Prelude: The End, and New Beginnings
High Priest Yrhainioll gazed out upon the roiling streets beneath his high balcony, a deep frown creasing his ancient features as he saw the blood of his people being spilled, and the descent of a once mighty empire into chaos and excess. Offering one last blessing to those not corrupted by their own desire, he turned and sealed the entrance to the balcony behind him. Time was short, but the precautions were nearly complete. All that remained was to send the hope of his people away, to the furthest corner of the Empire, in hopes that it would survive the massacre and slumber until the Eldrith Asurya numbered enough to give birth to their gods once more. He felt the matrices of wraithbone being loaded within the scout ship, felt its headlong flight away from the building storm of ecstatic psychic excess, felt it leave the edge of his consciousness as it passed beyond communication range of the last shrine of Asuryan on the borders of the Empire.
He permitted himself a small smile before closing his eyes and stopping his heart, letting the world fade into a pale light as his spirit left his body for the small stone at his forehead.
Present Day:
Within the high walls of the Citadel of Bel-Asur, the air was calm, a hushed sense of awe radiating from all the eldar present, caused, no doubt, by the octet of imposing figures atop the council dais. Each clad in interlocking plates of illuminated armor, the Exarchs of Cairas Mythar looked out over their assembled brethren, inscrutable behind their ornate helms.
The first to step forward bore a fearsome chainblade at his side and a high crested helm.
“You have heeded the call to serve your people, your empire and your gods. For this, we offer the blessings of Khaine and Asuryan alike, for the coming times will require not only strength, wrath and courage, but also mercy, justice, and control. In your efforts, seek balance, seek the narrow path of right and nobility, and stay true to the people of the Eldrith Asurya. Only through ourselves can we return balance to Sha’eil and the galaxy. And only when balance is returned can we retake our rightful place as masters of the stars.”
As he spoke, the exarch’s eyes scanned the crowd, as if searching for someone. After a pause, he pointed and spoke once more, this time in the dialect of the ancient Empire,
“Hyrulen Marthuen, you are chosen of the Hunter’s will. Advance and take your place.”
The exarch beckoned to a spot on the steps leading toward the dais before turning his back and retreating to his place amidst his fellows.
The next to step forward was clad in gleaming, fluted plates, with an elegantly simple sword hung from his harness, and his high, plumed helm couched in his elbow. When he spoke, his voice radiated nobility and power, its silken tones in great contrast to guttural, aggressive growls of the previous speaker.
“The Lady’s house wishes to sponsor Ythoelle Nysshea. We ask her to serve as the representative of the maiden, the mother, and the crone. Join your comrade, Lady Nysshea.”
The last statement, though gentle, left no room for misunderstanding; this eldar was used to being obeyed and expected it now as well.
He offered his hand as Ythoelle approached, bowing to her before turning his back and gesturing to the next warrior, a giant eldar with arching wings that flexed gently as he strode forward.
“The aeries of the gods have too long been silent, Foalchu’s chosen must breathe life into the cause of the Eldrith Asurya once more, and herald the return of our ascendancy. Arian Asgellog, I name you Foal’chai’lu, Herald of the Rebirth.”
Without waiting for her to ascend to join the others, he turned and nodded to the other exarchs, perhaps sharing a thought with them before he rejoined them.
After a short pause, a relatively small, frail eldar stepped forward, his gait strong, belying his appearance, as his exoskeletal armor hummed gently with power. He spoke not, instead projecting his thoughts to the group of eldar before him.
A seething tidal wave of violence crashed over them, then suddenly washed away to reveal thousands of broken and dying eldar. The despair and hopelessness pulled at the soul of each present, showing what future the eldar could face. Then, the scene shifted once more to a host of noble eldar warriors, armored brightly and armed in a myriad of fashions, marching at the command of a bright being, vanquishing all foes that they faced. The world upon which they fought transformed, becoming a shining beacon of eldar souls, it’s graceful towers and spires interweaving with the clouds in a ballet of creation and beauty.
Finally, the images faded, leaving behind two thoughts, one of a young female eldar ranger, the other of a god, seeking paths unknown and worlds lost.
The Exarch looked at Morion for a moment, and then blinked from existence, reappearing behind the line of his comrades.
The next warrior, tall and wreathed in pale blue flames, gruffly stumped to the fore of his comrades, and proclaimed, in an oddly cheerful sounding voice, his nomination.
“Uriel, of the line Esshelenral, warrior of Ath-Ron, Vaul and his Dragon would choose you to undertake this quest. Do you dedicate yourself to the forge?”
The Fire Dragon awaited his response, and when he had received it, passed back within the rank of exarchs, passing the last to emerge, a noble eldar in an antiquated style of helm, its plumage waving lightly as he moved.
“I, disciple of Asurmen, keeper of the flame, and defender of the right, name Dythen de Altansar Asuryan’s Hand. Serve right and honor justice in all you do.”
With this, he retreated to his place and waited as the last of the eldar named ascended to the dais. Once they were all in place, he triggered a small rune at his hip, opening a webway portal on the far side of the platform and gestured for the others to follow him.
Emerging from the other side, the group found themselves, without the exarchs now, faced by a frail old priest in robes of black bordered with cream colored fur. The chamber behind him looked very ancient and rarely used, with several close-domed pedestals arranged about the walls.
<Greetings young warriors. Lady Nysshea, it is good to meet you especially.>
The thought slipped into their minds easily and quietly, and the old eldar focused his eyes on each of them in turn, as if studying them for suitability.
What followed was unexpected to each of them. A psychic presence so powerful it almost hurt to turn one’s mind towards it pulsed into existence, its radiance obvious to even the least sensitive among them. It probed their minds, their innermost secrets for a time and then withdrew, disappearing into the priest in front of them
The priest gestured to the pedestals
<There you will find what the gods wish you to have. Lady Nysshea will explain what you need to know of the story of her fallen comrades. Make haste, for you have little time for dalliances.>
With this, the priest faded from view, almost as if he had never been there at all.
(OOC: Go! Do what you wish. If it wasn’t clear from the IC stuff, you are all currently in a chamber with one pedestal for each of you.)