Rise of the Ynnari:
Act Four: The God-Shard Cometh
"In summation, the possibility of our race uniting once more, while unlikely, remains a fascinating subject. Though I am but a humble artisan of flesh, I am nonetheless interested in the implications of such a reunion. Our departed forebears were obsessed with how they could and should modify their corporeal forms, twisting and changing their bodies in an attempt to negate a civilizational and racial ennui born from millions of years of reincarnation. In this they were not too dissimilar to the current philosophical milieu of Commorragh today, who unthinkingly inflict atrocities with no more understanding of why they do it beyond base gratification.
"However, our forebears were not a monolith in their thought processes. If we were designed by gods, either by our Pantheon or by some older race as our hidebound Craftworld cousins claim, who is to say which, if any, of our cultural and physical modifications are in tune with the will of creators that are no longer there? Thus to overcome their baser instincts, the forerunners of those who call themselves Asuryani sought to modify their spirits, encasing themselves in so much self-abnegation and mental constraints that a Commorrite would die of boredom. Of course, they would contend that the endless cycles of violence which haunt our Dark City are themselves a type of constraint…
"Regardless, it seems to me that both methods are intensely self-focused. Oh sure, there remains a vague dedication to a higher cause, be it kabal or Craftworld or coven or Path, but on the whole, it remains on the level of the material, for none of us dare to look too deeply into the Empyrean lest we find something staring back. Only the Harlequins come close to serving a higher power, if you believe their claims that their god escaped the clutches of She-Who-Thirsts. I suppose what I am trying to make you imagine, my slow-witted haemoxytes (for any haemonculi worth the name must have an active imagination), is this One. Simple. Thing. The ancients created a dominion that mastered entire realms for millions of years. What if the major contributing factor to their power was their service to a higher cause?"
- Master Haemonculus Bellathonis, formerly of the Coven of the Black Descent
Prologue:
The Warp seethed, an endless ocean of madness whose depths had never and could never truly be plumbed. Strands of sentient emotion swirled in between tempests of malice and insanity, constantly warring for dominance. The attention of the Dark Gods of Chaos remained fixed, as ever, upon each other, always seeking to win their Great Game. However recently, though the concept of time had no relevance whatsoever here, their Game appeared to be drawing near to an end. New players were beginning to come to the table, potentates of uncertain provenance joining older powers that jealously looked to these latecomers.
At the heart of the Palace of Pleasure, the grand alcazar home to Excess Personified, the Dark Prince brooded upon its seat. Some of her favored playthings, the mortals known as the Aeldari, had found themselves a new patron. Even now, some of them had threatened to wiggle out from betwixt her metaphorical clenched fist to pledge themselves to Ynnead, unborn god of the dead. The Whispering God was not truly 'real' in the way Slaanesh itself was, not yet anyway, but already the Warp had begun to shift, currents of Death now twisting and transforming the energies of Excess and Slaughter and Fate into those of Entropy already bent to its own ends. Ynnead's efforts had already borne fruit, his mortal champions drawing dangerously close to obtaining all five Croneswords, those severed fingers of dear departed Morai-Heg whose essence now resided within Slaanesh alongside nearly all the Aeldari pantheon.
Of course, even in the Warp, such actions were bound to have an opposite reaction, though the realm of madness meant that it need not be equal. Upon the Bridge of Fools, where the Dark Prince's Realm met the Land of the Plaguelord, two Primordial Annihilators met and formed a compact. The Master of Entropy was no more pleased than the Prince of Pleasure that the Ynnari sought to escape death through rebirth, their very philosophy seeming to him no more than a twisting of his own twisted mindset. Thus an accord was struck, a temporary and partial truce that saw certain of the armies of Chaos removed and sent to different fronts for the nonce in accordance with the quixotic whims of their masters.
Upon the Satin Throne, the Prince of Delight fixed its jealous attention crafting a new plaything. The Plaguefather had given to him a most powerful gift, a distillation of death and despair formed from the moment that the highest and most sublime of hopes is crushed utterly. The Serpent poured out its jealousy, its desire for supremacy, and the desire of desires to crush and belittle, forming a new Keeper of Secrets whose thirst, like hers, would never be sated. A shard of emotion was then torn out painfully (for the Prince of Pleasure never relinquished anything willingly) and was placed within, giving this new creation its purpose, its raison d'etre: to Hunt.
Thus came to be Shalaxi Helbane, an unliving embodiment of Slaanesh's desire to feud with the other entities of the Warp and to cast them down. The Immaterium twisted once more, the latest in an endless stream of fluctuations as the Helbane began its task of hunting down and destroying the champions of other deities across time and space and madness. And now that Shalaxi existed, it always existed…
Scene One: The Realm of the Damned
Through the howling vortex of the Warp, a bridge of stars shone. Corralled by the fearsome psychic prowess of Farseer Eldrad Ulthran, swirling energies of death anathema to Chaos formed a protective passage that allowed the Ynnari to depart the crumbling Biel-Tan. Though their souls shone brightly, no daemons dared approach lest they be utterly annihilated by the concentrated necrotic energies. Their passage rippled across the Immaterium, sending hundreds of human vessels careening off-course as their Navigator pilots instinctually steered away from the dark bolt. Thousands, nay, hundreds of thousands of Mon-keigh lives would be lost as a result, but even had the Eldar known, they would hardly have cared, for theirs was a mission of utmost importance.
Guided by the emotional resonance that persisted even through death, the hyperspatial link led the Ynnari across tens of thousands of light years in a matter of hours. The crumbling ruins of Biel-Tan were left far behind, their bridge of stars taking them from what the Mon-Keigh call Ultima Segmentum into Segmentum Obscurus. Their destination was Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwe, or Ulthwe for short, one of the oldest and most venerable of Craftworlds. Where other world-ships roamed the galaxy, Ulthwe had been trapped by fate, eternally linked to the Eye of Terror, the colossal Warp rift that gave Segmentum Obscurus its name. During the terror of the Fall, it was the last vessel to escape the hungry maw of She-Who-Thirsts, just barely escaping, though not totally, from being pulled in and devoured by the gravebirth of Slaanesh.
Since then, Ulthwe has orbited the Eye of Terror. Its people remain constantly vigilant for the taint of Chaos, renowned for their powerful Seers who scry the skeins of fate to determine the best methods of safeguarding the dwindling numbers of their race. It is from their ranks that Eldrad Ulthran hailed, having been raised upon the Craftworld and once called it home, though his late return was sure to be in far different circumstances than his departure. The Ynnari knew better than to expect a warm welcome: before leaving for Coheria, Eldrad had taken the Crystal Seers that gave the Dome at the heart of Ulthwe its name. This was an act that, while technically sanctioned, had nonetheless met with stiff resistance from the Council of Seers, who were loath to see their sacred forebears taken for use in an experiment.
As expected, the bridge of stars emerged into the heart of the Dome. Such an intrusion came as no surprise to the Farseers who dwelt there, who had begun to receive visions of their arrival from the moment of Eldrad's rebirth. The Ynnari poured out into reality, an endless stream of refugees interspersed with warriors mixed with the occasional band of Drukhari or Corsairs,. Above them, the assembled Seers of Ulthwe gazed down upon them, their faces hidden by impassive ghost-helms. When at last the bridge of stars snapped shut behind them, heavily-armored black guardians, those doughty reservists who made up the bulk of Ulthwe's armed forces, began to escort the crowds of Ynnari beyond the council chambers toward places prepared for them out of the way.
Soon enough, only the leaders of the Ynnari remained. The dubious results of Coheria, where Eldrad had attempted to awaken Ynnead, had only hardened the attitude of the Seer Council towards the Prophet, and soon enough, accusations and recriminations began to be hurled. Tensions flared as the Farseers sought to hold the Ynnari responsible for the Fracture of Biel-Tan, that catastrophe that had sundered one of the largest and most powerful Craftworlds when Yvraine had removed a mighty Cronesword from the heart of its Infinity Circuit. Their reckless actions had led to the deaths of thousands of Eldar, seemingly-little result in exchange for great cost. Already the skeins of fate had become more jumbled than at any time since the Fall, a most threatening state of affairs for a people as perilously-close to destruction as those of Ulthwe.
Only the presence of the mighty Phoenix Lord Jain Zar amongst the Ynnari prevented unnecessary bloodshed that day. Though she spoke but few words, her august presence made the Seer Council willing to hear their side of things. More sympathy was gained when they learned that Biel-Tan had dared to imprison a citizen of Ulthwe, even one such as Eldrad, and by the time they had finished speaking, an uneasy truce had been established. Those that followed the Path of the Warrior were welcomed into the ranks of Ulthwe's military, where the former Swordwind members would no doubt be invaluable in defense of their hosts. Having secured the safety of the nascent movement, Jain Zar departed Ulthwe, off to protect the Aeldari elsewhere.
Weeks passed and the Ynnari began to settle down on Ulthwe. Despite their new allegiance, most Ynnari were little more than nominal followers of Ynnead, for there was little knowledge of the Whispering God to be had. This ignorance was maintained by keeping Yvraine and her inner circle sequestered, to stop them from preaching amongst the people. Though they possessed antipathy toward the Ynnari's leaders, the Seers of Ulthwe were nothing if not practical. To turn away so many Eldar when they had nowhere else to go would be a loss their race could ill afford. Ulthwe had more than enough room to house the newcomers, for the continent-sized Craftworlds were designed to safeguard and house far more members of their race than had actually escaped the tumult of the Fall.
It was nigh on three months before the Seer Council called the Herald of Ynnead before them once more. Patient as the grave, Yvraine had spent most of her days consulting with Eldrad and the Visarch, planning their next moves. It was clear something momentous was needed to change the attitudes of Ulthwe's leadership from mere tolerance to acceptance. Thus when she was brought before the Seer Council once more, the Thanatiphoros was ready. It was clear to the Seer Council that fate had brought the Ynnari into being, though for what ultimate purpose they could not say, and to oppose them at this stage would be to invite disaster. Yvraine concurred with them, and though she did not give any sort of grandiose speech, she did inform the Council that she was prepared to prove the truth of Ynnead by performing a miracle: the recovery of a Cronesword.
These mighty blades, carved from the fingerbones of the deceased Aeldari goddess Morai-Heg, the keeper of souls and weaver of prophecy, were at the heart of the oracles surrounding the god of death. In the legends, Ynnead was said to be the posthumous child of the Crone goddess and Kaela Mensha Khaine, god of murder, and should the son of death ever wield the hand of his mother that had been severed by his father, he would gain dominion over life and death itself. What precisely that meant was unknown to the Ynnari or indeed any mortals, but already two of the swords had been discovered and reclaimed, currently wielded by Yvraine, Herald of Ynnead, and the Visarch, her redoubtable bodyguard. Now the time had come to reclaim the third blade of death, and it seemed that fate had ordained no less a legend than another of the High-Priests of Khaine, the dread Maugan Ra.
Maugan Ra
The being known as Maugan Ra is perhaps the most feared of the Phoenix Lords aside from the lost Father of the Scorpions Arhra, and with good reason. Like the rest of his brethren, his appellation is more of a title than a name, one that literally means 'Harvester of Souls' in every dialect of Aeldari. Uniquely among the Phoenix Lords, Maugan Ra has never died, perhaps due to his method of war. His talent revolves around dealing death from afar, a grim and merciless warrior bedecked in osseous armor, though none have dared to ask him whether it is actually made from or merely shaped into Aeldari bones. His Aspect temple is the Dark Reapers, skeletal-faced warriors who represent Khaine in the Aspect of the Destroyer. Their accuracy is unshakable, though this single-minded focus leads them to be less mobile than other temples.
From the shadows came the Reaper, as grim and stoic a figure as ever did walk the halls of Ulthwe. For many millennia, Maugan Ra had haunted the fringes of the Eye of Terror, leading countless expeditions to recover spirit-stones, for these precious gems that safeguarded Aeldari souls after death could only be recovered from the Crone Worlds that lay at the heart of the gravebirth. It was said the Phoenix Lord had his own purpose for leading these perilous quests, for each time saw him disappear for the majority of the expedition, returning only at the end to guide his people back out. His impending arrival had been whispered to Yvraine in her dreams, and so too was his purpose known before he said so much as a word, for there were none so skilled at navigating the Eye of Terror as Maugan Ra.
The Ynnari gratefully accepted the aid of one of the Fate-Given-Form, and so led by the dauntless Phoenix Lord, the Ynnari prepared to depart Ulthwe. The Seer Council had become more conciliatory after Maugan Ra's arrival, for it seemed they would not dare to overtly oppose the will of two of Khaine's High Priests. This lessening of hostility was immediately seen for the opportunity it was, and so the Triumvirate of Ynnead was to separate in order to take advantage of it. Only Yvraine and the Visarch would accompany Maugan Ra into the Eye; the rest of the Ynnari would remain upon Ulthwe. There was no need to risk the entirety of their movement, especially considering their ranks now included many civilians taken from Biel-Tan.
In addition, this would allow the Ynnari to be ready for the return of the Lanathrialle, Yvraine's starship which had been left behind on ruined Biel-Tan after its leaders departed on the Bridge of Stars. Until it arrived, Eldrad would remain upon Ulthwe. The Prophet knew now was his chance to spread their message without bloodshed, for he still had allies on the Craftworld that had expressed interest in his message and might come to believe in the Whispering God. It would be his influence that would allow the message of Ynnead to take root amongst his people and upon Ulthwe itself, and from there, spread to other Craftworlds. Thus Eldrad watched as the other two members of the Triumvirate departed, vanishing into the Webway in pursuit of Maugan Ra.
Into the underworld the three Eldar would descend, journeying down pathways known only by the Phoenix Lord. The labyrinthine dimension was far from uniform, especially after the tumult of the Fall, and Yvraine was soon forced to admit they'd be lost without their guide. The gateways used by Maugan Ra seemed closer to teleportation, bringing them instantly from place to place rather than having to walk down than the usual endless misty tunnels. This was no doubt a security measure created by the natural defenses of the Webway, ensuring each portal was open for as little time as possible before snapping shut again to avoid the Warp seeping in.
From terse exchanges, Yvraine and the Visarch learned their destination was the world of Belial IV, a Crone World deep in the heart of the Eye of Terror. Long ago, it had been one of the crown jewels of the Aeldari Dominion, a paradise world the size of a gas giant. Even the Fall had not been enough to sunder the Temple-Palace of Asuryan, a colossal sanctuary dedicated to the chief god of the Aeldari Pantheon that was rumored to house an ancient weapon known as the Deathsword. It now seemed obvious in hindsight that this must surely be one of the Croneswords, to which Maugan Ra grunted his assent when Yvraine eventually voiced the thought out loud.
The journey was uneventful, though tense throughout, and the Ynnari eventually arrived upon the milk-white surface of Belial IV, emerging through a runegate hidden in the basement of a building that had collapsed so thoroughly it was impossible to tell what it once was. Stealth was to be their primary weapon this day, to avoid disturbing whatever foul creatures now called Belial IV home. In the skies above, impossible colors swam in long ribbons as the untrammeled madness of the Eye shone down upon the bleached surface. Indeed, it was almost too bright to behold, blindingly luminescent like a sun shining upon newly-fallen snow, and more than once, the normally-graceful Aeldari had to stop themselves from tripping upon a piece of fallen debris.
After several hours of feeling as clumsy as a greenskin, the Ynnari and their guide came to the outer precincts of the Temple-Palace of Asuryan. As one of the chief god's chief residences, the Temple-Palace was a sprawling affair, dozens of square miles of what had once been a paradise. Now it was little more than a ghost town, the only remnant of its past inhabitants sooty stains upon the walls where bodies had fallen in the moment their souls had been violently torn from within them. There were thousands of them, no doubt left over from refugees who had their souls burnt from within even as they sought the protection of the Phoenix King.
In truth, these had been the lucky ones. During the degenerate days of the Fall, a significant portion of Asuryan's red-robed priesthood had abandoned their patron, pledging their faith to the gestating Slaanesh as they indulged their darkest desires. Unspeakable atrocities had been committed in these once-hallowed halls, though now not even a memory remained. Attuned to the afterlife, Yvraine and her Visarch were surprised to find not even a trace of souls still remained on Belial IV. From what they had heard, many Crone Worlds held a sort of ghostly afterimage, the bitter remains of lone-gone spirits kept in a contorted echo of agony that continually relived their final torments from the dark days of the Fall. Yet this particular Crone World seemed utterly empty of spiritual essence. Not even daemons lurked here, for there was nothing to sustain or interest them. Until now that was…
Scene Two: Deathblade and the Monarch of the Hunt
The painfully-bright exterior eventually gave way to the relief of shadows as the Ynnari and Maugan Ra made their way underground into the inner sanctums of the Temple. Inside, every wall appeared to be covered in bizarre graffiti that thrummed with aetheric power, their true meanings unknown to even the venerable Phoenix Lord. Beneath the desecration, the original art still remained, including masks that seemed to symbolize the various Aeldari gods and goddesses: a burning flame, a bow, a jester's mask, and so on. Every spirit and god from the Aeldari pantheon appeared to be represented. All, that is, save Ynnead.
After descending further into the heart of the complex, the trio entered a side chamber, passing into a crypt through a breach in the walls made from glassy crystal inscribed with warding runes. At the heart of what appeared to be a ruined vault, there they found a scene most strange. At the center of the room, as expected, lay the Deathsword. It was impressive to say the least: the height of a fully-grown man, it was far larger than the other two Croneswords were, both blade and hilt fashioned from the same black crystal. Three gems glowed in it, ensconced amongst complex runes that even Yvraine was unable to read. From the way he lurked just beyond the edge of the room, it was clear there was something incredibly potent about the blade if it provoked such a reaction from Maugan Ra, as though he feared impurity by standing too close.
More confusing were the corpses that lay strewn around its base, not only their appearance but the sheer fact they existed at all. These were not priests of Asuryan as might have been expected; no, these were something different entirely. Yvraine and the Visarch found their eyes drawn to the first two: both were Eldar, one a male clad in the robes of a Farseer from Craftworld Ulthwe and the other wearing the armor of a female Exarch, both dressed in pristine black cloaks lined with white fur trim. Yvraine pulled the bodies aside, discovering they lay atop the corpse of a Mon-Keigh wrapped in an ostentatious red trench cloak. Most confusing of all was a spirit-stone that had been jammed into the human's forehead, though no soul seemed to be contained within the inert crystal.
The last occupant of the room was the strangest of all, an equally-lifeless corpse of a Sai'lanthresh Losseainn, a Chaos Space Marine. Its prodigious bulk filled one of the corners, unnaturally pristine with not a scratch on it. It was clearly dead and had been for some time, though this did not stop Maugan Ra from keeping his weapon aimed at it all the same. The markings upon his shoulder plate informed the Eldar he was of the Emperor's Children, the legion devoted to the primordial annihilator Nurgle. Yet this one was bedecked in symbols of She-Who-Thirsts, his armor garishly-decorated without any sign of rust or decay. All four bodies had their weapons still in their holsters, with no ricochet or burn marks upon the surrounding tiles and no sign of any bullet casings either. It was as though they had been removed from the ranks of the living by a decree from some cruel deity that had decided their continued existence no longer fit its vision.
After the corpses did not react to the sudden arrival of the Ynnari, Yvraine and the Visarch glanced at their guide, who was equally baffled. The Herald of Ynnead stepped gingerly into the room, constantly scanning to make sure there were no traps. There did not seem to be any, or perhaps the previous intruders had set them all off. Whatever the case, nothing happened as Yvraine pulled out the Deathsword from its resting place, handing it to the Visarch to carry in a scabbard upon his back. The bodies remained lifeless as the Ynnari left them behind to return to the surface, retracing their steps back through the winding halls of the Temple-Palace of Asuryan until they stood in the harsh lucidity of Belial IV's surface.
It was only then, as the trio began the journey back to their Webway portal, that things began to go wrong, as if fate were punishing them for how easy their quest had been thus far. This was not the same gateway through which they had entered originally, for Maugan Ra was too wary to use the same path twice. Still though, a lingering sense of dread crept over Yvraine as she walked, and from their tense body language, she could tell her companions felt the same sensation of being watched. Where once they felt the crushing solitude of being the only beings on a world whose people had been devoured to the point nothing remained, now they felt the weight of being hunted. From her time in the arenas, Yvraine could tell they were being watched by an alpha predator. However, no matter where she or her companions turned their razor-sharp Aeldari eyes, there was still no sign of anything whatsoever.
The trap was sprung the moment the trio laid eyes upon their rune-gate. With a throaty thump that seemed deafening amidst the oppressive silence of Belial IV, the Webway Gate collapsed, crushed inward as though trod on by some giant. A sudden squall of sickly-sweet rain began to pour down from a cloudless sky, as though to make their day worse by its very presence. Bone-chilling laughter rang out from everywhere and nowhere, its origins as hidden as the rain was as a tempest of barely-contained energy swept around them with a howl. As the Aeldari leapt backwards, away from the gate, the spot they had been standing in collapsed. Each direction they turned was only followed by the same crushing result as the ruined buildings collapsed in on themselves just as the gate had.
In a sudden shift, the foretaste of danger became the real thing. Maugan Ra tackled Yvraine and the Visarch, knocking all three of them to the ground. As he did so, a swirling spear struck the ground where they had stood a heartbeat before, though 'spear' hardly did the daemonic weapon justice. It was dozens of feet long, its haft black as sin save for the golden rings that enclosed it. At the top was a wickedly-curved spear tip of iron, deceptively-plain save for a singular blue gem at the base of a blade as long as the Visarch was tall. A gloved hand was enclosed around the base of the spear, one of four lilac arms attached to the perfect predator of Eldar: a Keeper of Secrets. The gargantuan daemon leered down at the three Aeldari still sprawled upon the ground, its aura that of a peerless hunter who had herded her prey into a pitfall. It was obvious from her demeanor that she felt completely in control, a circular shield held lazily at her side while two black claws clacked menacingly around an androgynous torso. Its face was partially obscured by an ornate mask whose centerpiece was another turquoise jewel, topped by curved horns and baroque feathers so flamboyant it hurt to behold.
All this the three Aeldari took in during the span of a second, for that's all they had before they were forced to roll aside. The Keeper of Secrets immediately sprang into action, pulling her weapon back before stabbing her colossal spear forward again and again as she attempted to skewer them like fish in a barrel. Such an assault was nothing new for Yvraine or her companions; indeed, it was almost surprising that it had taken this long to be attacked by a daemon of Slaanesh. Yet something felt wrong about this encounter. The monster before them was entirely new to the three, unrecognized even to the studied eyes of Maugan Ra, and every blow stung, even when it sundered a sizable chunk of Belial IV rather than striking them directly.
It was as though the collective grief of the Crone Worlds was pressing in upon them, or at least upon Yvraine. Her companions gave no indication that they felt the weight, though Yvraine had time only for the briefest of glances at her allies. The Keeper of Secrets was blindingly fast, each strike made and withdrawn with quicksilver swiftness, giving Yvraine and the Visarch no chance to parry or riposte, armed as they were only with melee weapons. Maugan Ra fared no better, the few lucky hits from the flurries of shurikens his Maugetar spat bouncing harmlessly from the greater daemon's leathery skin. Though the three Eldar knew it not, for this Keeper of Secrets remained utterly silent in contrast to the lascivious taunting usually shown by its kind, they were to be the victims of Shalaxi Helbane.
The initial flurry of blows suddenly came to a halt as Yvraine and her companions fell back behind a towering wraithbone statue half-buried in the dead ground. Their point of egress now seemed impossibly far, for it was clear that the daemon would strike once more if they attempted to rush for it. The huntress had no doubt returned to its hiding point, ready to ambush them again. It was during this brief interlude, as the Ynnari tried to regain their breath from the intensity of the assault, that Yvraine urged Maugan Ra to take up the inert Deathsword. It was clear, she explained as the Visarch held out the blade to their companion, they would not be able to defeat this foe without its power. Her words were truer than she knew, for Helbane was nothing less than a representative of Slaanesh's enduring victory over the Aeldari race.
Yet despite Yvraine's entreaties, despite their dire circumstances, Maugan Ra refused them. His arms remained stubbornly crossed, refusing to so much as touch the Cronesword. Let not my sepulchral aspect fool you, he explained in a terse yet formal tone, I am one of Khaine's high priests, not his son's. Maugan Ra dared not take up such a burden lest it change his very essence, and so with a sigh, Yvraine motioned for the Visarch to sheath the blade once more. It seemed there was nothing left for them to do now but return to the portal, to fight their way through or die trying. Such a risky gamble was nothing new to the Aeldari, doomed as they had been for the previous thousands of years, but it nonetheless demoralized Yvraine, doubt creeping into her heart for the first time since her rebirth, for how could she hope to save her people if they couldn't even defeat a single daemon?
Scene Three: Hierophany
This was a question that would not be answered, at least not for the moment, for as the three leapt from behind the statue, they were swallowed up. The Ynnari found themselves falling into a portal of shimmering blue-green light. As they left Belial IV behind, their last glimpse was that of Helbane's face, its stoic expression now once of mingled confusion and rage as it saw its quarry escape. This sight was swiftly replaced as the daemon's spear hurtled above them, flying straight through empty air where their heads had been barely a second earlier before this sight too vanished.
For a brief moment, the three Ynnari felt themselves falling before their descent came to an abrupt halt, the empty white skies of the Crone World replaced by the less stark hues of wraithbone, and so the Ynnari abruptly found themselves upon a Craftworld. However, the vistas they laid their eyes upon were unlike any Aeldari world they had ever seen. The portal room was dim and empty, its walls bare of anything resembling decoration. The wraithbone walls and floor were rough and striated, as though they had been sung into being, shattered, and rebuilt dozens of times, leaving a coarse result. There was an unpleasant scent in the air, a hint of corruption as though the filters that would normally keep such a taint out were not working properly. Most of all though, it was deathly quiet, only the faintest sound of the engines present as though they were either far away or barely functional.
Before the Ynnari had time to do anything more than get back on their feet, the chilling stillness was broken by the staccato of footsteps. The three Aeldari twisted around to face the source, and as expected, it was their rescuers, a conclave of Warlocks from the looks of them. Though their faces were hidden behind ghosthelms, the skin on their hands appeared pale and waxy, as though they were corpses. The armor of the Warlocks was a reddish-purple, punctuated by bone-white runic symbols depicting the rune of the Broken Chain, an ill-omened symbol rarely seen. Their robes beneath were threadbare and tattered, stained by what appeared to be dried blood. The conclave approached the Ynnari with unnerving synchronization, a march whose precision would've been the envy of any drill instructor.
As they neared, the Eldar stopped without warning, barely a finger's breadth before they would've walked into the Ynnari. Up close, it was clear that all of them were very tall, and in one fluid motion, the warlocks removed their ghosthelms, revealing corpse-pale faces. The lead warlock introduced herself as Guentilian Onyxblade, leader of the Black Council of Altansar. Her dialect was almost incomprehensible, utterly archaic in a manner Yvraine suspected was due to being out of contact with Aeldari society for thousands of years. The name meant nothing to her aside from likely being the name of the Craftworld they were on, but to her surprise, Maugan Ra let loose a barely-stifled shout of joy.
For thousands of years, Maugan Ra had led expeditions into the Eye of Terror, ostensibly to recover soul stones and other precious relics from the remains of Craftworlds that had been less lucky than Ulthwe. During the Fall, many Craftworlds that had been in the process of leaving the heart of Aeldari space found themselves utterly doomed, engulfed by the madness of Slaanesh's birth. Swallowed by the Eye of Terror, these realms were trapped forever, consigned to be places of tragic history; yet despite this apparent demise, rumors in the skeins of fate had always persisted that Eldar still survived somewhere within. It was now clear Altansar had been the source of these visions, though they had clearly survived only by the skin of their teeth.
It was the duty of a Phoenix Lord to determine who or what deserves death the most, which atrocities must be answered for and at what times. Now it seemed obvious to Yvraine the burden their companion had been carrying, seeking to find what the Ynnari now knew to be his long-lost home yet unable to do so without neglecting his duty. To her surprise, the Phoenix Lord set aside his gloomy grandeur, sheathing the scythed bayonet of his Maugetar, that mighty weapon he had forged himself from a dying star, in order to embrace Onyxblade, who stiffly returned the gesture.
The tension broken, the Ynnari began to follow their hosts deeper into Altansar. It soon became apparent that the portal room was merely the beginning, for all of the Craftworld appeared equally austere and run down. Lingering in the Eye of Terror, the beleaguered Altansar was a tragic site to behold. It was a Craftworld in ruin: from the smashed towers to the scorched forests, evidence of destruction was everywhere. The only artistry were the morbid sculptures that lined the gardens they passed through, the people few and far between. For his part, the Visarch couldn't help but notice the complete lack of Aspect Warrior temples; it seemed the teachings of Khaine had never spread on this world, trapped in the Eye as it had been.
Yet it was the next sight that caused the Ynnari to halt in place. Filling the fields as far as the eye could see were rows and rows of wraithbone tombstones, each one a mass grave marked with the rune of Ynnead. Reaching out with her mind, it quickly became evident that Altansar was little more than a floating mausoleum, a few hundred living souls amidst countless millions of dead. It was their duty, Onyxblade explained in a monotone, to do honor to the dead as nobody else would, their only hope that one day Ynnead might come to claim these souls contained here. During their time in the Eye of Terror, they had sent thousands of expeditions to Belial IV and other Crone Worlds to take away what remains they could for reburial here. Better they lay here in unmarked graves than allow their corpses to suffer an eternity as the playthings of daemons.
As they walked, the warlock explained her people's history and circumstances. During the Fall, Altansar slipped into the Webway, hoping to escape their people's destruction. They sealed off the paths behind them, systematically destroying tunnels to the Crone Worlds lest daemons use them to reach other Craftworlds. Yet before they could escape, Altansar found itself in a metaphorical cave-in, for the other Asuryani had operated under the same thought process. For over ten thousand years they had been essentially treading water, moving back and forth in the same narrow stretches of Webway tunnels. Their numbers shrank with each passing century, their ever-dwindling supply of bone-singers attempting to devise a new way out while their seers sought any possible future that would ensure their survival.
Yet most of Onyxblade's explanations were lost upon Yvraine, so lost in her own self-doubt. For the first time since her battle against Lelith, before her rebirth, the Herald felt unsure of her purpose. What was the point of unleashing such slaughter upon Commorragh, and how could she possibly lead the Ynnari if she couldn't defeat a single daemon? Her distant demeanor was instantly picked up by the Visarch, though Maugan Ra and Onyxblade did not seem to notice, so engrossed in their conversation that they carried on in an archaic dialect. In stark contrast to his usual gloomy reticence, the Phoenix Lord was practically excited for what the Visarch suspected was probably the first time in ten thousand years. Many were his questions regarding particular citizens of Altansar, though it came as no surprise to him that every name Maugan Ra had mentioned died long ago.
The Phoenix Lord would soon get his chance to see what became of his former friends and acquaintances, for the next stop on their journey through the ruins of Altansar led them to the Dome of Crystal Seers. On other Craftworlds, the Halls formed the apex of the Infinity Circuits, a hallowed chamber punctuated by outgrowths of crystal where Farseers had merged into the group consciousness contained within the Circuit below after centuries of meditation. There they were joined by the countless spirits of every Eldar whose soul had been transferred into a spirit stone, a living network that connected the living with the dead.
Yet Altansar's Infinity Circuit was all wrong. The Dome was filled with hundreds of statues, the remnants of the former members of the Seer Council whose faces stared with expressions of resignation and despair rather than the tranquility normally found on other Craftworlds. Each thrummed with an unusual amount of power, as though the souls were still retained within the individual corpus. Likewise, the psychoactive crystal matrix that formed the floor pulsed erratically, its very form misshapen as though sculpted by a madman. It was clearly still operational, something that was obvious by the fact Altansar was still in one piece, yet Yvraine couldn't shake the sense that something was wrong.
The Herald of Ynnead cast forth her mind into the Infinity Circuit, and to her surprise, found that the network was empty, entirely bereft of the psychic gestalt that was normally found within. Though it still served as the psychic conduit and nervous system of the Craftworld, it was obvious that there were no souls within it. It was no wonder the Altansari were so obsessed with death: the psychic technique that allowed the souls within spirit stones to be transferred into the Infinity Circuit had only been pioneered by Iyanden after the Fall. The import of this was not lost upon the Herald of Ynnead; each one of the millions of soulstones still held a spirit trapped within.
Warlock Onyxblade was quick to confirm Yvraine's pointed questions. Without the developments created by Iyanden, the people of Altansar were left with the knowledge of their utter powerlessness to help their dead move on. They knew all too well that the rest of the Aeldari Pantheon had been devoured by She-Who-Thirsts; nor could they turn to the practices of the now-lost Aeldari Dominion, for this would only perpetuate the horrors that had led to the Fall. Thus, Guentilian explained, they had turned to the worship of Ynnead, hoping against hope that a new deity would one day come to save them from the last goddess their race had created. Now their prayers had finally been answered, a day longed for for over ten thousand years, someone who could shepherd the millions of souls away from their dying Craftworld, for make no mistake, Altansar was dying.
"You can't possibly mean that." Maugan Ra interjected, his gravelly voice thrumming with what was either irritation or stress. Guentilian shook her head sadly in response, stiff as ever.
"I am afraid so. Our dreams do not lie. We have known our sacrifice would be needed since the day we were trapped in the Eye. Now there remains only our deaths before you can go." Yvraine and the Visarch exchanged a glance at this, remaining silent in their uncertainty as Maugan Ra raised his voice.
"I will not allow it. I…" Maugan Ra's voice cracked as he spoke. To Yvraine's psychically-attuned eyes, the Phoenix Lord was a luminous being, the spirit within barely-contained by the ornate runic armor.
"It has already been decided. Ynnead wills it to be so. The Whispering God requires our souls as he does those of all other Aeldari. We die so that the Seventh Path may flourish."
Her last will now spoken, Guentilian Onyxblade raised a wraithbone dagger, and slit her throat, an expression of serenity upon her waxy face. During her speech, a hundred or so other Eldar had come into the Crystal Dome, no doubt all that remained of Altansar's people. They too committed ritual suicide in this moment, their expressions identical as their lifeblood poured out onto the Infinity Circuit. Maugan Ra fell to his knees, now lost in sorrow for the first time in his life as his long-held goal of saving his people had been stolen away before his very eyes. At the sight of so mighty a warrior lost to despair, Yvraine felt her own emotions welling up for the first time since her rebirth.
Sinking to her knees, Yvraine placed her hands upon the Infinity Circuit. The Herald of Ynnead poured out every feeling of doubt in a voiceless prayer to her deity. Though she did not know it, this was the same sort of orison that the first Farseer of Iyanden had made before creating the process that allowed spirit stones to join with the Circuit. Her crystalline fingers sank into the psychoactive matrix, then her hand, then her whole arm up to her elbow, blindly grasping for something, as though she were reaching for anything that could answer her unspoken prayers for deliverance as they flowed out.
Now connected to an appropriate receptacle, the power of the Whispering God began to flow through its Herald like never before. The billions of souls taken from the arenas of Commorragh began to pour out into the Infinity Circuit, the burden upon Yvraine lightening in corresponding measure. All across Altansar, the spirit stones and the statues of the crystallized Seers began to glow with eldritch green light as the souls contained within them were suddenly pulled away, joining with the new psychic gestalt forming within the heart of Altansar. Upon other Craftworlds, a seer had sacrificed themselves to form the heart of the Circuit; here, the will of Ynnead manifested through the departed Altansari, a coalescence of unparalleled potency.
Another necroquake began to shake the very foundations of Altansar, greater than those that had sundered Commorragh and Biel-Tan. In the forgotten depths of the Craftworld, the wraithbone statue of Khaine, long dormant, crumbled away, the shard of another god no longer needed for after the end of Murder remains only death. Maugan Ra and the Visarch stared at Yvraine, still kneeling in the dust as she poured out every hope, every fear, everything in a wordless prayer for deliverance to the god of death. And to their surprise, Ynnead answered.
From the depths of the now-active Infinity Circuit, a new Avatar arose, an ectoplasm-wreathed figure rising from amidst the shattered wraithbone. It was a thing of terrible beauty, an androgynous giant whose stern face seemed half-Eldar and half-daemon. Wailing spirits swam around it, flitting between fulgurous bolts of emerald energy that left outcroppings of nadirite wherever they struck. It was like Khaine yet not; akin to Morai-Heg but far younger. This was the Yncarne, Avatar of Ynnead, a being of incredible might formed from the uncountable potency contained within the billions of Aeldari souls that the Ynnari had claimed for their master.
The unearthly beauty of the Dread Being did not fade as it alighted upon the ground. It reached out a taloned hand, and as if driven by instinct, the Visarch unsheathed the Deathsword he still carried upon his back. The crimson-clad warrior placed the blade in the Yncarne's expectant hand, and as it closed its massive yet graceful fingers around the hilt, the blade thrummed with newfound power. Now wielded by the Avatar, an immortal being of mortality made manifest, the true nature of the Deathsword was revealed in all its terrible glory as Vilith-Zhar, the third of the mighty Croneswords. In the Warp, the Chaos Gods howled as a possible adversary came that much closer to actualization.
Scene Four: The Seventh Path- Undoing Doom
As Yvraine rose to her feet, opening her eyes to gaze upon a messenger of her god, the Yncarne raised its other hand, pointing back in the direction they had come. The three Ynnari were quick to obey, retracing their steps as they left the now-empty Dome of Crystal Seers, which quickly collapsed behind them. As they passed through the vast graveyards, it came as no surprise that all the soulstones that were formerly contained there had crumbled, their might now residing within the luminous being that guided them. The whispering of the dead was all around them, warning the Ynnari that the time of Craftworld Altansar had come to an end as the Craftworld disintegrated around them.
When they arrived once again in the portal room, the Yncarne raised a taloned hand, and in response, the gateway through which they had entered glowed to life once more. It serenely floated through it, vanishing into the Webway portal in a cloud of green mist. Yvraine and her companions hurried after it, not wishing to be stranded on Altansar. When the haze cleared, the Ynnari found themselves upon the surface of Belial IV once more, alone again. It seemed Shalaxi had left, the predator vanishing in search of new prey. The Crone World was now as empty as ever, though even if there had been daemons, they too would've fled from the sheer terror that a creature such as the Yncarne represented to their kind.
It seemed the Avatar of Ynnead knew where to go, floating along silently save for the hushed sighs emanating from the spirits circling its ethereal form. The Ynnari made their way behind their spiritual guide, the Yncarne in front, followed by Yvraine and the Visarch, and the somber Maugan Ra bringing up the rear, constantly looking back both to ensure they weren't being followed as well as to gaze upon the portal that led back to Altansar, which had crumbled behind them. The Ynnari made their way to a new Webway portal, which their guide opened as easily as it did the prior gateway. Once more Yvraine and her companions found themselves in the Webway, whose white halls calcified into pale green nadirite as they passed. The passageways they traversed were not the same as those that had led them to Belial IV, but none of the party thought to question the literal personification of their deity's will. After all, no doubt at least a few of the countless Aeldari spirits that made up its corporeal form knew the halls that they had traversed in life.
Soon enough, the endless maze of Webways became familiar once more, and the travelers emerged back onto Ulthwe, which seemed positively bustling in comparison to Belial IV or Altansar. At the sight of the towering Yncarne wielding one of the mighty Croneswords, the citizens of Ulthwe fell to one knee in awe, while those of the Ynnari fell prostrate in reverence. When they passed by Eldrad, he gave a knowing smile before falling in behind them. Their destination was clear: the Crystal Dome of the Seers. None dared to bar the Ynnari's path, and soon they stood before the Council once again, though this time as heroes rather than refugees. It was clear that they had been successful beyond the wildest expectations of the Council: navigating the Eye of Terror, retrieving a Cronesword, ascertaining the fate of Altansar, and creating an Avatar of the Whispering God.
In the sight of all, the Yncarne glided forward, passing into the Infinity Circuit of Ulthwe with a wail of spirits before disappearing altogether. As it did so, the psycho-crystalline network glowed with newfound energy, though it did not crumble as Altansar's had, and all could tell the spirits within were now under the protection of the Whispering God. As the ghostly howling died out, the Seer Council of Ulthwe stepped forward, announcing their full support for the Ynnari as a movement. They were to have full freedom and access to Ulthwe, to be allowed to come and go as they pleased, for the Farseers could tell that the message of the Ynnari would soon spread to other Craftworlds beyond Biel-Tan and Ulthwe.
"We have moved beyond the ties that bound us in our old lives. No longer are we Asuryani or Drukhari, Rillietann or Anhrathe, Exodite or Dominionite. The Ynnari are all of this and more, combined to become the Seventh Path, and we are the future and salvation of all Aeldari." -Words of Yvraine to the Seer Council of Ulthanesh Shelwe.
Upon emerging from her successful conference with the Seer Council, Yvraine found herself to be something of a celebrity. It seemed all of Ulthwe's people sought guidance from her, to learn for themselves what exactly Ynnead offered their race. More exotic guests soon appeared, for it seemed visitors from other Aeldari realms had come to investigate, for they had seen visions in their dreams about the champions of the god of death. Even Harlequin Troupes and Exodite riders came to bear witness. The Ynnari had become a societal phenomenon unto themselves, as Yvraine had explained to the Council upon her return.
Many prominent citizens were thus converted to the Ynnari's cause, and with Eldrad's assistance, the groundwork for missionary activity was laid. To the Maiden Worlds went itinerant preachers, spreading the news of Ynnead to the Exodite Clans. To beleaguered Craftworlds under assault from Mon-keigh or Chaos warlords, Ynnari forces went to unleash slaughter and rescue the souls of the fallen. Such was the Ynnari's renown for offering aid that even major Craftworlds sought an audience. From remote Saim Hann came Chieftain Nuadhu Fireheart, seeking to ally his clan of Wild Riders with the Ynnari to stop a Necron awakening. Ancient Mymeara sought the Ynnari's knowledge of spiritbinding to aid them in searching for the armor of a mysterious Phoenix Lord supposedly lost to time. While the leaders of Alaitoc remained aloof, many former citizens now following the Path of the Outcast found acceptance in the ranks of the Ynnari.
Yet throughout all this, Yvraine herself did not take part in any of these missions. After saying farewell to Maugan Ra at the completion of their expedition to the Eye of Terror, the Herald of Ynnead remained upon Ulthwe. She was forewarned by her patron that she would be needed for a mission of great import, one that would be heralded by the arrival of an angel. What this meant was unknown to Yvraine, but she dutifully forewent any expeditions. Many months later, she was rewarded for her patience, for an emissary from great Iyanden arrived to present a message and an offer of great interest.
Iyanna Arienal, the Angel of Iyanden
In the vast expanse of the galaxy, there are always replacements, even for the chosen of gods. Such is the case of Iyanna Arienal, who some say could very well have been a Herald of Ynnead had events transpired differently. Born of the noble house of Arienal of Craftworld Iyanden, Iyanna was touched by death at an early age when her entire family was annihilated by a cyclonic torpedo launched by the forces of Chaos during a raid upon Iyanden. She embraced the Path of the Spiritseer and became renowned for her talent in communing with the dead. It was she who threw her support behind Farseer Eldrad when he came to beg Iyanden for their Crystal Seers, supposedly receiving a vision of Ynnead's future glory that would one day come to pass.
Upon arriving on Ulthwe, Spiritseer Iyanna was immediately recognizable. Her amber Armour of Vaul rendered her nigh-invulnerable to attack, while her ancient Spear of Teuthlas positively dripped with the energies of death, for it had been the end of Iyanden's foes for millennia. Her bodyguard was equally notable, a hulking wraithlord known as Althenian Armourlost famed for an unusual awareness rarely seen in ghost warriors of his kind. Both of them were bedecked in runes of Ynnead, and when they approached Yvraine and the Visarch, a mutual respect was instantly established.
Without any hesitation, Spiritseer Arienal announced to the gathered Council of Ulthwe and the leaders of the Ynnari of a mission of great importance: the Cleansing of Malan'tai. More than a century ago, a massive armada of Tyranids known as Hive Fleet Naga erupted into the Eastern Fringe. Though small compared to the teeming hordes of Hive Fleet Behemoth, which many Imperial scholars believe it to be but a splinter of, Naga represented a potent threat in its own right, devouring dozens of minor xenos worlds before it was stopped in the Eth-aelas System by a coalition of Aeldari warships from Craftworlds Iyanden, Idharae, and Malan'tai.
Though the threat was thought contained, the careless warriors of Malan'tai neglected to decontaminate all of their vessels, and it was thus that a bundle of mycetic spores were allowed to infest Craftworld Malan'tai. The tyranid bioforms quickly grew in numbers, and while the warrior forms were put down with ruthless efficiency, a lone Zoanthrope began to devour the psychic energies found within the Craftworld's Infinity Circuit. By the time it was found, the creature had become too powerful to stop, obliterating every Eldar it came across with potent blasts of psychic energy. Soon enough a host of psyker bioforms had overrun the entire Craftworld, forcing what few survivors that remained to flee for their lives, carrying only the tale of the Doom of Malan'tai.
This story was nothing new to the people of Ulthwe, for the tale of the Doom of Malan'tai had long since spread across the Eastern Fringe. Rumor had it that even the greenskins knew of it and that many orks had sought out the Craftworld in hopes of hunting the beast down, though it seemed obvious they had failed given the abrupt end to every such story. Such an outrage, the Angel explained, could not be allowed to last forever. The Farseers of Iyanden had begun to receive visions, warning them that either hope or doom might come from Malan'tai. The forces of the Great Devourer still infesting the Craftworld needed to be exterminated, lest they recover enough to threaten the Eldar in the future. Likewise, the dreams of the seers were filled with cries coming from Malan'tai's fallen defenders, whose soulstones were being devoured one by one by the Doom that still lurked there.
Such relics needed to be recovered before they could be desecrated by another race. Thus a strike force of Iyanden had departed, entering the Webway in order to emerge from the dormant gates to attack the Tyranids before they even knew what hit them. However, even the mighty Phoenix Hosts of Iyanden had not been prepared for the sheer numbers of the Swarm, for it seemed like the Tyranids were attempting to reconstitute Hive Fleet Naga all by themselves. Thus emissaries such as Arienal had been dispatched to obtain reinforcements. Scarcely had the Spiritseer announced her request that Yvraine agreed to join them in their quest. Even if Ynnead had not foretold the Angel's arrival, Malan'tai was renowned as a place of great death, and to save the souls which were no doubt still trapped there was a task of religious significance to the Herald of Ynnead.
Recognizing this as a chance to test her movement in a true combat situation, Yvraine carefully selected her forces. She knew that success here would prove their viability as more than a mere social movement, and having gained knowledge of what sort of soldiers were already present from Iyanna, the Herald of Ynnead selected allies that would complement their way of war. Iyanden was famous for its extensive use of wraithguard and wraithblades, powerful in their own right yet slow to react and even slower to move. Thus speed would be of vital importance, rapid reaction forces to undo whatever advances the insectoid hordes threatened to claim. Thus as the Ynnari transport ships began the journey through the Webway, their holds were filled with Wyches and Harlequins. Among them were more than a few squadrons of Warp Spiders, as even the fastest bioforms could not match up to the mobility offered by the instant teleportation of these Aspect Warriors.
Before long, the Ynnari strike force was rapidly approaching the outskirts of Malan'tai. It had been simplicity itself to get there: the Webway tunnels which led there had been in disuse since the craftworld's fall, sealed with Aeldari runes that were easily bypassed from this side, for the wardings were designed to block egress rather than ingress. Soon enough, they returned back into realspace, disembarking from their ships to emerge into wraithbone hallways doused in long-dried blood. The gruesome sight stopped some of the less-experienced in their tracks, taking in the deep gouges and myriad signs that a climactic battle had taken place here. Yet Yvraine and her inner circle did not stop, continuing to march serenely forward, and so the rest of the force hurried to catch up.
The Ynnari had little time to stop and comprehend all that they saw, for as they emerged from the chambers, they beheld a landscape even more destroyed than that of Altansar's. The ruination before them was not the result of decay or neglect, as had been the case in the antechambers, but rather because of the warzone actively progressing before them. Littering the plains as far as the eye could see were countless Aeldari and Tyranid corpses, while many others soon to join them still battled in and around them. This first impression was all they would get, for immediately upon emerging, the Ynnari came under fire. A pack of ravening termagants were the first to spot them, instinctually firing off a swarm of fleshborer beetles that narrowly missed the Visarch. The living projectiles immediately began to eat into the wraithbone rubble of a collapsed statue that he had ducked behind, and soon enough, deep holes had been gouged by the frenzied beetles.
Yet before he could respond, the termagants themselves came under fire, their chitinous hides no proof against the mono-molecular edges of shuriken projectiles. The unexpected rescuers of the Ynnari soon revealed themselves as out of the smoke came a force of Eldar Guardians clad in the unmistakable yellow and blue of Craftworld Iyanden, and at their head was none other than Prince Yriel. The fine robes of the High Admiral were bloody and torn, revealing the ornate black armor beneath, and when his single eye beheld these unexpected reinforcements, the Prince's body language began to radiate gratitude. Much of this was clearly directed toward Spiritseer Arienal, who rushed to Yriel's side as soon as she laid eyes upon him, but there remained a healthy level toward the rest of the Ynnari.
However, such thanks was not expressed at this moment, for there was no time. Already, the Hive Mind had begun to react to this new threat, diverting fresh swarms to overwhelm their position before the Eldar could establish a new foothold. A seething tide of hormagaunts flowed toward the newly-opened front, the scuttle of their legs drowned out only by the noise of their ravenous breaths as they labored to hurl themselves upon their foe. The Ynnari wasted no time, unleashing a withering rain of small arms fire toward the oncoming threat. Their shots were hastily-aimed, but it did not matter as each scored a kill; such was the density of the swarm that accuracy was rendered irrelevant.
After the rain came the hail as plasma grenade after plasma grenade was lobbed into the swarm. Wherever they detonated, a miniature sun erupted, an orb that continued to burn and force the gaunts to divert around it lest they be incinerated. However, not all foes were so easily dispatched. Hulking Tyranid Warriors lumbered in, towering above their lesser kin as they raised fleshy venom cannons, firing salvos of crystals as they ran that pierced Eldar armor as easily as paper. Others forewent ranged weapons entirely, relying upon walls made from crossed boneswords, shuriken rounds simply bouncing from the psychic energy that wreathed the chitinous blades.
Soon enough, the Ynnari were in the thick of things, their ranks distinguishable from Yriel's forces only by their varied appearances. In contrast to the uniform yellow, Yvraine's forces wore the livery of Craftworlder, Commorrite, and Harlequin alike, dancing and darting about as they battled the forces of the Hive Mind. The seeds of new faith in the Whispering God were sown amongst the ranks of Iyanden as they watched Ynnead's power made manifest through his disciples, and none were more prominent than the Visarch. A being of few words, the former Thanatiphoros had won countless Eldar to Ynnead by his uncommon skill, and now that he wielded a legendary Cronesword, this talent for murder was magnified.
Where the Hive Mind had rapidly adapted to and then mastered the blade techniques utilized by Yriel's forces, they could not hope to overcome the Visarch's skill, his blade effortlessly cutting through even the thickest chitin. All Tyranids were bound by a synaptic link whose heart was the Doom and whose nodes were composed of the larger beasts mentally connected to it. It was this same link that was severed piece by piece by the Visarch's skill. The death of so many of its greater creatures actually began to turn the tide of battle as a whole, the lesser swarms around staggering each time, rendering them a more easy kill for the Visarch's companions. He marched from beast to beast, weathering both psychic fire and venomous barb as he cut them down one by one.
Just as her champion preached by his actions, so too did Yvraine by both word and deed. Her voice sang out in an ancient Aeldari funeral dirge, a tune familiar to everyone present, yet whose words of gloom had been transformed into a message of hope. She fought as she sang, never missing a note as her Cronesword eliminated one tyranid beast after another. In her free hand, orbs of coruscating amethyst energies swirled and swelled in size with each death around her. Every so often, when the orbs had reached sufficient size, the Herald of Ynnead would release it as a storm of whispering energies that instantly slew each beast it struck, even those hiding behind walls. Every time she came near one of the wraithbone warriors of Iyanden, the ghostly soldiers fought with newfound clarity, reacting far more swiftly than they had ever before as Ynnead's power vivified them once more.
Guided by prescience, the Ynnari and their allies from Iyanden began to turn the tide. The Shadow in the Warp, the psychic dampener that accompanied every tyranid invasion, was unable to halt the Eldar's psychic prowess, though whether that was due to the lack of Tyranid bioships or the powers of Ynnead was uncertain. This was not for lack of trying though, for the Tyranids here were heavily augmented by zoanthropes and their more-evolved kin, the dreaded neurothropes. These spindly psychic bugs idly floated above the battlefield like pagan idols, using their bloated minds to conjure shields that protected them from all but the most grievous harm as they blasted bolts of crackling bio-electricity into the ranks of the eldar below that sought to bring them down. As the Ynnari closed in on the heart of Malan'tai, these alpha strains became more and more common, the dreaded Neurotyrants that liquified the brains of all who approached.
Yet even these could not halt Yvraine's progress, and soon enough, she and her honor guard had cut their way down into the depths of the craftworld. Even without the whispers of Ynnead, Yvraine could have traced this path, both from the ever-increasing numbers of psychic tyranids and from the increasingly-mutated roots of Infinity Circuit beneath her feet. Any energies left from the Eldar were long since gone, and when she dared reach out her mind into the psychic network, she felt only the great hunger of the horrid beast that still lurked at the heart of the world it had Doomed so long ago.
Soon enough, the Tyranid assaults halted altogether: perhaps the beast was redirecting its forces to somewhere they could be of better use, or perhaps it was simply confident in its chances when it had slain so many Eldar before. To guess the mind of an alien horror was impossible, even had the Herald of Ynnead been paying attention to such an idle curiosity. Rather, Yvraine's thoughts, at least during those brief lulls between assaults, dwelled upon more weighty matters. The Tyranids were perhaps the most alien creatures she had ever encountered. It was clear the concept of death was entirely foreign to them, something that they comprehended even less than the greenskins did, for while both races were driven entirely by instinct, the armies of the Great Devourer were nothing more than the instruments of a collective too vast to know.
Perhaps this was the reason, Yvraine mused to herself, this lack of individuality, that they could not truly grasp mortality. And without a grasp of mortality, they could not master the Warp, for what was the Warp if not the sea of souls? It was at this revelation, as Yvraine buried her blade in the head of a hulking maleceptor psyker-beast, the spirit-stone contained within the hilt of the cronesword Kha-Vir began to glow anew with eldritch power in accordance with her will. With an unearthly groan, the Yncarne burst back into reality at the moment of the creature's death, a flurry of souls wailing as they manifested around the daemon's semi-corporeal form. Its eyes glowed with ghostly fire, a conflagration matched by the flames limning its taloned hands that gripped Vilith-Zhar, the mighty Cronesword.
Joined by the guardian spirit as well as the Visarch, Yvraine pushed her way through the fleshy tumors of biomass that covered the doors of what was once a Dome of the Crystal Seers. As expected, the monster that was the Doom of Malan'tai was at the heart of the chamber, a hideous collection of brains that pulsed with barely-contained energy. Dozens of lobes formed the crest of a head far too big to move, its original face nothing more than a vestigial mouth that snarled silently at these interlopers who sought to invade the lair it had never left after claiming for its own. Its psychic presence seemed to distort reality around it, as though the Eldar were looking at it through a thick haze.
As expected, when Yvraine threw a knife at the monster, the blade simply clattered to the floor. Shuriken rounds proved no more effective, and even a bolt of psychic force did nothing, so powerful were its mental defenses. Judging by the complete lack of reaction to their attacks, it was clear the Doom of Malan'tai did not regard them as a threat. Having faced Eldar before, the greatest of the neurotyrants had erected a shield to block anything from approaching it so as to protect its corporeal form while the rest of its alien brain controlled all the Tyranids infesting Malan'tai as they sought to fight off the Eldar.
This wretched creature had become a Hive Mind in miniature, one filled with all the evolutionary knowledge gained by devouring a craftworld. If such a monster were to rejoin the main Hive Fleets, its experience would surely birth new horrors designed to replicate its success and annihilate every other Craftworld in the galaxy. Such a fate must never come to pass, and so as the Visarch watched, Yvraine clasped her hands together in prayer. In response, the Yncarne began to float forward, its semi-corporeal form passing through the thick psychic shields as it advanced upon the Doom of Malan'tai with all the finality of an executioner.
As the Yncarne closed in, the Cronesword in its hands began to glow with a wan green light. This at last seemed to get the Doom's attention, but it was already too late. The Yncarne opened its mouth for the first time, and let loose a screech that was instantly mirrored in kind by the Doom of Malan'tai as it realized the danger it was in. A massive psycho-kinetic force closed in, attempting to crush the daemon from all sides, but it had no effect, for the Yncarne was only semi-corporeal. The Avatar of Ynnead swung its blade through the dense psychic shield surrounding the tyranid alpha-beast, which split with a sucking tear before dissolving completely as the beast's concentration was broken.
At the loss of its protective barrier, the Doom let out a mental scream that could be heard by all throughout the Craftworld. As the psychokinetic dome split, the Yncarne clenched its taloned fist, and pulled. In response to the Herald's silent command, countless Eldar souls were torn from the distended lobes of the tyranid's brain in a great surge. Every Aeldari soul that it had devoured, so long trapped inside the beast, was now drawn forth, a tidal wave of souls all drawn into the collective being of a higher power that the Avatar of Ynnead represented. Parts of the chamber room began to collapse as the tumorous flesh that filled it was drained of all vitality, withering away into nothingness. Across Malan'tai, the Tyranid swarms either died or went feral as the animating intelligence that had controlled them was removed, and as the Doom of Malan'tai was finally destroyed, so too was the synaptic link finally severed, ending once and for all the final remains of Hive Fleet Naga.
Its objective complete, the Yncarne faded from existence once more, taking the souls it had reclaimed back with it to whatever realm of Ynnead within the Warp it existed in during the time between battles. Yvraine and the Visarch left the ruined Dome behind, emerging to rejoin Spiritseer Arienal and Prince Yriel. It seemed the Admiral of Iyanden had been grievously wounded in the interim, fighting to defend the entrance to the Dome of the Crystal Seers to prevent any tyranids from making their way inside. Even on his deathbed, Yriel continued to be selfless, foregoing his last words in order to listen to the wisdom offered by Yvraine. He was astonished by their message, recognizing his unwitting support of Eldrad that was one of the steps that had set all of this in motion, even if he had not known it at the time.
After hearing out the Herald of Ynnead's promise of a life after death, Prince Yriel breathed his last, dying in the arms of Spiritseer Arienal. He looked far older than his years would suggest, his body ravaged by both age as well as the venoms of the Tyranid bioform that had finally done him in. With solemn ceremony, Yvraine lifted the Spear of Twilight from his limp grasp, holding it aloft. Yet as the Spear touched the hands of the Thanatiphoros, that same cursed blade that had drained the Prince over so many centuries, it was there finally revealed in its true glory. The rigid shape of the Spear turned to quicksilver in one of Yvraine's hands, while the other clasped Yriel's lifeless body in a death-grip.
At that moment, the necromantic energies flowed over the two of them in a radiant burst of amethyst energy, and just as Eldrad had before him, Yriel's body was transformed. The tyranid microorganisms infecting his body were burnt away as Yriel's skin was transformed to the same living crystal. The ravages of age melted away, restoring his appearance to the same youthful visage he had borne before picking up the Spear to save Iyanden. The blade of the Spear of Twilight lengthened relative to the haft, morphing to reveal a gem at its heart, for this was none other than the fourth of the mighty Croneswords. And as Yriel's eyes opened once more, they glowed with the same internal fire as those of the Yncarne's. Thus rose Yriel, the Twilight Prince, sworn to Ynnead and wielder of the fourth Cronesword.
With the Doom of Malan'tai no more, the path of the Ynnari was clear. Iyanden awaited them, a new realm to spread the message of Ynnead. From there, new missionaries would be recruited to spread the word to every Craftworld and Exodite Colony world. And with enough time and experience, eventually the message would come to Commorragh as well. It would be a long road, not one that could be measured in years or even centuries, but eventually, all Aeldari would be united under the banner of the Seventh Path. Thus Yvraine and her companions ended the first step of their journey to awaken Ynnead, the Whispering God. Many struggles surely awaited them, not least of which would be the trial of locating and claiming the fifth and final Cronesword. However, such is a tale for another time, for in the waning years of M41, other events of equal importance were occurring as the End Times marched ever closer.
A/N: Happy New Year everyone! 2024 was...not great for the Leonine Heresy, to say the least. In contrast to the eleven chapters uploaded in 2023, only 2 were uploaded in 2024. One of my new year's resolutions is definitely going to be to try to upload more in 2025.
The tale of the Ynnari is, for the moment, done, and what a time I've had trying to put down my thoughts on the faith of Ynnead, Last Hope of the Eldar. GW's take on it has (to put it bluntly) not been the best. The Whispering God has been around since like 2001 from what I can tell, and yet sadly there's very little to show for it. Thus I knew that I wanted to give this particular plotline the treatment it deserved, which is part of the reason it took so long between these chapters.
The Ynnari to me are more than just a faction on the tabletop. From a lore perspective, they are an entirely new religion springing up in a society that has had their previous faith violently ripped away. To then propose to create a new deity, even one that promises salvation from the previous god your race birthed, is a radical, radical concept. Thus I have tried to show the Ynnari as a faith-based movement that is negatively received by both 'good' (Craftworld) and 'bad' (Dark Eldar) parts of their race. It is only after repeated miracles (finding the Croneswords, sundering Commorragh and Biel-Tan, and creating a literal avatar of their god (the Yncarne) that the Ynnari begin to receive more widespread acceptance.
As mentioned in the end, if the Ynnari were to receive centuries to develop their movement, I believe the majority of the Aeldari race would come to be part of the movement. Unfortunately for them, this is the grimdark universe of the 41st Millennium in the Leonine Heresy. Time waits for no one, and the Ynnari simply do not have that sort of time (both in-universe and from me as an author to jump into the future like that).
Other stories must be told, and so I am pleased to announce the next story arc will be War Zone: Medusa. As always, please leave thoughts, comments, and suggestions, as I love to read them. Thank you to everyone who has continued to stick with the Leonine Heresy. Sharrowkyn, out.