Chapter 24: Rise of the Ynnari: Part 1
Rise of the Ynnari:
Act One: The Battle of Port Demesnus
"More than any other time save perhaps the War in Heaven, the era of the Fall defines our species. Despite possessing an empire so grand as to regard an entire galaxy as a plaything, the Aeldari were divided, yet none knew it. We were the pinnacle of creation; how could we have possibly imagined a flaw to exist with us? These rifts, only revealed by the pyres of our homeworlds, had come about without our knowledge, fostered by countless miniscule philosophical differences in regard to what direction we ought to go.
Thus during the Fall, these divisions that had once invisibly split the racial soul of the Aeldari were revealed, fractured like colorless light striking a prism. Each resultant branch embraced, or rather expressed, a different part of our nature to the exclusion of others. Some say this is but a lingering punishment inflicted by She-Who-Thirsts, prolonging and enjoying our suffering as each faction denies parts of themselves. Though over twelve millennia have passed since that cataclysm, I wonder, have we truly discerned every hue?- Master Haemonculus Bellathonis, formerly of the Coven of the Black Descent
Scene One: Death Masques and Corsairs
Inexorable, unstoppable, the Time of Ending tightens its stranglehold upon the twilight years of the 41st Millennium. Amongst those caught in its grip are the Aeldari, an ancient and proud race of psychics now scattered to the fringes in permanent exile. In eons past, the Aeldari Dominion had ruled the galaxy for millions of years, casting down all others with the derogatory term 'Mon-Keigh'. Many different species bore this title over the years, and they were all considered alike for their inability to challenge the masters of the galaxy. Such was their overweening pride that even their gods came to be scorned, forgotten in favor of pursuing blind hedonism.
It was this obsession with pleasure which would eventually sow the seeds of their doom. The Fall of the Eldar, a sudden cataclysm which sundered the Materium and Immaterium alike, utterly destroyed the Aeldari Dominion. In one fell swoop, the heart of their empire vanished, consumed by the permanent Warp-storm known as the Eye of Terror. The terrible deity Slaanesh, a god-goddess birthed by the Aeldari, devoured both her parents and children, consuming uncounted trillions of Aeldari souls as well nearly every other deity in the Aeldari Pantheon. This devastation provoked an obsession with death in the once-carefree race, for now whenever an Eldar dies, their soul is claimed by the insatiable Slaanesh, eternally tormented unless they were able to somehow protect their spirit by one method or another.
Brought low by their own pride and blind hedonism, the remaining Aeldari now skirt the precipice of oblivion. Only through the most desperate ploys can they hope to survive. Some hardy pioneers seek to lay low, eking out a bleak existence upon forgotten backwaters known as Maiden Worlds, the so-called Exodites. Others are migratory, mastering their passions through a rigid system of Paths founded by their legendary forebear, Asurmen. For this reason they are known as the Asuryani, the sons of Asurmen known to the Imperium of Man as the Craftworld Eldar. Still more drown their hateful existence through acts of unparalleled sadism and cruelty. These Drukhari, or 'Dark Eldar' as they are known, are the monsters of ancient myth, appearing unannounced from the hidden realm of Commorragh to prey upon the helpless, including their own kind if their twisted desires so incline them.
These three groups comprise the vast majority of the Aeldari race, a truly pitiful remnant of a once-mighty race. However, there are still other groups, even smaller gatherings long-overlooked by an uncaring galaxy choked by darkness. The Anhrathe, or Corsairs as they are known, are the outcasts of Eldar society, shunning both the rigidity of life on the Craftworlds and the dangers of Commorragh in a self-imposed exile. They live a perilous life, plying the stars and claiming what catches their eyes, and are thus most often regarded as nothing more than pirates. Some of these Coteries have the support of Asuryani Craftworlds or Drukhari Kabals, ancient ties of convenience that have managed to survive the millennia more or less unscathed.
It is on such a stage that the final act of the Aeldari is revealed, for there is one more faction of the Children of the Stars who have perhaps the most significant role to play in the tale to come. Long ago, before the cataclysm of the Fall, the Aeldari Pantheon were the masters of the Warp. Many learned Inquisitors have heard tales of wise Asuryan, mighty Khaela Mensha Khaine, loving Mother Isha, and so on. These deities watched over the Children of the Stars as the masters of the galaxy for millions of years, and though they granted the Eldar immortality in the form of reincarnation, eventually they were abandoned in favor of decadence as the eons passed.
Small wonder then that few have heard of the divinity known as Cegorach, the so-called Great Fool. God of deception, stealth, art, and trickery, the Laughing God was the only god of the Aeldari Pantheon to escape the birth of Slaanesh, fleeing into the twisting paths of the Webway. There he is said to remain, remembered and worshiped only by his followers, the Harlequins. Dressed as clowns and jesters, this nomadic subgroup of warrior-acrobats see no distinction between war and theater, roaming the galaxy in troupes known as Masques as they keep the ancient lore of their species.
Of all the various Aeldari splinters, only the Harlequins do not fear death, for it is believed when they perish, their souls are somehow protected by their deity. Perhaps it is this safeguard that allows them to laugh at their own mortality, to caper and jest and dress garishly despite the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium. They alone of all the Eldar do not despair in the end, and it is they alone who understand how their kin have changed in their desire to escape their inevitable fate. They have retained the ancient hope, though twisted by their own perverse humor into a form only they truly find amusing.
Though insular, the Harlequins have been spotted walking and performing freely amongst the others of their species, and even for other races on rare occasions. Their plays and pageantry bring the history of the Eldar to life in stunning displays of beauty and acrobatics, though it is said to be enough to drive other races such as humans to madness. None can be sure why the Harlequins do what they do, and where they choose to travel and who they travel with are similarly mysterious. It is thus a wonder that here now, near the close of the 41st Millennium, the skeins of fate have brought one troupe of Harlequins into contact with perhaps the most important member of their race alive today: Farseer Eldrad Ulthran.
Eldrad Ulthran
Most ancient and most powerful, there has never been a greater Farseer than Eldrad Ulthran. While his kin gave themselves over to shameful lusts, Eldrad studied the way of the Seer, mastering the Runes of Fate like no other. His visions of the future unparalleled, Eldrad's precognition has served and saved Craftworld Ulthwe, along with himself, countless times, from discovering the Primarch Alpharius upon a Maiden World, to igniting the Second War for Armageddon by diverting an Ork migration there, to facing the dread Sigismund the Destroyer alongside his Seer Council and living to tell the tale.
As of the 41st Millennium, Eldrad's visions have grown ever more dark and murky, unable to pierce the veil with the same clarity he once did. The obsession with death that marks his race is present in Eldrad as well, and thus he now seeks to solve two problems in one stroke. Convinced only he could save his people, Eldrad began a campaign of incredible manipulation, divining a narrow thread from amongst the tangled skeins of Fate. Countless destinies have been altered, twisted to serve Eldrad's goal of saving the Aeldari race from itself.
However, tipping the scales of destiny so rapidly and so flagrantly has cost Eldrad dearly. Now seen as an arrogant meddler, Craftworld Ulthwe holds few friends for the venerable Farseer. The Imperium of Man, always loath to heed the word of a xenos, doubts his prophecies as a self-serving schemer. Thus it is to the fools, the outcasts, and the rebels Eldrad now turns, seeking the wanderers of the Hidden Path to fulfill his agendas.
Exiled from his Craftworld and dismissed from the Seer Council that governed Ulthwe, Eldrad was forced to take up the Path of the Exile. However, even this setback did not dissuade him from his goal of saving his race. How he sought to do this was unknown, but the ripples such vaunting ambition left in the Skeins of Fate had impressed at least one troupe of the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow. Rather than wait to be approached, the enigmatic Harlequins had sought Eldrad shortly after he left Ulthwe. Their leader, a skull-masked Death Jester by the title of Inriam's Spectre, had pronounced himself impressed by Eldrad's vision, and offered the services of his troupe as bodyguards to the venerable Farseer.
With their aid, Eldrad was able to traverse the Webway with ease. Seeking out the rest of the Asuryani, Eldrad used every iota of his influence to gain at least temporary access to the various Craftworlds of his people. By relying upon his visions of the future, the Farseer and his agents were able to claim the Crystal Seers, ancient wraithbone sculptures kept at the hearts of the mighty void-ships. These ancient statues had once been living Aeldari, and had been transformed as a result of psychic misfortune. To steal them was akin to desecrating a grave, and as such Eldrad was forced to flee the various world-ships just as he had Ulthwe, now no longer welcome.
Before long it became too dangerous to claim those that remained, but the Farseer knew full well he would not be able to gain access to any more, for news traveled quickly through the Webway and time was running out. Even disregarding these thefts, even the basics of what Eldrad planned to do in his endeavor had quickly yielded only frowns and suspicion from the hidebound leadership caste of the Craftworlders. Millennia of leading a people dwindling on the fringes had made the various Autarchs uniformly loathe to take risks, especially regarding plans that hinged on the vision of a single Seer, even one as renowned as Eldrad. Thus from the shaman chiefs of Craftworld Saim-Hann, to the morose commanders of Alaitoc, the Farseer received resounding refusals to lend any of their vaunted Aspect Warriors, the elite warrior caste of the Eldar.
The only Craftworld of any renown to acquiesce to Eldrad's plan was Biel-Tan. More than any other, the Eldar of Biel-Tan were known for their desire to resurrect the Aeldari Dominion, and thus lent a considerable amount of their strength to Eldrad. The legendary warhost known as the Swordwind, or Bahzhakhain, was famous for its fierce warrior pride, and gladly lent their Aspect Warriors to Eldrad's cause alongside the more mundane citizen-militia known as the Guardians that the other Craftworlds had contributed. What was not common knowledge though was this aid was only given in exchange for Eldrad giving up his attempts to steal their Crystal Seers.
Conversely, it was this very theft that impressed other strains of Eldar society. News of Eldrad's exploits made their way throughout the Corsairs fleets, those flotillas of renegades that prowled the stars in search of glory and freedom. These tall tales even made their way into the halls of the greatest of Corsairs fleets, the legendary Eldritch Raiders. Despite being less than a millennia old, the Eldritch Raiders have claimed over eleven thousand ships, taken from a variety of sources including Human, Chaotic, Tau, and even Hrud. They are led in their travels by Prince Yriel, one of the greatest Aeldari naval tacticians to ever walk the Path of the Mariner.
Long ago, Prince Yriel held the title of High Admiral of Craftworld Iyanden, a descendant of the legendary House of Ulthanash. Yet his pride and fury led to a self-imposed exile after being castigated for recklessly leaving Iyanden undefended in favor of pursuing a personal vendetta. Since then, Prince Yriel has led an ever-growing coalition from system to system, though he has not forgotten his roots. When Hive Fleet Kraken struck the galaxy, it was Yriel who came to the defense of Exodite Maiden Worlds. With the aid of the ancient weapon known as the Spear of Twilight, Yriel saved Craftworld Iyanden from being completely devoured by the Tyranid swarms.
This selfless act, which saved uncounted precious Aeldari lives, has nonetheless condemned Yriel to a lingering death. The dread Spear has sapped him of vitality, burning out his soul and bringing the prospect of mortality to one who may well have lived for many millennia more. Though Prince Yriel continues to fight, despair eats away at him, for as death approaches, the prospect of an eternity of suffering in the clutches of She-Who-Thirsts weighs ever more heavily.
Recognizing the ennui burdening the High Admiral, Eldrad chose to disclose the full details of his plan. The scope of his ambition managed to astonish even one as world-weary as the Prince of the Eldritch Raiders, finally dispelling the gloom which had choked his court for so long. It was precisely what Eldrad knew Yriel would want to hear: one last glorious adventure, which would ensure his name would forever live on in the legends of his people. The prospect of escaping the curse of the Twilight Spear was simply an added bonus.
Thus was the might of the Eldritch Raiders added to Eldrad's cause, the latest in a long list of forces. Though he himself was counted amongst the Asuryani, Eldrad knew he would need a far greater force to obtain his goal. His fleet was now a diverse assortment of vessels gathered from every strain of his species, all selected with utmost care. The Corsairs of the Eldritch Raiders mingled amongst the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow, whose garish ships stood in stark contrast to the uniform green-and-white of the grandiose fleet of Craftworld Biel-Tan.
Finally, added to this already massive gathering were perhaps the most unexpected allies of all. From the shadowy depths of Commorragh, yet another variant of Eldar society arrived unexpectedly to add their might to Eldrad's host. None could say why the Kabal of the Silent Scream had come, but they lived up to their name, refusing to speak to any but Eldrad himself. Many simply believed it was in search of plunder, or perhaps they saw a chance to gain renown to improve their standings in the cutthroat politics of the Dark City. Their Archon, Yrdrach, was less than forthcoming, remaining aboard his maroon vessel as it knifed swiftly between the Asuryani craft in random patterns, a spectacle compared to the staid Biel-Tani ships in their orderly rows.
In the twilight of the 41st Millennium, as the eyes of the galaxy turned toward the Cadian Gate, toward the galactic east where Tyranids and Tau and myriad xenos strove for dominance, as Fenris and countless other Imperial worlds burned in the fires of war, the Aeldari set out. Only the Dragon-Riders of the Exodites were missing from amongst this gathering of the Aeldari factions, for no amount of prophetic utterances could convince them to leave their beloved Maiden Worlds. This was, for the first time in twelve thousand years, a chance for the Eldar to escape the curse inflicted upon them by the sins of their ancestors, a roll of the dice to find a new future in defiance of the past.
Scene Two: The Campaign for Port Demesnus
The world of Port Demesnus was a shining example of Imperial might. Located deep in the heart of Ultima Segmentum, the Fortress World was one of many that studded the Imperium's Eastern Fringe. It was a focal point, a mustering site for Imperial Navy patrols to refuel and rearm in the never-ending punitive sorties against various xeno-held systems. Dozens of billions of serfs toiled in armament factories, and while their lives were harsh, they were at least peaceful, for the many guns of the orbital stations ensured no force would land on Port Demesnus.
Unfortunately, such a mindset was too conventional. Masters of divining the future, the plans of Eldrad and his Seer Council had spent many days tracing the skeins of fate, plotting out each and every facet and step of the battle to come. The discovery of Port Demesnus had been by happenstance, a chance encounter by a scouting party of Craftworld Alaitoc led by Illic Nightspear that had uncovered ancient Webway Gates long disused. Thus when the first graceful Aeldari craft entered the system, it was far past the conventional Mandeville points and their heavy defenses.
Relying upon their holo-field technology, it was easy for the Eldar fleet to avoid detection by the primitive sensors of the Mon-Keigh. The difference in their methods of war was instantly evident: where an Imperial fleet would have begun the theater with immediate engagement no matter the odds, the Eldar stuck to the shadows. For twelve thousand years, minimizing losses was among the highest of priorities; the concept of 'acceptable casualties' had become far harder to believe in when every casualty ran the risk of eternal damnation.
However, this is not to say all agreed with such an indirect approach. The Drukhari in particular longed to begin combat, for they lacked the spiritual protection of their kin. Simply being in realspace drained them, the whispers of She-Who-Thirsts tugging away at their very essences. Left unchecked, the Dark Eldar were liable to become the Parched, pitiful husks lacking all reason or desires beyond undoing the damage wrought upon their souls. Thus where the Craftworlders spent this waiting period in meditation, the ships of the Drukhari fleet were filled with ritual combat and executions. All time not spent on duty or sleeping was spent in the combat arenas in the heart of their spined vessels, the crews eagerly drinking in the suffering of slaves and the deaths inflicted in gladiatorial combat in order to stave off their conditions.
Such had been their way for millennia now, and it was one of the reasons their Asuryani and cousins pitied them so. They were under no such affliction, being protected by the wondrous gifts known as Spirit Stones. These crystals were said to be the tears of Mother Isha, and protected their bearers from Slaanesh's clawing obsessions both in life and after death. The Drukhari were well aware of this, and had made many attempts over the centuries to steal them, both for protection and for darker uses. The envy and distrust between the Biel-Tani and the Kabal of the Silent Scream thus kept them apart while other forces worked in the shadows.
The burden of laying the groundwork thus fell to those walking the Path of the Outcast and the Corsairs. Small dropships carrying Ranger scouts made their way into the wilds of Port Demesnus, carrying equipment to plant markers and to reactivate more of the ancient way-gates that would allow ground forces to deploy without the risk of an aerial insertion. Over the following days, more and more of these teams carried out their missions, escaping detection through the efforts of their Farseer advisors. Their goal was that of intelligence-gathering, relying upon their superior technology to infiltrate unseen as they planted explosives and mapped out the hives.
Other teams had darker objectives in mind. Imperial commanders began to go missing, vanishing from their positions in the dead of night. These disappearances were chalked up to all manner of causes, for in their pride the Imperial garrison thought themselves secure. It was all too easy to set the hive cities against themselves, diverting Imperial resources and manpower toward internal threats. Thus without lifting a finger, the Eldar were able to keep the Imperials looking inward rather than up at the stars.
As the infiltration teams neared the completion of their work, Eldrad judged the time right to begin the second stage of his plan. Restless from their time waiting, the Drukhari mercenaries were quick to answer the Farseer's call. On edge from all the painful symptoms of She-Who-Thirsts clawing at their souls, Archon Yrdrach all but snarled his acknowledgement at the Farseer. Only cruelty could satiate their collective withdrawals, and thus the Kabal of the Silent Scream descended on Port Demesnus with rapacity.
Precise assassinations became unchecked slaughter as the Kabalites rampaged around the hive spires. Having bypassed the aerial defenses by emerging from Webway gates, the Raiders and Ravagers careened at breakneck speeds through the hab-blocks of the city. The Imperial reaction to this assault was feeble at best, many planetary defense force regiments deserting in sheer terror. Other battalions never even saw the enemy, responding to calls for help against foes who had vanished by the time they arrived. Calls for aid went unanswered, for the long-range vox network had been among the first targets sabotaged.
Soon enough vast portions of Port Demesnus's Hives lay in ruins. The Commorrites took offense at what passed for art and ornamentation, taking every opportunity to deface and sunder every statue they could find. Carvings which had taken hundreds of craftsmen generations to finish were ruined in mere moments, and many slaves wept as they were marched amidst the rubble. As always, inflicting misery was among the top priorities of the Drukhari raiders, and soon enough hundreds of flayed bodies were left on every street corner as both warning and example.
For their part, the Craftworlders of the Swordwind were more focused. While they did not seek to take captives, nor were they interested in taking anyone alive. The Eldar of Biel-Tan were among the most xenophobic of their kind, seeing Humanity as little more than animals squatting amidst the ruins of what had once been the mighty Aeldari Dominion. As such, they systematically exterminated every man, woman, and child they came across. Squadrons of Guardians swept from house to house, guided in their search by sharp instincts, both corporeal and psychic, and soon enough a great many hab-blocks were little more than abattoirs. The only mercy shown was the instant death inflicted by their razor-sharp shuriken weapons, inflicting a swift end compared to the agonizing demise inflicted by Drukhari splinter weapons.
However, not all calls could be halted, and soon reinforcements began to stream in. Multiple hives became all-out war zones as Imperial forces attempted to pin down the slippery Eldar forces. However, this was anything but a fair fight. Despite vastly outnumbering the invaders, the Imperial Guard fared no better than the Planetary Defense Forces before them. Rather than stand in lines amidst trenches, the Children of the Stars were often seen as nothing more than blurs, preternaturally swift as they ran from ruin to ruin inflicting death all the while. Monomolecular Shuriken discs made a mockery of flak armor, slicing through as though it wasn't even there, while las-rounds simply dispersed harmlessly when striking the scaly thermoplas armor worn by the Guardians.
In the airspace above, a fierce battle raged as the air wings of the Aeldari unleashed an almost completely one-sided slaughter of the Imperialis Aeronautica wings assigned to Port Demesnus. The reflexes of the Corsairs were beyond anything the Imperial Navy pilots had heard from the propaganda fed them their entire lives. It seemed as though nothing could touch the Eldar fighters, though the reverse was not true. Plane after plane was sent tumbling out of the sky. The lumbering Vendetta gunships used by the Aeronautica Imperialis were utterly outclassed in every way by the Hemlock Wraithfighters they sought to catch in vain.
Every burst of bolter fire was nimbly dodged as the Eldar planes swept up and around them, toying with their opponents as they baited them into making mistakes fueled by rage and terror, amplified further by the mindshock pods equipped on every fighter. Whenever the Corsair pilot finished toying with their victim, they would then unleash a short blast from their Distortion weapons, scything bursts of Warp energy that would sever the human souls inside from their bodies, sending the lifeless but otherwise unscathed craft tumbling from the skies.
Elsewhere, the Dark Eldar air support made their presence known. Where the Asuryani were supernaturally fast, the Drukhari were all but suicidal. Their pilots were trained to fly through the maddening skies of Commorragh; in comparison, the war-torn Port Demesnus was almost too easy. Their Razorwing jet fighters screamed through the skies at break-neck pace, carving through all resistance with missiles that turned whatever they struck into living glass as they tested themselves against their inferior human opponents. Far below them, Voidraven bombers dropped void mines into any concentrations of armor or artillery they could spot, sundering every defense with ease.
Above the clashing air wings, the void was filled with death as the Imperial Navy struggled in vain to defeat the warships of Craftworld Biel-Tan and the Eldritch Raiders in a contest no less lopsided than the struggles below. Far more maneuverable than their counterparts, the Eldar craft inflicted a fearsome toll upon any foolish enough to approach them, nimbly dodging the clumsy fire hurled their way. The Eldar had not even attempted to form a line of battle, utilizing their superior maneuverability to outflank and pick apart their opponents, who all but stood in place like targets waiting to be cut down. The Eldar warships were beyond difficult to hit, for their holo-fields made them appear to be elsewhere than they actually were.
Before long, the entirety of Imperial attention was focused on trying to survive this sudden and unprovoked attack. None knew why the Eldar were there, but xenophobia ensured no thoughts of surrender or negotiating would be entertained. The entire system had become a war zone, a back and forth firestorm of carnage as the Imperial forces suffered grievous casualties in their attempts to pin down the slippery raiders. Soon massive fires broke out across Port Demesnus as sabotaged manufactorums detonated, covering a large portion of the planet in a choking industrial smog. Communications became spotty as vox networks were filled with agonized screams patched in by malicious Drukhari saboteurs.
However, for all their advantages, for all their superior technology and unmatched foresight, the Eldar could not escape casualties of their own. Like ants swarming out from a kicked nest, Imperial forces seemed never-ending as they responded to this unprovoked invasion. As always, quantity had a quality all its own, and meter by meter, the Eldar were forced from their holdings in the lower hives. Many an Eldar was obliterated by indiscriminate artillery strikes, for not only had the paranoid Imperium established pre-sighted bombardment zones of their own cities, they were more than willing to bring down entire hab-blocks regardless of whether their own forces were in the line of fire.
Likewise in the void above, the elegant Aeldari fleet found itself struggling to survive the unrelenting waves of fire hurled their way by the Imperial Navy. Though the element of surprise had enabled the Aeldari to destroy the heavy guns of the orbital stations floating above Port Demesnus, they had not been able to halt calls for aid ringing out across the sector. Dozens of Imperial warships of every size and class now formed an imposing line of battle, seeking to pin down their elusive foes. While the vastness of space meant it was simple in theory for the agile Void Stalker cruisers to dodge most shots, their desire to remain near the planet to support their ground forces meant in practice they were substantially confined.
Thus as the hours turned into days, the skies of Port Demesnus were occasionally lit by the detonation of starships. Theirs was a low-intensity, protracted war of maneuver as the mismatched Imperium struggled to catch their foes just as their comrades did below in the vicious street-fighting still wracking the Hives. However, time itself was not on the side of the Eldar, for with each passing moment came the risk of additional Imperial reinforcements showing up. However, despite their mounting disadvantage, the Aeldari gave no thought to retreating, for they had not been ordered to. Many still believed that the battle was far from over, utterly convinced in their hubris that they were so far above the Mon-Keigh as to render defeat an impossibility.
Disunity too proved to be a shortcoming for the Aeldari. Recognizing how ineffective their battle-psykers fared against the Craftworlders, the Imperium soon redeployed them against the Scions of the Dark City. The psychic potentials of the Dark Eldar were shriveled from disuse, and as such they had little defense against the Warp. Despite a great number of Kabalites being killed in rapid succession, their proud Archon gave no thought to calling upon his ally for aid, and thus his forces paid the price. Likewise, the Drukhari and Corsair fleets refused to coordinate with the Craftworlders, rejecting any notion of organized resistance. Thus the naval battle was more akin to a melee between four separate fleets rather than a conventional engagement.
Scene Three: The Crystal Sands of Coheria
Though none knew it yet, the end of this struggle was rapidly approaching. Located but a few dozen light-years away, the Fortress World of Talasa Prime was one of the first worlds to receive the distress calls emanating from Port Demesnus. Home to one of the largest Inquisition bases in the entire Imperium, Talasa Prime was the heart of Ordo Xenos operations in the Eastern Fringe. No less than five Watch Companies of the legendary Deathwatch called it home, hundreds of Astartes from all the Nine Loyal Legions. For thousands of years, the legionaries stationed there have protected half a dozen sectors against all manner of horrific xenos. As such, they were quick to respond when the news of an unprovoked Aeldari attack reached them.
How exactly the Watch Fortress of Talasa Prime had learned of this assault, so many light years away, when other worlds located closer had not, was something of a mystery, even to the forces dispatched to Port Demesnus. With Warp travel as turbulent as ever, it seemed only a mundane method of communication could have served in place of an Astropathic communique. However, the concept of questioning the reason for their mission did not occur to Captain Artemis, Commander of Watch Company Tertius. Hailing from the Mortifactors Chapter of the Death Guard's Fourth Great Company, Artemis was a typical Son of Barbarus, and lacked the temperament to question his orders. Even had he been more inquisitive,he knew full well that the Deathwatch held many ancient relics in their vaults, some dating back to the ancient past of the Dark Age of Technology.
As such, it was in dour silence that he received his orders from Watch Master Slyfer, the venerable Son of Horus who served as the Executive Officer for the Watch Station above Talasa Prime. Captain Artemis was quick to gather his forces, a diverse assortment of multiple Kill Teams hailing from all nine legions. Slicing through the tides of the Warp aboard their ancient kill-ship, it was not long before they entered the outskirts of their target system, where it quickly became clear they had arrived at the correct location. The vox-nets of the system were filled with chatter, from panicked calls for aid to screams broadcast by Drukhari saboteurs.
Sifting the data through cogitators older than the Imperium itself, Captain Artemis quickly discerned something was amiss. How the xenos had arrived was obvious to the Alienhunters, if not the authorities of Port Demesnus, for the existence of the Webway and its many Gates had long been known to the Deathwatch. What wasn't clear was why the xenos had chosen Port Demesnus as their target in the first place. No Craftworlds or Maiden Worlds were located nearby, But Artemis was well aware of the Eldar's reputation for being capricious and illogical, acting in ways that only became clear after the fact.
Thus when auspex scans picked up unusual activity upon Port Demesnus's supposedly-lifeless moon, Artemis realized something else was afoot. Unknown to the Deathwatch or any other Imperial forces, this backwater system was more important than any could possibly imagine. Over ten thousand years ago, at the height of the Aeldari Dominion when the Fall consumed their empire in one fell swoop, a great psionic backlash washed across the galaxy. The birth-cry of Slaanesh, the Chaos God of Excess born from the collective depravity of the Children of the Stars, sung out across ancient scars, creating the vortex known as the Eye of Terror. The tides of the Immaterium were carried far and wide by Warp Storms across the entirety of the galaxy, progressively weakening as they crossed tens of thousands of light years.
The Warp Tumult gradually petered out over the course of centuries, leaving most worlds to deal with the aftermath of being drenched in Immaterial power. The moon of Coheria was one such location, every grain of its desert sands now imbued with crystalized psychic power. With the Aeldari Dominion now destroyed, Coheria became one backwater moon among countless millions. When Humanity settled the system in the wake of the Great Crusade, it was deemed worthless, remaining unsettled in favor of the planet it orbited. For thousands of years, no citizen of Port Demesnus ever imagined the moon that filled their night sky was important in the slightest.
Only Eldrad, in the midst of searching the tangled Skeins of Fate, saw Coheria's importance. The future and past were inextricably intertwined for the mighty Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe, and thus as he peered in both directions, Eldrad recognized the chance presented to him. Here at the fringes of the Eye of Terror, Eldrad saw a chance to strike a killing blow at She-Who-Thirsts, to sever the hold upon his race's collective souls. Through a painstakingly-devised ritual, a new deity would be awakened, a Whispering God who would save their race from damnation: Ynnead.
Ynnead
In a galaxy divided by war, one of the few commonalities present in almost every race and culture in the galaxy is the belief in a pantheon of gods, each representing a different aspect of creation. It is all the more remarkable then that the ancient forebears of the Aeldari never did. From the beginning of their creation, they not only knew how they had come to be, but also possessed the ability to reincarnate upon death, thus making the concept of an afterlife practically irrelevant. Thus the fixation upon mortality which grips nearly every other species did not affect the Eldar until much, much later in their species' evolution.
However, despite this, the Eldar still came to believe in a pantheon, putting their immense psychic potentials toward creating gestalt Immaterial entities that protected their race. How this came to be has been lost to the sands of time, millions of years obscuring and transforming the facts of this process into legends. Thus when the Birth of She-Who-Thirsts occurred, that cataclysm where the heart of the Empire was taken from them along with the overwhelming majority of their population, wisdom, and nearly their whole Pantheon, the Eldar were forced to come to terms with the process of creating a new deity.
However, having never come to believe in the finality of death, the Aeldari were at a substantial disadvantage when conceiving of a new afterlife besides the eternal damnation inflicted upon them by the Chaos God-Goddess of Excess. It is no wonder then that those philosophers who speculated on what such an entity may be like came to use the title of 'Ynnead' when described this hypothetical god, an appellation that becomes laughably simplistic when one learns that the runes making up its name literally mean 'death'. The stark differences become especially apparent when compared, for example, to the complex system of beliefs and mythology that grew organically around another Eldar deity such as Khaela Mensha Khaine.
Nor can further theories develop when the entire concept of crafting a new deity has become utterly taboo to the Children of the Stars. After all, the birth of Slaanesh is perhaps the biggest warning and obstacle to any who would think about bringing another god into existence. Being that Ynnead would be a god of death, some have speculated it would require no less than the death of all Eldar to create this deity. As such, Eldrad has kept his true intentions hidden from all save the true believers and fellow travelers he has managed to bring around to his way of thinking, for if others knew his true aim, they would surely see his endeavors as dangerous folly at best or a catastrophe on par with the birth of She-Who-Thirsts waiting to happen.
Compared to the dense hive clusters and manufactoria that covered nearly every square kilometer of Port Demesnus, the moon of Coheria was beyond barren. Its white crystal-sand deserts held no value to the Mechanicus explorator-fleets who discovered the moon long ago, and it had remained desolate ever since. Thus no anti-air batteries lit up the sky as the Aeldari dropships coasted in for a quiet landing. They were typical Craftworlder vessels, sleek Vampire Raiders whose agility was excessive even for the famously-maneuverable craft that the Children of the Stars were known for.
As the aircraft came to a smooth stop, hovering mere inches above the dusty surface, the back hatches opened with a whisper, disgorging Farseer Eldrad along with an entire troupe of Harlequins. The favored of the Laughing God cartwheeled about the dusty plains, taking their preordained positions with a flourish. Though their arrival had been hidden, the import of their objective obscured the Skeins of Fate to a degree that it made it impossible to say when they would come under attack, if ever. Thus each and every Harlequin was equipped with a domino field, an esoteric piece of equipment unimaginably ancient that could refract light in such a way as to become a prismatic blur, a pool of black shadow, or even completely invisible.
Eldrad Ulthran had no such defenses, and thus as he walked around the plains toward his ordained position, he appeared to be utterly alone. Above him, the thin atmosphere was briefly lit up as the Raider's pulse lasers spat a short burst into the ground, gouging out a precise series of craters in the shape of runes in a pattern most ancient. The dropship circled around, depositing with a resounding series of thuds the statues of the Crystal Seers in between the markings. The venerable Farseer took his place in the center of the circle, surrounded by his invisible Harlequins who snickered at jokes known only to them. As Eldrad began the ritual, thick mists began to rise up from the desert sands as the psychoactive crystals reacted to the intense power resonating through them, an Infinity Circuit on a planetary scale that channeled the energy into the ground and from there across the entire moon.
In the void overhead, the menacing shape of the Deathwatch kill-ship hung menacingly as it moved into position above the ritual site. From its cavernous hangars descended a Corvus Blackstar, a sleek Inquisition dropship utilized only by the military of the Ordo Xenos, flanked by two Stormravens. Inside was Captain Artemis, growling out orders to his battle brothers of the Deathwatch as the ships descended through the thin atmosphere. The site had been easy enough to spot, for sudden clouds on a lifeless moon were out of the ordinary. No doubt the Eldar had expected any reinforcements to focus upon Port Demesnus itself, still suffering immensely at the invaders' hands.
However, the men of the Deathwatch knew their foes all too well. The Ordo Xenos knew there were no such thing as coincidences when it came to the enigmatic Aeldari, and thus with grim purpose they ignored the pitiful cries for aid emanating from the planet in favor of Coheria. Down and down the three ships dropped like a rock, the Astartes inside silent as even their most advanced equipment aboard the Blackstar failed to penetrate the dense psychic fog below. It was eerily calm, quiet save howl of the wind as the dropships plummeted downward like arrows.
As the Deathwatch vessels neared the ground, their forward-mounted assault cannons spooled up, letting loose a rippling barrage of covering fire that zipped through the haze. However, no cries of agony rewarded this salvo, and so the disappointed pilots set the craft down just outside the fog. The Kill Team gathered in the shelter of their aircraft, cautiously peering out as though they expected an attack to come at any second. However, when none seemed incoming, the Astartes crept forth from their positions, heads on a swivel. Artemis barked out a command to advance, and as one, the Kill Team entered the fog.
As the Deathwatch Kill-Team advanced, they quickly began to separate, fanning out in the hopes one of them would stumble upon the source of the fog. Almost instinctively they had split into pairs, covering each other's backs while at the same time dispersed enough to avoid being taken out in one blast. Outside, the Astartes chosen to remain behind with the aircraft remained alert, their systems struggling to track their brothers. Neither their superhuman senses nor relic wargear could penetrate the dense psychic mists that seemed impervious to every scan.
I thought we knew our foes. Fifty-seven years of service to the Deathwatch had taught me more than I had ever wished to know about filthy xenos from every breed. Aside from orks, no race had more written about them than the Eldar. Even some of our technology was derived from them, according to rumor at least. What other race could've yielded the basis for a relic like the Gellar Helm, that modified psychic hood that seemed to draw my eyes as it sat poking out from Epistolary Rengard's helmet?
Maybe it was that very reason we didn't see them coming. After all, what good is a device to sense the witch when the very mist surrounding us was charged beyond anything any of us had ever seen? Spectrographic analysis showed the sandy crystals to be positively humming with necromantic Warp energy, surging in unbelievable concentrated waves that set the banks of mist rippling. We all knew the xenos themselves were doing it, but we weren't ready. By the Emperor, we weren't ready.
-Personal Log of Captain Artemis, M41
Scene Four: To Awaken a Deity
The first set of attacks were completely silent, the telltale hints of typical Aeldari weapons completely absent. Rather than the sigh of monomolecular blades slicing through the fog, a shrieking whine echoed out from seemingly everywhere at once. The first Astartes struck by the strange shuriken rounds stopped instantly, clutching feebly at the wound before exploding in a cloud of viscera and gore. Others fell to their knees, a smoking hole where their organs used to be. Mocking laughter rang out from all around, disappearing underneath the throaty roar of bolter fire as the Deathwatch fired at capering blurs that vanished as soon as they appeared. Within thirty seconds of the attack, nearly a fourth of the Kill-Team had fallen without so much as a casualty in return, for the Eldar were in their element.
The Harlequins had come to perform their roles in the day's drama. Where the rest of the Eldar carried out the assault on Port Demesnus in deadly seriousness, the scions of Cegorach had remained in the wings, protecting Eldrad until the time came to take their place on stage. Where the Farseer had been uncertain whether an attack would come, the Harlequins knew that the grand drama of this grand spectacle would require suitable villains to face. The brutish Mon-Keigh could never be expected to leave well enough alone; thus the Harlequins had dispersed throughout the cloud of mist, ready to meet any attack no matter where it came from.
In truth, this momentous occasion had been long anticipated by the Harlequins. Deep within the Webway, in the hidden Craftworld-realm known as the Black Library, a single book of unparalleled wisdom existed. This was the so-called Crystal Tome of Cegorach, said to have always been there and yet only just recovered from the lifeless ruins of the Maiden World Duriel. According to its gem-like pages, warnings of the Rhana Dandra, the fabled final battle at the end of time, were replete. Yet a single mote of hope existed amidst the prophecies of doom: Cegorach's ultimate jest, that would turn the power of She-Who-Thirsts against itself, to save the Aeldari rather than destroy them.
Thus where Eldrad and the Craftworlders were deadly serious, the members of the Masque of the Midnight Sorrow were filled with joy. The Farseer's plan, a scheme of breathtaking audacity, had lit the spark of hope in their hearts, a lure too tempting to dismiss. Even in the midst of battle the Harlequins laughed with glee, capering about the incensed Astartes who struggled to catch them. Their reaction times were almost beyond comprehension: even Space Marines could do little more than turn to face their death as it approached.
Though a select few rode dagger-like jetbikes, zooming through the mists without a hint of fear, most Harlequins opted for the thrill of melee combat. In elaborate dances and cartwheels they closed in their enemies, unleashing their deadly wrist-mounted weapons. Faster than even the superhuman Astartes could react, the scions of Cegorach plunged the barrels of their Harlequin's Embrace into the joints in their foes' armor. In a split-second, clouds made up of a hundred meters of monofilament wire wrapped around the ceramite-clad giants before retracting just as swiftly, spectacularly slicing veterans of countless battles into tiny chunks of gore in a perfectly-choreographed display.
Faced with such blinding speed, it was all the Deathwatch could do to simply stay alive. Baseline humans would have died without so much as seeing these foes, and in many cases even Astartes could barely dodge, let alone strike back. Most would have turned to flee, to be cut down as they attempted to run. However, the Deathwatch were Astartes, and they knew no fear. Fighting in pairs allowed one Space Marine to avenge their fallen brother who had just been slain, felling a Harlequin here and there as they attempted to escape back into the mist. Back at the landing site, the automated guns of the dropships unleashed a withering fusillade into the few xenos foolish enough to assault them.
"EVEN IN DEATH I STILL SERVE!" The booming voice of Brother Nihilus echoed above the clamor of battle. The Dreadnought towered above his foes, wrist mounted storm bolter thumping as it attempted to bring down the passing jetbikes that tormented him like bees attempting to slay a bear. The ancient warrior was the center of the Deathwatch's efforts, his thick armor all but impervious to the shuriken and laser fire that sought vainly to bring the juggernaut down.
In his shadow, half a dozen veterans parried and swung at the capering Harlequins that sought to pierce the walker's weak points. Power swords and lightning claws crackled as they swept through the prismatic holofields of Harlequins who dodged with seemingly minimal amounts of effort. At their head was a skull-masked Death Jester, whose scythe lopped off entire limbs with every strike. Inriam's Spectre was his name, an ancient foe sworn to oppose Chaos above all else, and his cries of mirth and sorrow unnerved his foes.
With the Death Jester pressing the attack, the Deathwatch were forced to yield ground, falling back out of the mists as they attempted to regroup. Despite their best efforts, they had been unable to break through, and as the Kill Team mustered around their transports, they recognized their efforts had seemingly been for nought. All around, cruel laughter echoed as the Harlequins closed in. Yet not all the Deathwatch were present: where was Captain Artemis?
At the center of the ritual site, Eldrad gasped as surges of power rippled through him. Everything was proceeding as planned, the blessings of a nascent deity transforming the crystal sands of Coheria into crystalline spires. A constellation of runes hovered around the Farseer, channeling his might across the Material and Immaterial realms. All but the slightest fraction of his attention was wrapped up in this, perhaps the greatest endeavor undertaken by an Eldar in the past twelve thousand years. Thus it was only by the slimmest margins that Eldrad was able to bend back far enough to dodge the molten sun that nearly removed his head from his body.
As it was, his helmet was reduced to slag, the ancient psychic circuitry of his Ghosthelm no match for the searing plasma bolt that had struck it. His faceplate now gone, Eldrad opened his eyes for what felt like the first time in a lifetime, gazing directly upon the bloodied and battered Captain Artemis. The Mortifactor was a mess, a trail of blood leading back to the mangled bodies of three Harlequins who attempted to bar his path. His bionic arm was clenched tightly to a plasma pistol, which still smoked from the shot which should have killed the Aeldari Farseer just as it had all others. At his side stood Epistolary Rengard, no less wounded.
Yet where other Eldar would have sneered, Eldrad merely looked with pity upon the pair. The Immaterial force, nearly too much for him, was clearly crushing the Astartes. Both Artemis and Rengard's noses bled from the mental strain, struggling to maintain their focus as the voices of the dead whispered with ever-greater intensity. The Alpha Legionary's Gellar Helm looked nearly as ruined as Eldrad's Ghosthelm, splintered from the sheer weight of the psychic forces weighing down upon it. With a voice resonant with Immaterial force, the Farseer implored them to stand down, for his actions taken this day against She-Who-Thirsts would benefit Mankind just as much as it would the Aeldari.
"Please, Rengard. Your legion and I share a common past. Alpharius would not approve of your actions this day." Eldrad all but begged, his voice taut with the strain of maintaining both the Ritual of Awakening and a kine-shield. Only his prodigious psychic talent protected him from being overwhelmed by the tides of the Immaterium and the uncaring bolter rounds sent his way by the Astartes before him.
"Silence, xenos!" Rengard spat. "Keep my Primarch's name out of your lying mouth." The librarian's face was a bloody mess, the psychic strain of attempting to undo Eldrad's work taking a heavy toll on his physique. Artemis fared little better, his Death Guard-derived stubborn constitution being all that kept him on his feet. The ground around them was like that of a sun, the sands superheated to solid crystal from the energies coursing through them.
Around them, the statues of the Crystal Seers glowed like supernovas, bright lights that cast odd shadows around the ritual site. Runes of Power swirled around the circle, channeling truly insane amounts of energy. With a groan, a bolt of pure Death rippled out, striking Rengard squarely in the chest. What few defenses he had left were instantly overloaded, shattering with explosive force that surely would've mortally wounded the Librarian had he not already been dead, his body instantly aging centuries.
Eldrad grimaced at the gruesome fate of his foe, recognizing that the Alpha Legionary had been his last chance to convince the remaining Astartes. Upon witnessing his comrade's death, Artemis's expression had become one of purest hatred, utterly determined to kill the xenos no doubt from a sense of duty and spite both. However, it was far too late for that. With a sigh, reality split, a minor reflection of the unthinkable tumult filling the Warp around Coheria. Across the sector, psykers screamed and babbled as the Immaterium roiled, driven utterly mad by what was unfolding.
Amidst a dreamless sleep, in a layer of unreality far deeper than the portions of the Warp claimed by the Ruinous Powers, a deity stirred. Full consciousness was denied him, for the time was not yet ripe, but it was a start. A god of death, whose name was merely a description of his nature, surged up through the layers of insanity, small splinters of its true power seeping into the Sea of Souls and beyond as it surged toward the Materium. Ynnead was not truly awake, not truly manifested in the same way as the other Aeldari Pantheon had once been, but even this minute theophany was far greater than any daemon, and certainly more powerful than it otherwise might have been if the Deathwatch had been able to fully interrupt the ritual.
With a sigh, reality was sundered. A macabre entity began to take shape, a numinous being of ethereal crystal that was almost wraithbone yet somehow more. Its form was surrounded by the ghostly souls of Aeldari who had died eons before the Fall, whispering as they entered a reality they had long since departed. Its form was unmistakably Aeldari, yet far, far more, eerily reminiscent of the daemons sworn to She-Who-Thirsts though different in subtle yet unmistakable ways. Artemis gazed up at the apparition manifesting before him, a snarl of hatred upon his lips at the xenos deity. With sightless, closed eyes, the crystalline entity beheld the Deathwatch Captain for a brief moment, before turning to behold Eldrad.
The being raised its arms, pointing one at each of the mortals that stood before it. Identical bolts of pure violet energy leapt forth from its fingertips, striking Artemis and Eldrad squarely in the chest. Yet the effects were entirely different. Artemis was slain instantly, his rugged constitution and ancient armor no proof at all against the deadly power that struck him down with contemptuous ease. The fulgurous blast that struck Eldrad seemed no less fatal, the venerable Farseer slumping to the ground. His Runes of Power began to sunder one by one, overloaded in a series of crackling pops. As the last one disintegrated, so too did the manifestation, vanishing from the surface of Coheria along with Eldrad's body.
All at once, the mists which had cloaked the ritual site dissolved, pulled into the Immaterium in a ghostly howl. Uncertain of what had occurred, the surviving Harlequins began to bolt for their transport. All could tell something momentous had occurred, yet to know the grande finale of their play had occurred did not matter if they didn't survive to see it. Coheria itself began to rumble, the energies that had once coursed through it torn from the Materium just as surely as the mists had been. Great rents in the ground began to open, the lifeless bodies of the Kill Team falling into the depths.
As the Harlequins' transports vanished from reality into the Webway Gate, so too did Coheria itself cease to exist. Bereft of the latent psychic energies that had suffused it for so long, the moon simply imploded, disintegrating into dust and echoes. Even the lightning-fast engines of the Corvus Blackstar struggled to escape the surface as the bodies of the slain Astartes were left to tumble into the abyss as the moon crumbled. At the sight of such destruction, the rest of the Eldar recognized their pressing need to escape. Hundreds of precious lives had already been lost, a heavy burden to bear when none could say whether Eldrad's gambit had succeeded. Thus they began to fall back, their inherent agility allowing them to extricate themselves from even the most intense firefights with efficient grace.
Even while the Biel-Tani returned to their ships, the Corsairs were already leaving the system. Prince Yriel was disconsolate, beyond morose at the seeming failure of the Farseer to achieve anything of substance. The Eldritch Raiders were fiercely independent at the best of times, and thus without a common cause, Yriel had found it impossible to refuse their demands to fall back. As they entered the Webway, none noticed small crystals beginning to grow in the corners of their ships. Across the fleet, the wraithbone that formed the structure of their ships had begun to twist and grow, its composition subtly altering in ways that would not become fully apparent for many weeks to come.
In the end, only the Drukhari seemed to enjoy the grand spectacle of Port Demesnus. Where the Craftworlders and Corsairs mourned their dead and agonized over the future, the Dark Eldar were alive with the misery of those they had preyed upon. Tens of thousands of the citizens of Port Demesnus now filled the holds of the Drukhari fleet. Though they were already suffering, they would know true pain in the depths of Commorragh. As the fleet entered the Dark City, the Archon of the Kabal of the Silent Scream made his way to a designated meeting spot.
Sinking to one knee, Archon Yrdrach reported the events of Port Demesnus to an audience of one. From atop a towering dais, Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect favored his minion with a bloodchilling smile. Eldrad's foolish scheme to create a new deity had seemingly come to naught. Vect dismissed his agent with a wave of his hand, maintaining a fearsome stare that hid a growing sense of unease whose cause was familiar to anyone who had spent any length of time in the Dark City. After all, to make sure an enemy was dead, you needed to see their broken body before you. Where, then, was the corpse of Eldrad Ulthran?
A/N: So begins the next entry in this grimdark universe. The Times of Ending continue their march as we move from the decimation of the Space Wolves to the story of, as you might guess from the name, the Eldar. Despite its length, this story was among the most difficult I've written, as it had to both tell a compelling narrative as well as set the stage for the events to come. The canon version of these events was deeply unsatisfying, as it comes out of nowhere, has many plotholes, and ends with the Eldar losing for no other reason than they're facing Space Marines.
Well not here. The Eldar are the epitome of a glass cannon, frail but almost unstoppable when they're in their element. Their seers let them be ten steps ahead of their foes, and while they are not invincible, they should realistically win a lot more than they do in canon. The Harlequins are all this and more, unbelievably agile and deadly even compared to other Eldar, and with good reason I have seen people compare them to the Custodes. Thus the Deathwatch, rather than being equal for the sake of the plot, are utterly outmatched, slaughtered to nearly the last man as they attempt to meet the Harlequins.
With such defenders by his side, it is no wonder Eldrad was able to succeed in (at least partially) awakening Ynnead. How this process might be completed, or the true ramifications of such an action, remain to be seen though. After all, the last deity created by the Aeldari was far from kind, and a being of pure death may not be the savior everyone was hoping for. Speaking of death, next month we shall be turning our attention to the Eladrith Ynneas, the Dark Eldar who were somewhat overshadowed by the Harlequins in this tale. The story of Ynnead shall continue in Act Two, coming next month in what will be this story's two year anniversary, so be on the lookout for that.
As always, please continue to leave comments, thoughts, suggestions, things you did and didn't like, as I love to read them. Thank you to all my readers. Sharrowkyn, out.