IT IS THE 37th millennium. For close to a hundred centuries the Asuryani have wandered the stars, fleeing from the horror they unleashed. They are the remnants of a fallen empire, once the most advanced and powerful race in the galaxy. They are the children of prophecy, doomed to a slow and bitter decline. They are the outcasts of the cosmos, mistrusted by all.
YET EVEN IN their despair, the Asuryani deny their fate. Graceful craftworlds drift through the void, safeguarding the souls of their kin from the predations of Slaanesh, the Dark Prince of Chaos, born from their Fall. Enigmatic seers cast runes, weaving complex patterns of destiny and doom. Proud warriors defend their homes, wielding weapons of wraithbone and psychic might. Their allies are scarce and reluctant: fickle Harlequins, renegade Corsairs, primitive Exodites. But for all their skill and wisdom, they are barely enough to resist the myriad dangers that beset them; horrific daemons prowling the warp, seeking to devour their spirits; soulless Necrons, stirring from their deathless sleep fueled by unrelenting hatred; vicious humans, superstitious and ignorant, worshiping a corpse-god demanding endless sacrifices and wars.
TO BE AN Eldar in such times is to be one amongst a dying few. It is to live in the shadow of a glorious past and a bleak future. These are the stories of those times. Remember the splendor of technology and culture, for so much has been lost, never to be restored. Remember the peril of pride and decadence, for it casts its long shadow over the grim darkness of the future. There is no hope amongst the stars, only an eternity of sorrow and regret, and the hunger of a ravenous god.