrible experience still haunted his dreams. Now he followed a different path he couldn't remember the details of the ceremony yery clearly, but the image of the Avatar bursting through the doors of bronze would remain with him always. Elshar was an Exarch of some standing now, his daring exploits celebrated in song and dance. through many Craftworlds. Now all that separated him from his ultimate fate was the span of two days and a mortal body. It was a great honour to join the Avatar in immortality, but Macthen found the idea and the process involved quite horrifying.
Elshar fixed his gaze to the opposite wall and held himself rigidly still. The attendant Exarchs moved around him silently, and he felt, rather than saw, them start to paint the runes on his naked body. The blood dried instantly, burning corrosively into his skin. He could feel the pattern creeping over his body, as if he were being covered with a net of fire. A tiny part of him, which he thought long gone, whimpered softly in fear, and he suppressed it viciously, He had climbed to the peak of his terror and elation, and now all feelings were falling away. Emotionally and spiritually he was growing numb, bleakness filled his soul. His thoughts, the finish and beginning of his existence were polarised into a single point of time, bearing down upon him like a ball of fire...
The moment must be very near now, thought Macthen, nearly upon us. Over his head, the wraithbone sparkled and pulsated with power. He tried not to think consciously about his work, his Seer’s mind empathically absorbing the psychic waves that danced through the core of the Craftworld, He felt the energy being channelled through his body, rippling down his arms, flowing through his wrists and hands to the sculpture. When the shockwave of the Avatar's awakening had passed, he looked down at his creation. From the crude iron ingot a leaping figure of an Avatar arced gracefully up. He was not suprised that the daemon mask of its armour echoed Elshar’s face.
He found her in the arbor, gazing into the heart of a purple iris. She silently acknowledged his approach, continuing to study the delicate dark petals of the flower. He examined her face, looking for some improvement in her mood since their return. Two months had passed since the massacre on Sarlinn’s World. Outfaced, outnumbered and outmanouevred, the Eldar forces had been forced to fight a bloody retreat back through the warp tunnel which linked them to the planet. Barely a tenth of the Eldar engaged in the campaign had returned, a bitter blow to Craftworld’s already diminished population. Worse still, in the desperate struggle against the forces of chaos there had been few chances to gather the waystones of the fallen.
Physically and spiritually the Craftworld had been dealt a mortal blow, a blow from which it was unlikely ever to recover. Their few colonies were already seriously depleted of personnel and resources, and they could expect little reprieve from that quarter. The Eldar had clawed their way out of the pit of despair, but were never able to surmount the brim of their eternal tragedy. They were too few, the omnipresent darkness of Slaanesh was too powerful. The only respite was bought at such a terrible cost of lives and souls.
The Craftworld seemed ominously empty now. It had never been very populous, but the corridors and rooms had rung with laughter and music. Every thing, every being, every creation was so precious, and they were all aware of that fact. The Eldar had continuously celebrated the joy of their existence, had fought when they needed to, had passed through the darkness back to the light again. Now, it seemed, they had lost sight of the light. The Eldar who had returned brought no joy of victory with them, only the shadow of despair. So many had died on the stony fields of Sarlinn. Worse than dead, their souls had been lost forever to chaos. The awareness of this irreplaceable loss loomed over the remaining Eldar like a close dark cloud, oppressing their thoughts and their spirits. In their tunnel vision, all they could see was a slow, inevitable decline. No more laughter, no more life, no more hope.
Strange rumours were whispered in the empty corridors, that the rooms of the dead had sealed themselves off, that Wraithguard had been seen patrolling the outer limits, that the Avatar no longer sat on his throne of iron. A deadness permeated everything, colours had lost their brilliance, tunes fell flat and monotonous.
‘Irillith?’ he said gently, touching her on the shoulder. ‘Come back with me, you look pale, you need to eat. You shouldn’t spend so much time alone, it won't help anything.’
She threw off his hand and turned to face him, violet eyes glowing in her shadowed, gaunt face. ‘Leave me alone Macthen. There’s nothing more for me out there, for any of us. You've heard what the seers have seen, nothing... Nothing!’
‘That’s not true,’ he replied, the lie coming awkardly from his mouth. ‘There is always a future. You mustn’t give up hope. As long as we have hope, we have a future. I’ve brought you something - I think Elshar would have wanted it.’
She took the bundle from him and unwound the silk wrappings hesitantly. He saw her eyes glisten with emotion as she tumed the statuette over and over in her hands, feeling its grace and symmetry. Realising he could do nothing more to help Irillith, Macthen left. As he closed the door he thought he caught a glimpse of someone standing behind her, a stooped old woman, but he couldn’t be sure. It might just have been a trick of the light.
Irillith and Berel clasped each other closely, the last moment of human contact before they assumed their warrior aspects. Around them, the walls of the shrine were humming with tension, sparkles of psychic energy minning along the wraithbone. They pulled apart and took their positions with the others on the floor. The Exarch raised her arms and the ceremony began, As the Eldar intoned the ritual chants and performed the familar gestures they felt their humanity sliding away as the dark side of their nature was slowly released. [rillith’s natural gentleness, her fears, her pity for Elshar were washed away by the relentless tsunami of the Aspect of the Warrior. As the mental breakwaters seceded, the part of her that was Irillith was swept further and further back until it was exiled to a tiny refuge in the core of her being.
Fully suited now, but still holding their masks, the Banshee warriors received the final blessing. The Exarch passsed among them, dipping her finger in blood and drawing the sacred rune of the aspect on their foreheads, The psychic tension was now almost unbearable, and the mane of hair on the Banshees’ helmets stood on end with static. As one, they closed their eyes and raised their masks to their faces. A psychic shockwave boomed through the Craftworld as, simultaneously, the Avatar burst through the doors of bronze and the Aspect Warriors donned and fastened their masks. Irillith snapped open her eyes, and a film of pure red washed down over them. Blood, she smelled blood. The call to battle raced through the veins of her body. She wanted to leap, to sing with the joy of death. Most of all, she wanted to kill,
Overhead, a sun the colour of blood beat down, turning the ash plain into a lake of crimson light. A good omen, Karhedron decided. They would sweep the foul influences of Chaos from this world. He surveyed the scene through the eyes of his Warlock mask, his long thick robes fluttering in the breeze. He scanned the horizon, hoping to catch sight of the enemy. In his mind lethal energies pulsed and surged. He felt the urge to unleash them creep through him. He Was a vessel for transcendant power, All he had to do was focus it through his channelling runes or his witch blade to bring death to his enemies. His mind cast back to his time as an Aspect Warrior, an experience he had hoped never to have submit himself to again. Countless times had he stood wailing like this for battle to commence. As a Fire Dragon Karhedron had fought on fields of ice under turquoise skies, danced through whirling red dust on burning desert plains, crept through underground labyrinths of dank dark stone. The ancient weapon he bore remembered too, It had not always been his - he had retrieved it from beside the fallen body of the famous Warlock Tatheya, where she lay surrounded by dead Orks.
The song of wings filled the air as a group of Swooping Hawks soared ecstatically into the warm sky, They drifted lazily upward, catching thermals like giant birds of prey. Karhedron knew that their seeming indolence was illusory. The Keen-eyed Ones kept careful watch in case the enemy altempted a surprise attack, He studied the squad of Aspect Warriors sitting on the nearby rocks, meditating on the inner nature of their weapons. The sun glinted off their blue armour, highlighting the Fire Shrine rune that marked them as belonging to their Craftworld. Their shuriken catapults lay dormant across their knees. Karhedron was not fooled by their apparent passiveness, He knew that the Dire Avengers could shift from quiet repose to instant action in the blink of an eye. A high-pitched keening wail filled the air as the Howling Banshees performed the Dance of Skulls near their dropship. Karhedron watched as the women sparred in slow motion with invisible foes, each movement part of some greater intricate pattern, as if the whole unit were one organism sharing a single mind. Scarlet tresses swept through great arcs as the women swayed. Langourous kicks just seemed to miss each of the dancers. As the ritual continued the pace of the footstamping and handclapping speeded almost imperceptibly until the Banshees moved and tumbled almost too fast for the eye to follow. A shimmering of air between the gateway tetrahedrons announced the arrival of a squad of chitinously armoured Striking Scorpions. They skittered across to the Farseer’s position and bowed before Kelmon, the chosen Battleseer. Kelmon acknowledged their presence with an ornate salute.
Mandiblasters clicked acknowledgement then they turned and moved to take up a perimeter position. Nearby atop a great butte, Dark Reapers, arranged in three-man fireteams, stood immobile as statues. Their massive forms radiated menace yet their presence was strangely reassuring. Karhedron knew no enemy could approach without being the target of their missile launchers. A line of Fire Dragons weaved across the plain as the Eldar army arrived through the gateways and assembled, squad by squad, on the plain. A thrill passed through Karhedron as he realised the extent of the force the Craftworld was fielding. Unit after unit of Guardians arrived and took their place in the formation. Mighty Spirit Warriors stalked among the ranks on long inséct-like legs. As the last of the force assembled Karhedron speculated on the nature of the enemy they were to face. The corruption of chaos must be mighty indeed to justify the deployment of such a massive military strength, he thought. As the formation was nearly complete a change of mood swept through the army. He felt tension galvanise the nearby Dire Avengers. The Banshees ceased their dance and stood poised like ballerinas, waiting. A hush of expectation settled over the assembled Eldar, The whole army held its breath.
Suddenly the smell of ozone filled the air. A crackling, hissing sound emerged from the gateway tetrahedrons, The runes along their sides blazed as if being overloaded with power. A bloody glow illuminated the area between the pyramids, Space seemed to warp and then the Avatar was there, looming over his honour guard of Exarchs, Even the mighty masked warriors were dwarfed by his massive presence. The incarnation of Khaine stood half-again as tall as those who surrounded him. In his left fist he clutched a gigantic battle blade. Blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand. Crimson eyes glowed like red-hot rock within his helm. He swept a burning glance over his awestricken followers. Karhedron felt a cold wash of horror drench his soul as he beheld the god-like being, followed by an unholy thrill of anticipation. The Avatar's incandescent gaze seemed to bore into the very heart of the Eldar warriors, kindling the fire of battlelust there. All fear, all hesitation was burned away by unholy joy and murder lust. The killing power within them stirred in answer to the being’s call. A cry of pure exultation was torn from Karhedron’s throat. It mingled with the great roar of the entire army. The warcry rumbled like thunder over the plain, a shout to inspire pure terror in any living thing that heard it. It continued to rise into crescendo after crescendo till the Avatar made a short chopping gesture for silence. Instantly all was quiet. Then, following their Bloody-handed God, the Eldar marched to war.
Flanked by his apprentices Kelmon prepared himself for the battle. His fingers toyed idly with the wraithbone tiles of the battlerunes. The air carried the scent of ozone and blood. He gazed into the viewing tesseract and studied the disposition of the armies, fixing them in his mind. The Light in Infinite Darkness forces stretched out across a long front. The Avatar and most of the Aspect Warriors held the centre in strength. Spirit Walkers guarded the right flank. The left flank was secured against the base of a huge butte, Dark Reapers commanded the heights. A strike force of Banshees waited in the pulleys ready to advance in cover along the dry stream bottom. The Guardian Squads reinforced the centre, Swooping Hawks cast long shadows on the ash plain. The Eldar force was a river of colour suddenly frozen. The chaos cultists faced them along the top of the tidge, a huge ragged army of depraved humans clutching ill-assorted weapons. OFnce perhaps they had been part of the Planetary Defence Force before this world fell to the forces of depravity. Now they stood mouthing silent obscenities. A few hastily converted Rhinos lay hull down against the great ridge. The sign of Slaanesh was splashed in red paint along their side, The skeletal fingers of dead tree branches clutched at the sky. Beyond them Kelmon sensed rather than saw an obscenely powerful presence. A dozen rusty Dreadnoughts lumbered into position on the humans’ left flank.
It was time. Kelmon breathed deeply and entered the trance. His fingers danced through the air Scattering the red and blue runes representing the opposing forces. He emptied his mind and sifted through the possible futures, searching for a probability line that would give the Eldar victory. As always the future was turbulent, waves of possibility and psychic power and passion clouded the potential course of events. The power of the Avatar itself warped the timelines round it. He felt a surge of exhilaration as the power flowed through him - nothing could compare with this feeling of power. All the game-playing and Event challenges among the Seers were only preparation for it and offered only pale hints of its satisfactions. He focussed all his attention on the runes, and under his scrutiny they moved delicately into conjunction with each other, establishing the weave of the Pattern. The runes danced around him, shifting like | a shoal of fish in ocean depths, Each represented a part of the assembled forces, and through them he could maintain a psychic link with the Eldar troops. The blue stone representing the Spirit Walkers moved off cautiously, and on the battlefield the great War-machines strode forward. In his multi- compartmented mind a dozen potential futures blossomed. He saw the machines fall blasted by heavy weapons. He saw them stride among the dreadnoughts and engage in melee. He saw them stumble on the rough ground. In the air the red runes Tearranged themselves. In his minds eye he saw the human heavy weapons belch.
The song of wings filled the air as a group of Swooping Hawks soared ecstatically into the warm sky, They drifted lazily upward, catching thermals like giant birds of prey. Karhedron knew that their seeming indolence was illusory. The Keen-eyed Ones kept careful watch in case the enemy altempted a surprise attack, He studied the squad of Aspect Warriors sitting on the nearby rocks, meditating on the inner nature of their weapons. The sun glinted off their blue armour, highlighting the Fire Shrine rune that marked them as belonging to their Craftworld. Their shuriken catapults lay dormant across their knees. Karhedron was not fooled by their apparent passiveness, He knew that the Dire Avengers could shift from quiet repose to instant action in the blink of an eye. A high-pitched keening wail filled the air as the Howling Banshees performed the Dance of Skulls near their dropship. Karhedron watched as the women sparred in slow motion with invisible foes, each movement part of some greater intricate pattern, as if the whole unit were one organism sharing a single mind. Scarlet tresses swept through great arcs as the women swayed. Langourous kicks just seemed to miss each of the dancers. As the ritual continued the pace of the footstamping and handclapping speeded almost imperceptibly until the Banshees moved and tumbled almost too fast for the eye to follow. A shimmering of air between the gateway tetrahedrons announced the arrival of a squad of chitinously armoured Striking Scorpions. They skittered across to the Farseer’s position and bowed before Kelmon, the chosen Battleseer. Kelmon acknowledged their presence with an ornate salute.
Mandiblasters clicked acknowledgement then they turned and moved to take up a perimeter position. Nearby atop a great butte, Dark Reapers, arranged in three-man fireteams, stood immobile as statues. Their massive forms radiated menace yet their presence was strangely reassuring. Karhedron knew no enemy could approach without being the target of their missile launchers. A line of Fire Dragons weaved across the plain as the Eldar army arrived through the gateways and assembled, squad by squad, on the plain. A thrill passed through Karhedron as he realised the extent of the force the Craftworld was fielding. Unit after unit of Guardians arrived and took their place in the formation. Mighty Spirit Warriors stalked among the ranks on long inséct-like legs. As the last of the force assembled Karhedron speculated on the nature of the enemy they were to face. The corruption of chaos must be mighty indeed to justify the deployment of such a massive military strength, he thought. As the formation was nearly complete a change of mood swept through the army. He felt tension galvanise the nearby Dire Avengers. The Banshees ceased their dance and stood poised like ballerinas, waiting. A hush of expectation settled over the assembled Eldar, The whole army held its breath.
Suddenly the smell of ozone filled the air. A crackling, hissing sound emerged from the gateway tetrahedrons, The runes along their sides blazed as if being overloaded with power. A bloody glow illuminated the area between the pyramids, Space seemed to warp and then the Avatar was there, looming over his honour guard of Exarchs, Even the mighty masked warriors were dwarfed by his massive presence. The incarnation of Khaine stood half-again as tall as those who surrounded him. In his left fist he clutched a gigantic battle blade. Blood dripped from the fingers of his left hand. Crimson eyes glowed like red-hot rock within his helm. He swept a burning glance over his awestricken followers. Karhedron felt a cold wash of horror drench his soul as he beheld the god-like being, followed by an unholy thrill of anticipation. The Avatar's incandescent gaze seemed to bore into the very heart of the Eldar warriors, kindling the fire of battlelust there. All fear, all hesitation was burned away by unholy joy and murder lust. The killing power within them stirred in answer to the being’s call. A cry of pure exultation was torn from Karhedron’s throat. It mingled with the great roar of the entire army. The warcry rumbled like thunder over the plain, a shout to inspire pure terror in any living thing that heard it. It continued to rise into crescendo after crescendo till the Avatar made a short chopping gesture for silence. Instantly all was quiet. Then, following their Bloody-handed God, the Eldar marched to war.
Flanked by his apprentices Kelmon prepared himself for the battle. His fingers toyed idly with the wraithbone tiles of the battlerunes. The air carried the scent of ozone and blood. He gazed into the viewing tesseract and studied the disposition of the armies, fixing them in his mind. The Light in Infinite Darkness forces stretched out across a long front. The Avatar and most of the Aspect Warriors held the centre in strength. Spirit Walkers guarded the right flank. The left flank was secured against the base of a huge butte, Dark Reapers commanded the heights. A strike force of Banshees waited in the pulleys ready to advance in cover along the dry stream bottom. The Guardian Squads reinforced the centre, Swooping Hawks cast long shadows on the ash plain. The Eldar force was a river of colour suddenly frozen. The chaos cultists faced them along the top of the tidge, a huge ragged army of depraved humans clutching ill-assorted weapons. OFnce perhaps they had been part of the Planetary Defence Force before this world fell to the forces of depravity. Now they stood mouthing silent obscenities. A few hastily converted Rhinos lay hull down against the great ridge. The sign of Slaanesh was splashed in red paint along their side, The skeletal fingers of dead tree branches clutched at the sky. Beyond them Kelmon sensed rather than saw an obscenely powerful presence. A dozen rusty Dreadnoughts lumbered into position on the humans’ left flank.
It was time. Kelmon breathed deeply and entered the trance. His fingers danced through the air Scattering the red and blue runes representing the opposing forces. He emptied his mind and sifted through the possible futures, searching for a probability line that would give the Eldar victory. As always the future was turbulent, waves of possibility and psychic power and passion clouded the potential course of events. The power of the Avatar itself warped the timelines round it. He felt a surge of exhilaration as the power flowed through him - nothing could compare with this feeling of power. All the game-playing and Event challenges among the Seers were only preparation for it and offered only pale hints of its satisfactions. He focussed all his attention on the runes, and under his scrutiny they moved delicately into conjunction with each other, establishing the weave of the Pattern. The runes danced around him, shifting like | a shoal of fish in ocean depths, Each represented a part of the assembled forces, and through them he could maintain a psychic link with the Eldar troops. The blue stone representing the Spirit Walkers moved off cautiously, and on the battlefield the great War-machines strode forward. In his multi- compartmented mind a dozen potential futures blossomed. He saw the machines fall blasted by heavy weapons. He saw them stride among the dreadnoughts and engage in melee. He saw them stumble on the rough ground. In the air the red runes Tearranged themselves. In his minds eye he saw the human heavy weapons belch.
Flowers of flame bloomed at the feet of the Spirit Walkers. Kelmon reeled, feeling the pattern of the conflict emerging from the maelstrom of probability. Events were rapidly speeding up, and the dance of the runes reflected this. He struggled to keep track of the pattern as it became ever more complex and intertwined, twisting into impossibly convoluted designs symbolic of the state of the battle. AS one group of runes moved, another set responded in-turn. Images flickered through his mind. Swooping Hawks soared over the enemy front line dropping explosive grenades. A storm of laserbursts erupted round them. Several Hawks dropped like wounded birds into the ranks and were swiftly torn to pieces. Their rune flicked away from its endangered position and the airborne troops drifted into the sky out of laser Tange. A wave of screaming humans raced forwards. They slid down the slope of the tidge, plumes of ash billowing round their feet, bolters blazing, looks of ecstatic bloodlust frozen on their faces. The Rhinos provided supporting fire. The red runes span round each other like a catherine wheel and touched the blue rune of the Dark Reapers. A hail of missiles leapt from the mesa top and tore the cultists to shreds. Another of the blue runes moved into the Pattern and the Banshees started sneaking forward up the culverts of the stream bottom. Pain flared through him as the Avatar rune grew in size and luminescence, attracting more blue runes around it as the Bloody-Handed One led the Scorpions and the Dragons towards the survivors of the human charge. Kelmon threw his efforts into following the new probability line the Avatar had instigated. The Hawks flew down across the tidge to assault the snipers and the Rhinos, The attack wasn't elegant but it distracted the humans from the frontal assault as they concentrated on the fliers.
Human reinforcements raced down the ridge, throwing themselves into the fray, seemingly unafraid of the Avatar. Once again Kelmon sensed the presence of some daemonic power. The mine of the Accursed One span into the middle of the pattern, and the sense of looming presence intensified. Men screamed as the Dragons’ meltaguns charred their flesh. The Scorpions ripped through them, mandiblasters spitting death. On the right, the Spirit Walkers had bogged down in an exchange of fire with the dreadnoughts. They seemed to be losing. The Spirit Walker rune flipped into a new position, placing itself in conjunction with the defence rune, The Walkers moved further to the right seeking cover. The Dreadnoughts were on the move now, heading towards the swirling melee at the ridge bottom. In his minds eye Kelmon saw the Avatar turn and shred a mighty machine as if it were made of paper. Blood and oil mixed as the man within was ripped in two. Warlocks danced through the fray, blasting their foes with psychic bolts. Kelmon sensed the ebb and flow of their power within the runes. There was a brief flicker of unexpected contact where he looked through the eyes of the Warlock Karhedron. He felt the shock of contact as the Warlock rammed his witchblade into the stomach of a cultist then withdrew it almost before the blood spurted.
The Rhinos started to move, rumbling forwards, bolters blazing. The hail of fire shredded through cultist and Eldar alike. It pattered off the Avatar’s armour like gentle rain. When the armoured vehicles came into range the Dark Reapers moved into action. Orange contrails of rocket fire flickered hellishly, and explosions ripped the earth around the Rhinos. A direct hit reduced one vehicle to mangled wreckage. The withering rain of missiles stopped the armoured advance. Kelmon let his attention slide elsewhere. The Screaming Banshees had reached the hillside, and their rune twisted as they charged up the slope to clear the ridgetop. The outcome of this move was strangely obscured and when they were in Boston he found out why. His heart skipped a beat as he felt empathically the terror of the warrior women. Row upon row of human warriors waited and when Kelmon recognised the being that led them he realised what had hid them from his vision. A Keeper of Secrets. A Greater Daemon in the service of Slaanesh towered over the assembled throng. Jewelled eyes glittered in its bull-like head. Its huge pincer arms caressed the head of a priestess almost lovingly, It beckoned with one of its other pair of human arms and a wave of cultists surged towards the Banshees.
The dancers held their ground, vaulting among the frenzied soldiers. Their masks screamed and Kelmon could hear the high pitched wailing in his head. Men fell clutching bleeding ears, faces liquefying under the impact of high intensity ultra-sound. Then the Daemon entered the fray and the Banshees died, The creature’s fury. was awesome to behold. The Slayer of Slaanesh seemed almost to gloat as it thundered through the Eldar force, pincers ripping off heads. It lifted one frail body and tossed it aside casually, like a discarded toy. Laser bolts reflected from its glowing skin. It ignored the strike of the Banshee leader’s power sword before playfully disembowelling her. The Banshees tried to retreat but they were cut off by the cultists surrounding them. Mad laughter frothed from the humans’ foam- HSE lips as they killed the Aspect Warriors. Now the Keeper of Secrets emerged onto the ridge top, holding the shattered body of a Banshee over its head. It stood there silhouetted against the sunlight and roared its contempt of the enemy below. It plucked the brightly-glowing waystone from the woman's armour and popped it in its mouth like a sweetmeat. A look of obscene pleasure passed across its face as it consumed the soul contained within, The Eldar army froze. Moans of terror issued from a few lips. A lull settled over the battlefield and even the chatter of small arms fire seemed to recede.
The Avatar turned its burning gaze on the Daemon, silently responding to its mocking challenge. The slow drip-drip-drip of blood from its left hand intensified, Its blade glowed brightly in its clenched right fist. Kelmon sensed that they had reached the crisis point of the battle. Two mighty probability waves were about to clash, one bringing screaming terror and defeat to his people, the other bringing joyous victory. The outcome was unclear. Forces beyond his ability to comprehend had been unleashed here. The Daemon led its followers down the ridge. The Eldar charged to meet them. Great clouds of dust tose around the combatants. Now all sublety was thrown aside in the primal fury of conflict. The fighting became close and deadly as the two forces mingled. The Avatar and the Keeper of Secrets ploughed towards each other, leaving red destruction in their wakes. Swooping Hawks entered the melee. The Daemon rent two Exarchs asunder before it confronted the Avatar.
The earth shook as the two mighty beings clashed. The Avatar and the Daemon wrestled, each seeking advantage. Auras of power flickered around their heads as they duelled with blades of psychic force. The Daemon's claws locked tight on the Eldar’s armour, striving to crush the being within. The Bloody-Handed One’s left hand closed on the Daemon's throat as it sought to strangle its foe. Kelmon felt a surge of power as the Warlocks entered the fray. Their witch blades flashed, cutting into the daemon’s hide, distracting it for a second as it lashed out with its fists, breaking bodies with each terrific blow. For a long moment the conflict stood in the balance, The Avatar and the Daemon stood locked, straining to their uttermost, neither able to break the deadlock. Kelmon sensed the total nature of the combat, Here were two beings, driven by burning hatred, battling on every level, physical, mental, spiritual; re-enacting an old cosmic battle. Around them the struggles of man and Eldar were dwarfed by the energies unleashed. It was like two giants fighting in an ant-heap.
Slowly, painfully, the Avatar forced the Daemon back. The Daemon held its ground, but was forced to sway, curving its back away from its foe. The Avatar seemed to grow as it exerted itself more fully. Suddenly, with a final desperate surge it lifted the Daemon and broke its back over one armoured knee. A terrible psychic scream rang out. The feedback through the runes almost caused Kelmon to faint. The Avatar stood now in the centre of battle and raised its blade in triumph. The cultists moaned, having seen their god destroyed, The Avatar glared around. Its gaze fixed on one man who fell to his knees screaming. The Avatar reached out with its bloody hand. There was a great splintering and trending of bones as the man’s heart burst out through his chest and floated into the Avatar's grasp. The cultists fell back demoralised. ’ The battle was over. The massacre began.
Human reinforcements raced down the ridge, throwing themselves into the fray, seemingly unafraid of the Avatar. Once again Kelmon sensed the presence of some daemonic power. The mine of the Accursed One span into the middle of the pattern, and the sense of looming presence intensified. Men screamed as the Dragons’ meltaguns charred their flesh. The Scorpions ripped through them, mandiblasters spitting death. On the right, the Spirit Walkers had bogged down in an exchange of fire with the dreadnoughts. They seemed to be losing. The Spirit Walker rune flipped into a new position, placing itself in conjunction with the defence rune, The Walkers moved further to the right seeking cover. The Dreadnoughts were on the move now, heading towards the swirling melee at the ridge bottom. In his minds eye Kelmon saw the Avatar turn and shred a mighty machine as if it were made of paper. Blood and oil mixed as the man within was ripped in two. Warlocks danced through the fray, blasting their foes with psychic bolts. Kelmon sensed the ebb and flow of their power within the runes. There was a brief flicker of unexpected contact where he looked through the eyes of the Warlock Karhedron. He felt the shock of contact as the Warlock rammed his witchblade into the stomach of a cultist then withdrew it almost before the blood spurted.
The Rhinos started to move, rumbling forwards, bolters blazing. The hail of fire shredded through cultist and Eldar alike. It pattered off the Avatar’s armour like gentle rain. When the armoured vehicles came into range the Dark Reapers moved into action. Orange contrails of rocket fire flickered hellishly, and explosions ripped the earth around the Rhinos. A direct hit reduced one vehicle to mangled wreckage. The withering rain of missiles stopped the armoured advance. Kelmon let his attention slide elsewhere. The Screaming Banshees had reached the hillside, and their rune twisted as they charged up the slope to clear the ridgetop. The outcome of this move was strangely obscured and when they were in Boston he found out why. His heart skipped a beat as he felt empathically the terror of the warrior women. Row upon row of human warriors waited and when Kelmon recognised the being that led them he realised what had hid them from his vision. A Keeper of Secrets. A Greater Daemon in the service of Slaanesh towered over the assembled throng. Jewelled eyes glittered in its bull-like head. Its huge pincer arms caressed the head of a priestess almost lovingly, It beckoned with one of its other pair of human arms and a wave of cultists surged towards the Banshees.
The dancers held their ground, vaulting among the frenzied soldiers. Their masks screamed and Kelmon could hear the high pitched wailing in his head. Men fell clutching bleeding ears, faces liquefying under the impact of high intensity ultra-sound. Then the Daemon entered the fray and the Banshees died, The creature’s fury. was awesome to behold. The Slayer of Slaanesh seemed almost to gloat as it thundered through the Eldar force, pincers ripping off heads. It lifted one frail body and tossed it aside casually, like a discarded toy. Laser bolts reflected from its glowing skin. It ignored the strike of the Banshee leader’s power sword before playfully disembowelling her. The Banshees tried to retreat but they were cut off by the cultists surrounding them. Mad laughter frothed from the humans’ foam- HSE lips as they killed the Aspect Warriors. Now the Keeper of Secrets emerged onto the ridge top, holding the shattered body of a Banshee over its head. It stood there silhouetted against the sunlight and roared its contempt of the enemy below. It plucked the brightly-glowing waystone from the woman's armour and popped it in its mouth like a sweetmeat. A look of obscene pleasure passed across its face as it consumed the soul contained within, The Eldar army froze. Moans of terror issued from a few lips. A lull settled over the battlefield and even the chatter of small arms fire seemed to recede.
The Avatar turned its burning gaze on the Daemon, silently responding to its mocking challenge. The slow drip-drip-drip of blood from its left hand intensified, Its blade glowed brightly in its clenched right fist. Kelmon sensed that they had reached the crisis point of the battle. Two mighty probability waves were about to clash, one bringing screaming terror and defeat to his people, the other bringing joyous victory. The outcome was unclear. Forces beyond his ability to comprehend had been unleashed here. The Daemon led its followers down the ridge. The Eldar charged to meet them. Great clouds of dust tose around the combatants. Now all sublety was thrown aside in the primal fury of conflict. The fighting became close and deadly as the two forces mingled. The Avatar and the Keeper of Secrets ploughed towards each other, leaving red destruction in their wakes. Swooping Hawks entered the melee. The Daemon rent two Exarchs asunder before it confronted the Avatar.
The earth shook as the two mighty beings clashed. The Avatar and the Daemon wrestled, each seeking advantage. Auras of power flickered around their heads as they duelled with blades of psychic force. The Daemon's claws locked tight on the Eldar’s armour, striving to crush the being within. The Bloody-Handed One’s left hand closed on the Daemon's throat as it sought to strangle its foe. Kelmon felt a surge of power as the Warlocks entered the fray. Their witch blades flashed, cutting into the daemon’s hide, distracting it for a second as it lashed out with its fists, breaking bodies with each terrific blow. For a long moment the conflict stood in the balance, The Avatar and the Daemon stood locked, straining to their uttermost, neither able to break the deadlock. Kelmon sensed the total nature of the combat, Here were two beings, driven by burning hatred, battling on every level, physical, mental, spiritual; re-enacting an old cosmic battle. Around them the struggles of man and Eldar were dwarfed by the energies unleashed. It was like two giants fighting in an ant-heap.
Slowly, painfully, the Avatar forced the Daemon back. The Daemon held its ground, but was forced to sway, curving its back away from its foe. The Avatar seemed to grow as it exerted itself more fully. Suddenly, with a final desperate surge it lifted the Daemon and broke its back over one armoured knee. A terrible psychic scream rang out. The feedback through the runes almost caused Kelmon to faint. The Avatar stood now in the centre of battle and raised its blade in triumph. The cultists moaned, having seen their god destroyed, The Avatar glared around. Its gaze fixed on one man who fell to his knees screaming. The Avatar reached out with its bloody hand. There was a great splintering and trending of bones as the man’s heart burst out through his chest and floated into the Avatar's grasp. The cultists fell back demoralised. ’ The battle was over. The massacre began.
Karhedron walked across the plain of ash. All around Bonesingers in wraithbone armour loomed from the twilight, their ornate helmets and baroque armour turing them into menacing spectral figures. They stood over the bodies of the Eldar dead, singing the Requiem for Fallen Heroes. A thousand points of light glittered in the shadows transforming the battlefield into a carpet strewn with tiny stars. Each small fire was a waystone, pulsing with the soul of a slain warrior, a refuge against the ultimate death. Slowly the lights winked out as the Bonesingers reverently collected them for merger with the Infinity Gircuit. Karhedron passed the burned out remains of a fallen Spirit Walker. The machine was shattered beyond repair, its external carapace pitted with blast craters, its great head fused to molten slag. It lay on its side like the skeleton of a fallen giant. He remembered the Spirit Walker as it had marched to battle, striding like an elegant thoroughbred, spidersilk pennons aflutter. He mourned its passing. Another artefact of ancient times destroyed, another object of irreplaceable beauty removed from the universe by the forces of senseless destruction.
He stepped over a human corpse. The man looked small and pitiful now he was dead, hands outstretched, begging for mercy he never received. His eyes were open, looking up to the unforgiving sky with an expression of shock. The Warlock bent down and closed his eyes gently, thinking that noone should gaze out into the darkness forever. Shocking quiet had fallen over the field now that the battle was over. Karhedron found it hard to believe that only hours earlier he had been trapped in a roaring melee, partially deafened by the clamour of battle. Now his ears seemed to ring with the absence of sound. Nearby a Dire Avenger sat cross-legged by the body of her fallen comrade, She had removed her mask and crystal bright tears ran down her face. He knew her name was Talessa, He placed his hands on his own mask and toyed with the idea of removing it. He did not. He knew that when he did so, the last remnants of his fighting persona would fall away and he would have to confront his own reaction to the battle. Then he too would weep. At the moment, armoured in the role of Warlock, he could ignore the worst of his sorrow.
He stalked through the aftermath of carnage, wondering if it was always like this, the grief and the hollowness of heart, He began to understand why some of the Eldar became trapped on the warrior path. Dealing with the sight of so much ruin could be too much to bear. We have won this battle, he thought, but we can never win the war. In the end this ceaseless conflict will destroy us. Every fight leaves us diminished, a few more souls lost to the Warp forever.
He thought of Shiera, the Banshee whose waystone the daemon had devoured. That bright joyous girl would dance no more at the Feast of Forgotten Sorrows. She was gone now and a small part of the Eldar race had departed with her. The universe is colder for her passing, he thought. All the bloodlust and the bright madness of battle had gone now. It was as if the Avatar had taken it with him when he vanished back to his netherrealm in the heart of the Craftworld. Contemplating the darkness of spirit that the Bloody-Handed One's presence had revealed to him, Karhedron almost hated the creature. Part of him had enjoyed the battle, had revelled in the taking of life and the terrible exitement the being had led them into. The Avatar is part of us, he thought. We cannot escape that fact or shift the blame to him. We created him and we summoned him. His destructive potential is part of every Eldar. The Avatar's presence was simply an excuse for unleashing our darker selves. He is only our reflection, an incarnate nightmare of violence and death made real by our desires.
He reached the centre of the field where the remaining troops were gathered. Most of the Aspect Warriors had removed their masks, were becoming themselves again. Some sat quietly, some wept, some laughed. The faceless precision of the Aspect Squads was gone, replaced by the reactions of individual Eldar. A group of people had gathered around the Parseer. Among their ranks Karhedron could make out the face of his mentor, Lahessa. Kelmon emerged to be greeted by their quiet approbation. His face was flushed, triumphant. He was raised on high by two Guardians, who lifted his thin, wasted body easily, and was taken down towards the bulk of the army.
Somewhere, someone struck up a tune on the splinterpipe. The wild melody drifted over the battlefield, moving slowly from a mood of melancholic sadness to exultant triumph, It was the music of survival, of people who had passed through the inferno of combat unscathed. It spoke of the strange joy of victory, of the simple gladness of being alive, It mourned the passing of the dead yet spoke to the beating hearts of the living. It said tomorrow we will grieve but tonight let us give thanks for our lives. All things pass, life goes on. Still armoured as a Warlock, Karhedron was unmoved by this. He was frozen in the role of the hero, the eternal warrior. He confronted the Seer Lahessa. She met his gaze steadily. ‘It's over,’ she said. ‘The time for heroes is past.’ For a long time he looked at her, wondering whether he could face being a simple mortal again, a dying thing in a dying world. The music and the message of her eyes reached out to him and Karhedron took off his mask, became truly himself again, and wept.
He stepped over a human corpse. The man looked small and pitiful now he was dead, hands outstretched, begging for mercy he never received. His eyes were open, looking up to the unforgiving sky with an expression of shock. The Warlock bent down and closed his eyes gently, thinking that noone should gaze out into the darkness forever. Shocking quiet had fallen over the field now that the battle was over. Karhedron found it hard to believe that only hours earlier he had been trapped in a roaring melee, partially deafened by the clamour of battle. Now his ears seemed to ring with the absence of sound. Nearby a Dire Avenger sat cross-legged by the body of her fallen comrade, She had removed her mask and crystal bright tears ran down her face. He knew her name was Talessa, He placed his hands on his own mask and toyed with the idea of removing it. He did not. He knew that when he did so, the last remnants of his fighting persona would fall away and he would have to confront his own reaction to the battle. Then he too would weep. At the moment, armoured in the role of Warlock, he could ignore the worst of his sorrow.
He stalked through the aftermath of carnage, wondering if it was always like this, the grief and the hollowness of heart, He began to understand why some of the Eldar became trapped on the warrior path. Dealing with the sight of so much ruin could be too much to bear. We have won this battle, he thought, but we can never win the war. In the end this ceaseless conflict will destroy us. Every fight leaves us diminished, a few more souls lost to the Warp forever.
He thought of Shiera, the Banshee whose waystone the daemon had devoured. That bright joyous girl would dance no more at the Feast of Forgotten Sorrows. She was gone now and a small part of the Eldar race had departed with her. The universe is colder for her passing, he thought. All the bloodlust and the bright madness of battle had gone now. It was as if the Avatar had taken it with him when he vanished back to his netherrealm in the heart of the Craftworld. Contemplating the darkness of spirit that the Bloody-Handed One's presence had revealed to him, Karhedron almost hated the creature. Part of him had enjoyed the battle, had revelled in the taking of life and the terrible exitement the being had led them into. The Avatar is part of us, he thought. We cannot escape that fact or shift the blame to him. We created him and we summoned him. His destructive potential is part of every Eldar. The Avatar's presence was simply an excuse for unleashing our darker selves. He is only our reflection, an incarnate nightmare of violence and death made real by our desires.
He reached the centre of the field where the remaining troops were gathered. Most of the Aspect Warriors had removed their masks, were becoming themselves again. Some sat quietly, some wept, some laughed. The faceless precision of the Aspect Squads was gone, replaced by the reactions of individual Eldar. A group of people had gathered around the Parseer. Among their ranks Karhedron could make out the face of his mentor, Lahessa. Kelmon emerged to be greeted by their quiet approbation. His face was flushed, triumphant. He was raised on high by two Guardians, who lifted his thin, wasted body easily, and was taken down towards the bulk of the army.
Somewhere, someone struck up a tune on the splinterpipe. The wild melody drifted over the battlefield, moving slowly from a mood of melancholic sadness to exultant triumph, It was the music of survival, of people who had passed through the inferno of combat unscathed. It spoke of the strange joy of victory, of the simple gladness of being alive, It mourned the passing of the dead yet spoke to the beating hearts of the living. It said tomorrow we will grieve but tonight let us give thanks for our lives. All things pass, life goes on. Still armoured as a Warlock, Karhedron was unmoved by this. He was frozen in the role of the hero, the eternal warrior. He confronted the Seer Lahessa. She met his gaze steadily. ‘It's over,’ she said. ‘The time for heroes is past.’ For a long time he looked at her, wondering whether he could face being a simple mortal again, a dying thing in a dying world. The music and the message of her eyes reached out to him and Karhedron took off his mask, became truly himself again, and wept.