Everqueen Reclamation - 58

“In the Time Before, the Eldar spread across the stars, sailing through the Great Sea and building a civilization vibrant and curious as they explored the cosmos.

It was in this era that the Eldar met the Old Dragons. The Old Dragons blessed the Eldar with great power over the Aethyr, turning their souls from sparks into infernos. They taught the Eldar the secrets of sorcery, of how to build wonders beyond comprehension. They spoke to them of the truth of the world, perhaps the greatest truth being that the many gods of the Eldar were in fact part of one great Pantheon. 

And for a time, there was peace and joy. 

Then came the Yngir and their soulless legions, a silver tide spreading across the stars, blotting out the light of the Aethyr and devouring all those they came across. And the luminous souls of the Eldar attracted them most of all, filling them with greed and hunger. 

The Eldar fought, united at last as all their squabbles were swept aside by the need to survive. But their efforts were for nought in the face of the hungry star gods.  In their desperation, the Eldar delved deeper and deeper into the Aethyr. They sought to protect their souls from the hungry grasp of the Yngir, desperate to avoid annihilation at any cost. 

Using the secrets the Old Dragons had taught them, the Eldar built great idols in the image of their gods, so that their gods might save their souls. 

But as the war went, the hope of the Eldar crumbled. They wept and screamed and prayed for saviours, and it seemed their prayers would go unanswered. 

The Old Dragons had lied to them. 

Until the last Eldar died. All hope seemed lost but then there was a miracle.

 The idols shattered and living gods burst forth, the Eldar Pantheon incarnate. The silver tide was halted, and the Yngir met their match.

All it had taken was to make a pyre of an entire civilization.”

The recording ended, the images being projected from the crystal fading away. 

“Is that all there is?" Asurmen asked.

“That is all I found,” Maugan Ra admitted, a slightly embarrassed expression on his pale face, unusual for the stoic warrior. Maugan bowed to Asurmen, his long raven hair falling over his face. It was an almost comical sight given how much broader and taller the former was compared to the latter. “Forgive me, master, I have failed you.”

“It is alright, Maugan,” Asurmen said reassuringly, placing a hand on his disciple's shoulder. “This is more than I could have expected you to find in the ruins of the Dominion. This may yet be of some use to us.”

“Of use to us?” Lykhis exclaimed, her grey eyes alight with agitation. “Master, it is useless! It tells us nothing of the weakness of the Muses!”

Asurmen gave his newest student a quelling look as Maugan lowered his head even further in shame. “I am aware, Lykhis,” The Hand of Asuryan said, a little sharply. “But we all knew that finding any direct weakness we could leverage against the Muses was unlikely. In their quest for godhood, the Muses, those we fight today and those who died in the Fall, sought to hoard all knowledge of god-forging for themselves. Every fragment we gather may yet be of some use to us. There is no need to disparage the efforts of your brother disciple, who ventured directly into the Crone Worlds to bring us this.”

Lykhis looked chastened. “I apologize, master,” She said quietly. “To you as well, Maugan.”

“There is no need,” The Dark Reaper said, exhaustion visible in every inch of his face as he leaned back in his chair. “I do not disagree Lykhis,”

Asurmen patted Maugan on the shoulder. “Go rest,” He told him. “You have been through many trials, and you will need your strength for what is to come.”

“As you wish, master,” Maugan said, though there was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. The warrior stood, limping from the private study that Asurmen had been granted by the leaders of Biel-Tan upon their Craftworld.

Asurmen rubbed his eyes, feeling his own weariness weigh down on him. 

“Any reports from the others, Lykhis?” 

Lykhis shook her head. “None of my sibling-disciples have reported in yet save for Jain Zar. She says she is still trying to convince Craftworld Ulthwe to take a stronger stand against the Muses, but they insist they simply do not have the forces.”

“They are not wrong,” Asurmen admitted with a sigh. 

It had been a difficult decade.

The return of the Six Muses, each of them declaring themselves the heir to the Eldar Dominion, had been a disaster. Asurmen had truly not expected it, for he had believed all the leaders of the Dominion dead in the Fall. The Core Worlds had been at the very heart of the cataclysm, where the madness of the cults had been most intense.

But the Muses had returned, emerging in the Webway. They pledged fealty to the new god spawned from the sins of the Dominion, declaring themselves prophets as they carved out their own empire in the Webway-realms. They preached that the new god was their salvation, not their destruction, that by serving it the Eldar could revive the Dominion and reclaim their status as masters of the galaxy.

The Muses called the Eldar to them, and too many, far too many, answered that call, desperate for answers.

Asurmen had already been having trouble making inroads into the Webway, with the likes of the Haemonculi and other remnants of the pleasure cults doing their best to keep their grip on their little fiefdoms, and keep their slaves beneath their bootheel. The arrival of the Muses had turned it into an outright war, one that Asurmen wasn't sure he could win.

Most of the Craftworlds were ragged trade ships whose psychomaton guards had been heavily damaged by the Fall. The majority of them were unable to offer any real support to the idea of fighting the Muses in the Webway.

Of the few Craftworlds who did have any strength to offer, many of them were reluctant to commit to what they saw as an unwinnable war. The Muses had the patronage of Slaanesh, ancient knowledge and power not known to the young Aeldari. They were ancient warlords who had been among those that had founded the Dominion more than a million years ago, after the Edict of Asuryan.

And that had been before they had reached the cusp of godhood. They had failed, true…but they were still mightier than they had ever been. They brought forth sorceries and committed deeds of the kind straight of the annals of myth and legend, warping reality and shattering armies wherever they went.

To fight them was suicide, many argued…and Asurmen wasn't sure they were wrong.

But he had to fight them. As terrifying as they were, to simply give up the Webway to the Muses was even more unthinkable. With great difficulty, Asurmen had been able to rally Biel-Tan, Yme-Loc and a handful of other Craftworlds to the cause. So far they were forced to act mostly as raiders, hitting as hard and fast as they could to disrupt the growing empires of the Muses, and then fleeing.

It wasn't much. It was barely even buying time for a real solution to be found.

But what else could Asurmen do? 

He sighed. “Lykhis, I-”

Abruptly, Asurmen surged to his feet, his blue armour forming around him as he leapt across the table to stand in front of his student, pointing his sword at a shadow.

“Master!?” Lykhis said, shocked but drawing her own weapon as she readied herself, looking for the threat he had detected.

“Reveal yourself,” Asurmen snarled at the shadow, his voice distorted by the armour.

"Oh-ho. It seems the stories of your senses may not be entirely exaggerated,” A melodious voice said, before a figure melted out of the shadows.

It was an Eldar woman, that much was clear, but Asurmen could make out nothing else of her features. She was dressed entirely in close-fitting black and gold armour embossed with blue runes. A blue hood was pulled over her head, a glowing sceptre clutched in a golden gauntlet.

She was no one that the Phoenix Lord had ever met before.

But Asurmen recognized her all the same, by the blank grey mask that concealed her face.

“Sylandri Veilwalker,” Asurmen said, though he didn't lower his blade. “What do you want?”

The Harlequin laughed, a mocking, chilling sound that echoed all the way down to Asurmen's bones. “Is that any way to speak to the messenger of a god, Hand of Asuryan?” The title was not a sign of respect in her mouth, but a sneer, an insult.

“How dare you-” Lykhis bristled.

“Not now, Lykhis,” Asurmen said quietly. “What do you want, Veilwalker?”

The Harlequins had periodically intervened to help Asurmen's coalition during this war, but they rarely stayed for long, offering neither commitment nor explanation.

And Asurmen knew the stories of how capricious the Harlequins could be, of how they could both commit terrible atrocities and great feats of heroism in the same breath, all in the service of their mad god.

“I have come to offer you a solution to your problems, Hand of Asuryan,” Veilwalker said, and somehow, Asurmen knew she was smiling beneath the mask. "My lord Cegorach wishes to aid in your war, and sent me personally to tell you how you may win.”

“And that is?” Asurmen asked, his unease deepening. A message from the Mad God himself…

“The location of the only weapon that can slay the Muses, and how you might claim it,” Veilwalker replied.

“I come to tell you of the Tomb of Eldanesh, and the Sword of Khaine.”