Daybreak

Fjeldir faltered and braced against a tree, panting heavily. He fought to calm the raging tempest his mind had become, and regain order to his thoughts. The Beastmen! His mind stood in sharp focus now, centred on the knowledge that the Children of Chaos must be exterminated. In a single fluid movement Fjeldir drew and notched an arrow to his sturdy longbow, and singled out a target amongst the maelstrom of battle that raged in the forest around him. Effortlessly the elf let fly and landed the bodkin straight through the vile creature's eye. The screaming howl the creature let out as it fell to the leaf-strewn ground was brief, but nonetheless filled Fjeldir with a deep, base satisfaction. He shuddered. This feeling was not right, it seemed... unnatural somehow. Fjeldir was an Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven, he was a being of compassion as much as vengeance. All life was precious, and there should be no joy in murder. And yet at the same time it was a compelling sensation, one that implored him to relish in it again, to feed it....

He felt disconnected from the world, as if he were in a dream or watching things from afar. All around him in the forest his fellow Asrai fought with the Warherd of Belphegor, a mortal enemy of the Meadows of Heaven, close enough that he could potentially travel a few paces and reach out and touch one of the combatants, and yet everything seemed distant. The air was filled with howls and screams and cries from the countless warriors fighting, as well as the metallic pangs and clinks of their weapons and ghostly whistling songs of arrows as they sped through the air. In the background horns both savage and regal rang out as musicians on either side relayed signals to their comrades. Yet all these sounds were faint to Fjeldir's ears, as if he were underwater or was listening with them blocked. Fjeldir felt hot. The whole world around him seemed sweltering, the air felt suffocating. Colours somehow seemed darker. At the same time however the efl's reflexes and perception sharpened immensely when focused on death and killing. And all the while that dark and terrible feeling, the sensation of revelling in slaughter, pulled at his mind and called out to his soul, begging to be satiated.

As Fjeldir dashed across to retrieve the arrow he had loosed, for he would certainly have need for it soon, A marauding Gor, cloven-hoofed and bristling with ruddy matted fur, leapt behind him and bellowed a challenge, froth spraying from the beast's fanged maw. In one massive fist it held a large worn axe, while the other was empty. Presumably the creature had carried a shield that had been lost in the fighting. It mattered not, Fjeldir was well-trained in the art of death, and while his Elven reflexes were not as developed as those of Asrai from other parts of Athel Loren, in this instance they were more than enough. In a blur the Wood Elf ducked down to avoid the wild swing of the Gor's axe, then swung around and slashed the creature's ankle tendon with his combat dagger. Fjeldir swerved aside as the hulking brute toppled backwards, and then plunged his combat dagger into its throat. The Gor swung around with its axe, and Fjeldir twisted out of its way before losing an arrow point-blank into the top of its mouth. The sensation of the kill set Fjeldir's nerves on fire. Retrieving the dagger and the arrow caused tainted blood to well out of the creatures mouth and pool on either side of it. Blood was everywhere now. It stained the forest floor like paint. Dark Beastman blood mixed brighter crimson blood from Fjeldir's fallen kin. Its vapours filled Fjeldir's nostrils, the scent was... intoxicating. Fjeldir felt a tug deep within his conscience, a primal base urge to see more blood, to shed it and revel in its spilling. Rage at the deaths of his Asrai kin mingled with the thrill of the hunt.

Finally he retrieved the arrow he had sent into the first child of Chaos. As he did so, Fjeldir took the time to look around him and admire the savage beauty of the slaughter. He saw countless other Elven archers, Glade Guard like himself, slaying beast after beast. He saw Warhawk Riders swooping in and out of combat, tearing an adversary apart and then climbing upwards into the sky out of harm's reach. He saw Treekin smashing their way through a regiment of Bestigors. He saw Wardancers twirling and pirouetting, whirlwinds of death swirling like leaves in a gust around the heart of the Elven battleline, the renowned Defenders of the Glade of Poppies, with the Wishmaster himself at its head. Next to him was his King's Executioner Gaerielle. She held aloft the royal horn of the Meadows of Heaven, and as she unwound it Fjeldir blinked in disbelief. The note that sounded from it was the signal for a withdrawal. Retreat? Now? But they were surely massacring the horde, it would almost certainly break at any minute! Yet even now the phalanx was moving back, away from the fighting, towards Aneaeth Ollissin, the premier Spellweaver of the Meadows of Heaven who had joined the Wishmaster for this battle. She seemed locked in a clash of will with a cabal of gibbering whispering Bray Shamans deep within the Beastmen horde. At once Fjeldir saw one of the twisted bestial priests spasm and lurch down to the ground, a long arrow protruding from its chest where some unseen Waywatcher must have sent it. Such was their accuracy that the creature was dead before it hit the ground, its blackened heart skewered by the bodkin. As it died the air seemed to pulse and ripple, and suddenly Fjeldir felt clearer of mind. He realised, for the first time, that he was out of rank. In fact almost all of the Elves fighting in formation had forsaken their ranks. Thoughts came to him of his foe.

Beast became man and man became beast.

And slowly, surely, like dawn illuminating night, Fjeldir began to realise the true scope of what was happening. A trap!

The feelings he was experiencing were not his own. Every urge of violence and bloodlust, every thought driving him to kill more, the invigorating scent of blood, even the hellish heat of the forest, it was all the result of some elaborate spell, some new feat of sorcery performed by the beasts of Belphegor's warherd. A dark enchantment to drive the Asrai into a bestial berserk killing frenzy, such that they would be so lost in their desire for carnage that they would be driven apart, separate, alone and divided, and oblivious to the doom approaching them. Only those with the greatest will, such as the Wishmaster, Aneaeth and the Defenders of the Glade of Poppies had been unaffected by the trickery, and had realised the true danger. Those they had slain were but a small fraction of the greater force, and Fjeldir began to see that the entire Wood now teemed with more of the Children of Chaos, a titanic horde that had been clouded from sight until moments ago.

As Aneaeth progressed in undoing the deception, more and more of the Elves began to take note of their impediment, and heed the call to withdraw. They began to regroup into their kinbands and formations, and take up new positions, preparing for the new threat. Fjeldir joined them, retaking his place in his own kinband of archers.

Now the true fighting would begin in earnest...

Ailyn the Spellsinger, and some stuff about background and Tau (I couldn't think of any clever title puns or cool sounding titles)

An owl hooted off in the gloomy distance as Mir'q'arielle steadily made her way along the winding forest path. At least she thought it was an owl as she trod on through the shadows, it occurred to her that it could just as easily be some form of spite or other fey spirit, or even other Asrai communicating with each other in secret. Either way the Wood Elf thought it best to keep moving. Though still daylight in the outside world (by her reckoning at least), the canopy of this part of Athel Loren was dense enough to block out almost any sunshine, casting an ominous and eerie darkened shade over the wood. Anywhere beyond a few dozen or so paces was completely obscured by darkness, and as was common in Athel Loren small beady eyes occasionally glinted out of crevices and hiding places, and every so often something would skitter or scamper across the path just out of sight. Nonetheless, the dusty, twisting, leaf-strewn path was at least somewhat illuminated, and had yet to turn in upon itself or vanish off at a dead end. It seemed that The Forrest was at least allowing Mir'q'arielle to continue on her quest, for now at least.

And it was fortunate indeed that Mir'q'arielle continued to be uninterrupted in her journey, for it was of utmost importance - she was to travel to the Oak of Ages itself, and appear before Ariel, the Queen in the Wood herself, and make one final attempt to reason with her and the rest of the Asrai. One last attempt to peacefully reconcile the Meadows of Heaven with the rest of Athel Loren, through diplomacy and negotiation. One last attempt to talk sense into the rest of the Elves, to try and get them to see and realise the danger and madness that was sweeping through the once great forest, and to convince them to take action against it alongside the Meadows of Heaven.

The Asrai noble plucked a string of the Rhymer's Harp she had brought with her from the royal armoury of the Meadows of Heaven, and instantly its magic propelled her through another sizeable part of the forest path in the span of a few short moments. Normally Mir'q'arielle did not travel with one, but this was an important task and so she had been provided with one and a small satchel bag to carry it in. The musical note's effect wore off and she returned to her normal speed, passing through another stretch of the lonely forest path.

At once, Mir'q'arielle's cloak took on a life of its own, trembling and shifting as the Murder of Spites that called its folds and feathers home suddenly rushed out to confront an unseen danger, Kaereon taking flight in the same direction. In a blur of movement Mir'q'arielle spun around to face the danger, only to face nothing but more shadows. A movement caught on the edge of her vision sent her turning to the other side, but the obscured shape twirled away behind her. She heard footfalls just behind her before the mysterious assailant leapt over her head and somersaulted to her front in a whirl of colour and streamers, before settling into the shape of a tall athletic female elf with deep rich electric red hair, a long spear in one hand and an elegant sword in the other.

"What such dull wits you've been left with Traveller," the Elf said with a chuckle, "Your companions spotted me quick enough, but even then its a wonder you've gotten on this far through the woods. All that time spent picking foes off with that old longbow of yours must have left you flat-footed."

Mir'q'arielle could not believe her eyes. "Aemiria!" She exclaimed, "By Isha! We thought you were dead! The horde-"

The Deathdancer laughed, and jumped and shifted as she spoke. "It takes more than a few hundred servants of Chaos to slay the Queen of Muses. By Loec's good graces, and the steel of his blades, I managed to survive the battle, but was separated and some distance from the Asrai lines. After much wandering, battling darkness at every turn, I managed to find my way back to Athel Loren."

"Why did you not return to the Meadows of Heaven?" Mir'q'arielle asked.

"I intended to, but the Elvenpath was secreted from me. It seems that The Forrest wished a new and different adventure for me, for instead I ended up journeying deep into the wood. At long last I arrived in the heart of Athel Loren, in the area they now call Fyr Darric, where I visited the great stronghold of my kind, the Feast Halls of the Wardance. It has become a dark and twisted place, filled with sadism and wanton cruelty and malice. They consider it now a game to have blood contests with captives, only to execute them as slowly and painfully as possible. Such an appalling practice I would expect from the corrupt and bitter Druchi, but not from noble Asrai, I would like to think we're better than that. And that is but one of their many degenerate sports. Alas, they are also extremely vigilant. I was kept in the region for many many seasons, unable to leave."

"How awful. It must have been painful for you to see the great bastion of your people fallen so."

"My people are the Elves of the Meadows of Heaven Mir'q'arielle, never forget that. But it did fill my heart with sorrow to see my Wardancer kin so depraved. Fortunately a few weeks ago, at least that's what it feels like, I was able to escape my retainers and slip out of the territory along with my Blades of Loec, which I was sure to steal away with me from where they were being kept after their confiscation. I've been wandering the forest ever since."

Mir'q'arielle stood, taking in everything she was being told as the Spites returned to her cloak. "It is good that we ran into each other then."

"Always good to have a travelling companion, but we must make haste. My escape cannot have gone unnoticed. Fyr Darric's hounds must surely be hunting for me even now. We must return to the Meadows of Heaven. I have seen much of what Athel Loren has become, and much of the darkness creeping through it. I must speak with the Wishmaster at once."

"We know as well Aemiria. I had set out to seek audience with Ariel to rouse the Asrai to action."

"Ariel has grown as decadent and corrupt as any of them. She has grown intoxicated with the accursed Dark Magic that they even now practice with wanton abandon. I'm afraid she would not listen. I'm not sure any of them would. The Wishmaster must be informed of the full extent of the danger."

"Then we could send word with an Eagle. I have good ties with-"

"No, some of the Eagles have ties with Argwylon, a place of magic academia in the north, they could easily report us to them. As noble as they may be, the Eagles cannot be trusted with this. We must travel back and deliver the news ourselves."

Mir'q'arielle looked down. She had a long history with the Great Eagles, to think they could not be depended on was difficult to bear. "I see," she said. "Let us be off then."

"Excellent," Aemiria replied, "Lead on friend. Along the way I will recount to you all of my thrilling escapades and adventures I have had along the way."

"Only if you retell them again when we get there," Mir'q'arielle said, "I am sure the Wishmaster will want to hear all of your tale as well." 

So the other day I finally finished something that's been sitting on my hobby space ever since I got the characters for my Wood Elf army - my Spellsinger on a Unicorn. It was long, and it was hard, and working with greenstuff is now one of the top contenders for 'most horrific excruciating torture I have ever endured in this hobby', but I finally did it. And now here she is, my Spellsinger, Ailyn! 

When I first conceived the idea of my Wood Elf army I had four very clear ideas about the characters I wanted in it. Two of those became Maxamaron and Moni'qeth, my general and standard bearer. The other two were the wizards I wanted in my army. I knew right from the get-go I wanted two wizards, one with the Lore of Athel Loren, and the other with another Lore, which I decided would be life (this was the days before the new Wood Elf book, so I couldn't choose just anything, but Life fits in with my idea of Wood Elf wizards acting as medics or healers in the Wood Elf army, and I also wanted to make sure I could keep my warriors in top health. I care about them like that).

I also had a clear vision of exactly what I wanted them both to be like. The typical Warhammer wizard is often somewhat flamboyant and extravagant, and so I wanted one of my wizards to break away and be different from this archetype by being quite humble and simple in their attire and the items they used, an older wiser magic user that knew that adding gems to something doesn't make it magical, it just makes it expensive - this would become Aneaeth Ollissin, my Spellweaver. The second wizard, on the other hand, I wanted to be much more extravagant, to contrast. At the same time, I knew as soon as I saw it as an option that I wanted one of the wizards to be riding a Unicorn. I love classic fantasy tropes and conventions, and it doesn't get much more classic than a beautiful Elven maiden riding a Unicorn and wielding magic. Finally, I knew I wanted one of the wizards to have red hair. I put these trains of thought together to create a quintissential vision of a classical attractive young Elf mage atop a Unicorn with flowing red hair, and this fitted perfectly with my want for an extravegant wizard. It also lead to the nucleus of the character backstory, she would be a young inexperienced, but gifted Spellsinger, in contrast with the aforementioned wiser, older one. This younger Spellsinger I decided to name Ailyn.

After scouring GW's model range for suitable female heads for converting these two magic practitioners (I never liked the puffed out 'super saiyan' style hair of the official female Wood Elf wizards), it quickly became obvious what model would be used as the basis for the younger spellsinger - The Fey Enchantress from the Bretonnian range. Its a model I deeply love (much like the rest of the Bretonnian model range), and even knowing that it was a sacrifice for the greater good it was heard to cut her to bits, but in the end I managed it by promising myself that one day I would put together and paint up the Fey Enchantress in all her Bretonnian glory. Anyway, the first thing I did was remove the Unicorn, replacing it with the unmounted one (re)released for Storm of Magic, ever so subtly converted. My original plan was to then cut away the Enchantress's torso and replace it with one from a Spellweaver model, but that eventually proved far too impractical to do (getting her off her Unicorn ended up being hard enough as it was!), so in the end I resorted to my contingency plan of simply switching her goblet arm with the staff arm from the aforementioned spellweaver model. I feel that most wizards should have a staff, and even if they don't, I planned on giving this one Calaingor's Stave anyway, so it'd be nice and WYSIWYG that way, as well as helping to differentiate her from the normal Fey Enchantress model. The other part of said contingency plan was the addition of vines along her dress to make it look more Wood Elfish, which I think I did quite well on, even if one of them broke off as I was undercoating her (which is why there's one leaf just above her knee awkwardly floating there. Oh well, I don't think it looks that bad). The next step was to fill out the top of the model's head. The Fey Enchantress has a crown topped with a big fleur-de-lis, which I removed along with all the other fleur-de-lisses on the model, but this ended up leaving a big space of flat resin on the top of her head, so I had to sculpt something to cover it up. I was going to go with leaves, but hair proved to be easier to do. After that I added a daisy-chain around her head, its an element right back from my original vision of the character, and I feel the idea of a lovely young Spellsinger with flowers in her hair is very Wood-Elfish. I'd originally planned to have the Unicorn be completely unadorned, a wild free creature with nothing on it except the Spellsinger that was riding it. However, Spellsingers come with a longbow as standard issue, just like any other Asrai character, and there wasn't anywhere on the Spellsinger herself to put one, so I stuck it and a quiver of arrows for it on the Unicorn, slung on with a leather loop greenstuffed around the Unicorn's body.

The base is another holdover from my original vision (to which the final model is actually extremely close to). In the background Ailyn is so full of the power of the forest that life springs up and blooms wherever she walks (or wherever her Unicorn walks when she's riding it), and so her base is covered in flowers, both small ones made from grated up sponge (using the very fine tutorial on this very forum) and larger ones crudely formed out of wire and greenstuff, along with a single large bumblebee, again crudely formed from greenstuff. Yes, I am fully aware that a bee that size would in fact be the size of a large kitten, I do not care - it is clearly a magical giant bee. I imagine a magical forest like Athel Loren needs plenty of magical pollenators, and Spites only do so much. Besides, there are giant hawks and giant eagles, why can't there be giant bees as well?

All in all I'm actually quite content with how Ailyn turned out. I think I might have liked more flowers on the base, but I think it worked out ok in the end. Anyway, background time. 

Ailyn, Glamourweave Spellsinger of the Meadows of Heaven 

In these darkened days, Ailyn is of an increasingly fewer kind. The newest and youngest of the four mages that govern the Fey Glades and the Celestial Heath, Ailyn is one of the last remaining members of the Kindreds of Yenayla - the Glamourweave Kindred. A smaller Kindred within the Spellsinger and Spellweaver Kindreds, the Glamourweave Kindred is known by many names; Shaper, Tree-Singer, Skein-Weaver, Shadow-Walker, Changeling, Wood-seer, Grove-kin and Wood-shaper are just a few well known titles they are known to go by. Glamourweaves are extremely closely linked to Athel Loren, and are as much Forrest Spirit as they are Elf, in a similar manner to the Wild Riders of Kurnous. They are dedicated to maintaining the correct balance in Athel Loren, and in times past they would often act as envoys to the older spirits of The Forrest. Alas, as the Asrai turned away from the older traditions of Athel Loren, the Glamourweaves, much like many of the other more specialised Kindreds, largely died out, and in the present time in most of Athel Loren they are all but extinct. The Meadows of Heaven, however, never abandoned the older ways, and so the territory remains a haven for all Kindreds, the Glamourweave included, and so a number of Glamourweaves continue to keep their Kindred and its teachings alive, though as they were never a large Kindred to start with they are few in number.

As well as this, Ailyn is also one of the last few who practice the fabled Lore of Athel Loren. A strange and subtle lore, the Lore of Athel Loren is a form of spellcraft that comes from magic flowing trough Athel Loren's web of consciousness. This fey form of magic can be used to create powerful glamours and illusions, or to heal even the most grievous of wounds with a touch. An Elf using the Lore of Athel Loren can weave spells of confusion and trickery to hide important areas, objects, or even entire armies, and can cast dangerous blasts that can strip a target of its memories and wits. This lore can even be used to access the secret and hidden pathways in the world, even those inaccessible by Moonstone, allowing allies to move quickly unimpeded by even the most daunting of terrain, or to disappear completely and reappear somewhere else entirely. Most impressive of all of the powers available through the Lore of Athel Loren however, is the ability to influence and alter the growth of trees and foliage, whether it be to incite a tree to grow into a beautiful structure or monument, or to cause entire groves to uproot and shift to create new glades or pathways or seal off existing ones. Many Asrai in the rest of Athel Loren no longer have a strong enough connection to the raw mystical power of Athel Loren, with their connection having over the seasons been corrupted by the use of Dark Magic, and so most territories in Athel Loren no longer practice its use - even Argwylon, for all its vaunted knowledge, retains little education or expertise regarding it. The Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven, however, never took to practising the more unwholesome forms of magic. Such forms of magic are illegal in the Meadows of Heaven, in the eyes of the Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven, magic forms such as the Dark Magic, the Lore of Death or even the Lore of Shadow are the magics used by the hated Druchi and Beastmen, and consequently they consider the use of such lores to be stooping to the level of those tainted beings, and thus abhorrent. As a result, the connection between the Spellsingers and Spellweavers of the Meadows of Heaven and the consciousness of Athel Loren is pure enough to still be able to make use of the Lore of Athel Loren, and so its practice remains common within the territory.

As a result of this, the mystical power of Athel Loren flows through Ailyn's veins as much as Elven blood does, and she feels much of what The Forrest feels. In recent times this has been the cause of great pain, as she feels madness and corruption twisting through Athel Loren's glades and trees. Her Glamourweave nature also gives Ailyn a close affinity to Forrest Spirits, especially Spites, and together with the ancient Treeman Avyrrnhan she represents the interests of the Forrest Spirits in the Meadows of Heaven, speaking for their needs before the Wishmaster. This deep connection with Athel Loren alone makes Ailyn a valuable member of the royal court of the Meadows of Heaven, but it is not for this reason that she rose to her current position. Instead, Aneaeth Ollissin chose her to become the fourth member of the ruling council of the Fey Glades and the Celestial Heath, representative of Spring, because of the immense magical capacity Ailyn possesses. Though still quite young by Elf standards, Ailyn holds unprecedented amounts of magical ability, perhaps rivalling that of even Ariel herself. She is however, still young and extremely inexperienced, and currently lacks the skill and knowledge to use her abilities to their fullest extent, and so the vast majority of this incredible power remains latent and untapped. Nonetheless, she has already demonstrated this exceptional talent - one of the first actions she ever did as a Spellsinger was to inadvertently awaken the slumbering Avyrnhan completely effortlessly, and it was this action that brought her to the attention of Aneaeth, who since then has made it her task to take the young Spellsinger under her wing as an apprentice, teaching her the ways and knowledge of magical practice.

She also gave Ailyn the staff she now wields, one of Calaingor's Staves. The Calaingor's Staves of the Meadows of Heaven, however, are very different to the ones now used in other parts of Athel Loren. Where the latter purify and strengthen a Spellsinger or Spellweaver's connection with Athel Loren enough to make use of basic spells from the Lore of Athel Loren, a Calaingor's Stave of the Meadows of Heaven enhances a Spellsinger or Spellweaver's command over the Lore of Athel Loren, allowing them to Tree-Sing repeatedly, commanding entire swathes of Forrest at once. The immense raw magical ability of Ailyn has also brought a Unicorn into her service, the magical creature being utterly seduced by the power within her. In addition, such is the extent that the Spites of the Meadows of Heaven adore her that she is escorted at all times by a Pagent of Shrikes.

In the days following the estrangement of the Meadows of Heaven from the rest of Athel Loren, Ailyn has been increasingly pained and saddened by the plight of the forest, and so she has taken it upon herself to restore The Forrest to its true glory. In recent times she has come to spend more and more time roaming the forest of Athel Loren, healing the damage done to it and restoring harmony to it. She brings Daylight to Modryn, and seasons to Arranoc, Atylwyth and Tirsyth, and does what she can to equalise the other areas of Athel Loren. However, she is but one individual, and cannot be everywhere at once, and such is the extent of the changes wrought upon Athel Loren that the Forrest invariably returns to its disharmonious state when she leaves. Even so, Ailyn continues her long quest, determined to do as much as she can to restore the proper balance to Athel Loren, no matter how long it takes.

Somewhat bizarrely however, Ailyn may not be alone in her quest. In recent days rumours and talk have begun to spread about a startling phenomena. Spites have reportedly been seen or glimpsed in vast numbers, entire armies of them pouring through the Forrest. According to tales, this 'Spite Crusade' works ceaselessly and relentlessly to undo the changes in Athel Loren, healing corruption and mercilessly battling intruders, and even occasionally striking out at Elves practising certain forms of magic. Most who claim to have seen this also say that these Spite armies head in directions that have an uncanny tendency to coincide with the direction Ailyn travels in, and all apparently can be traced back to the Meadows of Heaven. The exact nature or purpose behind this supposed 'Spite Crusade' remains a mystery. Some suggest that they might be a secret weapon unleashed by the Meadows of Heaven to dominate the rest of Athel Loren covertly. Others think that Ailyn's quest to heal Athel Loren has created an example that the Spites aspire to emulate. Others still claim that it is the work of Drycha, or that it is the first stage in a rebellion against the Elf presence in Athel Loren. Some instead argue the simple explanation that it is a natural reaction to some of the worst excesses of the Season of Retribution (or the Season of Lunacy as it is known in the Meadows of Heaven). Whatever the truth may be, the so called 'Spite Crusade' remains largely unproven, the stuff of fancy tales told in Halls by travellers. Still, talk and sightings of the phenomenon grow more and more numerous each season. While the Spites may have good intentions at heart, if the 'Spite Crusade' is indeed true it could have dangerous consequences for Athel Loren, as its invasive activities, especially the reported attacks on Elves, could give Araloth and the other Asrai opposed to the Meadows of Heaven and its ways the pretext they need to make war upon the Meadows of Heaven.... 

And finally a short while ago my local Games Workshop store had its birthday, and to celebrate they threw a giffle giveaway where I won.... this. 

In case you can't tell, its a Tau bundle including a Hammerhead, 3 Crisis Suits, a Firewarrior team and some Gun Drones. According to my estimates its roughly $265 worth of models for free. And it goes great with the Devilfish, Crisis Suit and Stealth Team I won in the Christmas giffle giveaway. Granted, this one didn't include bases for the models, so I'll have to get those seprately, but even taking that into account its still a massive discount off what it usually would cost. 

Assuming there's another Christmas giffle giveaway, with a bit of luck I might end up with a small Tau army entirely for free. This pleases me. 

Right then, back to more hobby. 

Exunt

Showtime!

'Twas the night before, 
When all through the world, 
No words, no dreams then one day, 
A writer by a fire, 
Imagined all Gia, 
Took a journey into a child-man's heart, 
A painter on the shore, 
Imagined all the world, 
Within a snowflake on his palm, 
Unframed by poetry, 
A canvas of awe, 
Planet Earth falling back into the stars 


And with that I present to you my newly finished troupe of Wood Elf Wardancers. With background!

Wardancer Troupe: The Dark Passion Play

"Valour child, never lose your heart. Embrace your inner spark, your truest passions, that what makes you different, and never let others extinguish it."

Those who call themselves the Dark Passion Play are one of the two most prominent Wardancer troupes that hail from the Meadows of Heaven. Like all their kind, they are considered wild and eccentric by other elves, however in the Meadows of Heaven Wardancers, or at least the Wardancers that come from there, are heavily romanticised, and the wild, daring and exotic Wardancer is a common character in the storytelling of the Meadows of Heaven, either as the focus of exciting adventures or as a love interest who tempts the hero or heroine into their troupe (whether or not they are successful, and whether this is shown to be a good thing or not, varies greatly from tale to tale). Many of the Wardancers that originate from the Meadows of Heaven find this highly amusing, and it is not uncommon for them to act out such roles for auciences.

All elves in the Meadows of Heaven cherish uniqueness and individual identity, especially in recent times, however none express this value more than those in the Dark Passion Play. All it's members try to foster originality wherever they can, and will not hesitate to stand against those who prey on difference. Belittling another for their individuality is a very fast way to earn their wrath, and their anger is a fearsome thing indeed.

Many of those in the Dark Passion Play originate from within or around the Glade of Poppies, or otherwise have close ties with those who do, and so as well as being extremely well educated and knowledgeable even by the standards of elves, they also have a deep connection with the province. As such, when it was decimated during Cyanathair's first assault on Athel Loren, the troupe was left just as devastated as those who resided within the province. The Dark Passion Play was one of the units that led the counter-attack against the Beastmen horde that had ravaged the Glade of Poppies, and their fury and the acts of violence they unleashed on the invaders was terrifying to behold, with none surviving their vicious attacks. Afterwards they worked tirelessly with the survivors to rebuild the shattered province, and even now they are even more utterly without mercy than other Wood Elves in slaying the children of Chaos. Indeed, many of the weapons they wield are the same ones that were used by the great heroes of the Glade of Poppies that fell in it's defence, and the two Mayspears they carry with them are made from the shattered wood of the fallen banners of that battle, so that they might always remember the sacrifices and deeds of that day, so that it might never be repeated, and so that the fallen heroes of it may yet be avenged.

Like the other Wardancer troupes that come from the Meadows of Heaven, the Dark Passion play has a very decentralised leadership structure. While it does possess a Bladesinger who nominally provides leadership and guidance for the troupe, in practice most decisions are made collectively as an ensemble, which ensures both that all are in agreement on them, and that the troupe can still act effectively if tragedy befalls it's Bladesinger. Indeed, the troupe's musician has equal authority and status within the troupe, allowing it to split into two parties if need-be and remain fully capable. Both figures each carry a weapon known as a Mayspear, a long spear decorated with precious gemstones and adorned with long flowing colourful streamers used in battle, dance and the worship of Loec, to denote their position in the troupe, and whoever carries a Mayspear carries leadership and responsibility for the troupe with them.

With their skill, daring and flair, the Dark Passion Play is ever at the forefront of the Meadows of Heaven.

And the other bit of background I wrote for my Eternal Guard. 

Eternal Guard: The Defenders of the Glade of Poppies 

Of all the provinces of the Meadows of Heaven, few have a history more tragic than that of the Glade of Poppies.

Once the Glade of Poppies was the crown jewel of the Meadows of Heaven, second only to the capital of Imaginaerum in wonder and magnificence. It was a centre of learning, knowledge and academia, and was filled with some of the wisest minds in the Meadows of Heaven, and indeed in all of Athel Loren, and countless scholars and wise souls could be found within it, passing their knowledge on and studying the world around them ever more. It's name came from the great blood red poppies that grew in the grass of it's clearings and meadows, which were left to grow free, and grew to be extremely tall, some even getting to be taller than the elf children that played around them. Some of the greatest and fairest Wishmasters of the Meadows of Heaven came from there, and all studied in the Glade of Poppies at one point or another, while the advancements and knowledge of those who dwelt there was put to good use in bettering the lives of all who resided in the Meadows of Heaven.

It was during the first attack Cyanathair made against Athel Loren, at the very start of the Secret War, that saw the Glade of Poppies left in ruins, as the glade became the site of one of the fiercest and bloodiest of all those fought in the Meadows of Heaven. Upon hearing word of the Glade of Poppies and it's splendour, The Corruptor became filled with rage and hatred, and it sent a titanic horde of Beastmen and terrible monstrosities to raze and despoil the province. The Glade of Poppies was by no means defenceless however, and massed rank upon rank of Eternal Guard stood against the onslaught, supported by hundreds of elven archers. Initially the battle went well for the Wood Elves, and thousands of Beastmen and their vile allies were slain, struck down by arrows or cut down in a maelstrom of blades. Warhawk Riders harried at their flanks, while Waywatchers silently infiltrated into the heart of the enemy before felling the leaders of the force, plunging whole regiments of beasts into brutal chaos as they fought to determine a new leader, neutralising giant swathes of the enemy army with just a few well placed shots. But still the horde pressed on, seemingly without number. The decisive turning point of the battle came when the strange shamans that accompanied the horde managed to work a great and horrific spell. With tremendous power fuelled by the carnage and bloodshed unfolding around them, they managed to temporarily tear a hole between worlds, and from it poured a host of creatures born from nightmares and forged in total Chaos, new re-enforcements that appeared directly behind the elven lines. Caught between the two forces, the Wood Elves were trapped and the battle was lost. Still, the elves fought on with the courage of true heroes, and slew scores of Beastmen and Daemons alike, but the combined forces arrayed against them were too large to fully overcome, and eventually only twenty Eternal Guard warriors remained, the tattered remnants from different regiments banded together for a final stand, and they fought back to back against the overwhelming tide until all became blood and darkness.

When they awoke the next morning, they were in the centre of the Glade of Poppies, surrounded by blood, bodies, ash and destruction. The horde that had assailed the place was gone, but the Glade of Poppies was devastated. Countless trees had been cut down, burnt, or torn apart. Spites lay pinned up with nails and spikes of hell-forged black iron, their forms broken and mutilated. Sacred stones lay toppled and desecrated. The air was thick with choking cinders..... and every single one of the great poppies from which the province gained it's name had been cut down, stamped on, or razed.

As they saw the desolation, their hearts were filled with despair and grief, for their homes and their world had been torn from them and shattered. And so it was that they vowed that never again while they still drew breath would the poppies be allowed to be cut down again.

Since those dark times the Glade of Poppies has been healed, and blood red poppies once again grow free within it, though none have yet reached the height they once were. Even so, the damage wrought in that fateful battle has left lasting scars amongst the Asrai of the Meadows of Heaven, and it is likely that they will never forgive themselves or the minions of Chaos for it. The Battle of the Glade of Poppies is one of the most common stories told by the Wardancer troupes that come from the Meadows of Heaven, and through them and the storytelling nature of the Asrai that live within that territory knowledge of that great combat has spread to other parts of Athel Loren.

The Defenders of the Glade of Poppies is the regiment formed from the original twenty survivors of the battle of the Glade of Poppies, now formally organised as a single fighting unit. Having fought together side by side for many, many years, they have grown to become a fearsome fighting unit, with each member having full knowledge of the capabilities, strengths and idiosyncrasies of their comrades, allowing them to work together seamlessly to form something far greater than the sum of it's parts. The banner they carry into battle, the Banner of Poppies, is the only banner that did not fall in the battle of the Glade of Poppies, and was waved defiantly at the heart of the defence until the bitter end. It holds considerable magical properties, and is believed to be a legendary Razor Standard, as it hones the blades near it to supernatural sharpness, allowing them to shear through armour and thick hide alike with contemptuous ease. The Forrest has not forgotten the promise that they made so many years ago, and seems to have bestowed upon them some form of mystical fortitude, for they have been seen to survive grievous wounds that would have surly killed another elf. In addition, wherever they step foot blood red poppies, of the same variety that grow in the Glade of Poppies, have been known to spring up and grow, seemingly in reminder of their pledge and duty.

As well as their normal duties as a unit of Eternal Guard, the Defenders of the Glade of Poppies also act, in times of peace, as the main police force within the Meadows of Heaven, patrolling the territory and inspecting elven halls to ensure no Asrai causes strife and that the tenants of the Wishmaster are met. Their heritage and upbringing in the Glade of Poppies puts them in good stead for this role, as it gives them an extensive knowledge of the laws and traditions of the Meadows of Heaven.

And then because it's Saturday here's a short background piece I wrote in response to the new Wood Elf release. 

A piercing cold wind gusted through the trees, bringing amber and crimson leaves dancing across the icy clear sky, a vast open canvas upon which was now painted the comely pinks and oranges of a serenely stunning and wholesome sunset, contrasted by the darkened shapes of the trees below. A few clouds the colour of caramel dozed across the firmament above. Though the scene was fair in fullest, to the grouped figures in the royal conclave glade the blood and flame coloured foliage that surrounded them also had a much more ominous, almost funereal tone to it. After all, it was a clear sign to all that Autumn was here, and that Winter was fast approaching, when trees and forest spirits lay dormant, and flowers and plants died. Even worse, Winter was the nadir of the great forest's power, and a long period of constant danger when it was at it's most vulnerable. The matters they were discussing only served to compound this feeling.

At the head of the circle, or at least the point of it closest to the grand Royal Hall, was Maxamaron, Wishmaster of the Meadows of Heaven, resplendent in his golden armour and the rich deep green of his Lorenweave Royal cloak. His Bow of Loren and it's accompanying quiver of Arcane Bodkins was slung across his back, for it was common practice for all Asrai to keep their bows close to them, lest danger come unexpectedly. Around the Wishmaster's head was the small and delicately slender crown of the Meadows of Heaven, and at his side was the magnificent King's Longsword, carried by every Wishmaster in the long history of the Meadows of Heaven. To the Wishmaster's left was the imposing form of his protector Gaerielle, her Spear of Twilight close at hand and her eyes constantly probing for hidden threats. To the Wishmaster's right was his royal standard bearer Moni'qeth, the current royal battle standard of the Meadows of Heaven firmly planted in the ground just behind her.

Opposite of them were the four governing mages of the Fey Glades and the Celestial Heath, representing the combined wisdom and power of the magic wielders in the Meadows of Heaven. Two of them, Aneaeth Ollissin, their leader, and Tirj'aelle Taerynen of the Winter Storm, both had flowing hair of a deep earthy brown, while the other two of their company, Char'loth Wyssyls of the April Rain and Ailyn, their newest member, had tresses of richest red. Ailyn was furthest away from the other three, close to the enormous verdant form of Avyrrnhan, one of the greatest Tree Lords that remained in the Meadows of Heaven. Though he still did his best to stand fully upright, the fatigue that the coming Winter brought with it was taking it's toll on the ancient treeman, and so occasionally he was forced to rest upon his massive forearms for a time. The Cluster of Radiants that dwelt upon him now circled his head like a wondrous glowing halo.

To either side of these two parties were other great lords and important figures in the Meadows of Heaven, Mir'q'arielle the Traveller, huddled within her cloak of Eagle down, Kaeron perched upon her shoulder, and a representative of the Great Eagles of the Meadows of Heaven perched majestically in the trees above. Opposite them was the lone and shadowed form of Saiyereth, the master of the Waywatchers in the Meadows of Heaven. A few spites played and danced about the assembly, but most of the forest spirits there huddled close to their hosts or companions, for there seemed to be little to be joyful about. All those taking part in the meeting or paying attention to it had sombre, haunted expressions to them.

"I did not fathom such a thing possible, but it seems even worse than we feared, if what the birds tell us and what our sentinels are witnessing is indeed true." Said Saiyereth.

"And yet all throughout Athel Loren they are celebrating," added Mir'q'arielle, "All across the forest Asrai and spirit alike are joined in great festivals. They welcome these new turns and twists with open arms, and laud them as miraculous. Ambitious plans of battle and warfare are being drawn up, and vast new armies raised. They act almost with the joy of two deep lovers reunited after much time apart. They are eager for these new fortunes."

"Yet while they do the Meadows of Heaven look upon these new changes with terror and despair," the Wishmaster said, "We see only damnation where they see salvation, however much we may gain from the coming developments."

"The spirits here are most disturbed by the new elder ones awaking," began Avyrrnhan, "They have been completely changed and twisted, and I no longer recognise them as kindred. There is something.... uncanny..... about them. Something dangerous. Something frightening. It feels like something is missing from them, some spark or seed. The other spirits of the Forrest and their companions may praise them, but not I. Not we."

"I concur," replied the Wishmaster, "They are indeed unnerving, and do not feel as though they belong here. But many of the Forrest Spirits avoid this place where they can, so I do not feel as troubled by them."

A flurry of spites rushed towards Ailyn and settled close around the spellsinger, nestling amongst the Pageant of Shrikes on her. "There is more cause for concern than just that my lord," she said, "There's also the Spites. Hundreds upon hundreds of them are fleeing into our realm, driven here by fear greater than that they have of you. It's these changes, they terrify them. They fear they will be swept up by them and fade into nothingness or uselessness. Mischievous they may be, they love nothing more than to help the forest and it's denizens in the end. They do not wish to go away. They are frightened."

"They need not worry Ailyn," said the Wishmaster, "They will always find refuge and sanctuary here. Even if the other elves forget their importance, we will forever value their power."

"Very good." Said Avyrrnhan, "It is... good to see that even with the rot at your core you still hold respect for the children of the Forrest."

"The most dire news of all," Aneaeth said, "Is that of the changing magical landscape. It would seem that other Asrai are eschewing the traditional channels of magical power, and turning to the outsider lores of magic. I'm not sure which frightens me more, that they dabble in the shadow and death magic of the Beastmen vermin, or that they experiment with the unholy power of the dark magic practised by the Druchii. Either would certainly spell doom for the Forrest, and these new magic practices threaten to wreak havoc upon it's balance. Already we can feel the shudders of pain they are starting to bring to it."

"I find it odd," Char'loth added, "That the other Asrai sing praise of new freedom, while their rejection of the old ways may actually mean less of it with the loss of the lore of Athel Loren that it brings with it. I believe that the preservation of the knowledge of the Lore of Athel Loren be given high priority."

"Agreed." replied the Wishmaster.

"And yet," said Tirj'aelle, "We may gain something from this. Without the restrictions, we could harness more of the natural power in the greater world." Of the four mages, Tirj'aelle was always the one with the closest affinity to the firmament, stargazing and scrying. She was excited about the thought of studying the lore of the Heavens and unlocking it's power.

"No." responded Aneaeth, "Such a prospect is too dangerous, and the loss of the magic of Athel Loren and Treesinging is far too steep a cost for it."

"What is our course of action then?" asked Saiyereth.

"They have shown they will not listen to us," said Gaerielle, "We should respond with force, and retaliate against those who would seek to pervert our ways. Our forces are capable enough."

"No," responded the Wishmaster, "Even if we could win a war against all the rest of Athel Loren, they are not our enemies. We must keep our focus on the true adversaries, those outside who seek to despoil the forest."

"I would not rule out diplomacy just yet Wishmaster," said Mir'q'arielle, "I could journey to the Oak of Ages and parley with Ariel. With her connection to the forest, it's sorrow at the touch of these insidious new magics must surely be being felt by her. It may still be possible to convince her to our plight."

"I doubt that she will be swayed, but it is certainly worth a try," said the Wishmaster, "Make it so. Venture to the Oak of Ages, Mir'q'arielle, and investigate just what is happening to the forest. Take any who wish to join you back to the Meadows of Heaven."

"It shall be done Wishmaster."

"in the meantime, our concerns must as ever be for the people of this territory."

"The people are frightened Wishmaster," Saiyereth said, "They fear we may have to give up our ways of life. They fear they may be in danger."

"They will be safe," replied the Wishmaster, "We will see to their safety, though it may mean that we must sever some of our ties with the rest of Athel Loren. We shall of course continue to hunt those who would seek to harm the forest, but it may have to be in even more secret then it is now. It seems our deeds may never be recorded in the Hall of Honours."

"Unsung heroes." said Gaerielle.

"Even so our actions may yet be remembered," Moni'qeth said, "The Glade of Poppies keeps a well preserved and recoded archive, and the Wardancers of this territory are ever ready to tell our tales. They will certainly be glad to tell our stories to the rest of the forest."

"Indeed," said the Wishmaster, "If indeed there remains a forest to tell them to."

The Wishmaster looked up and contemplated the Eventide. "It feels as though this world is dying," he said, "And as though we are powerless to stop it. With these new changes, it seems more than ever that we may be trapped between worlds."

"Despair not," Moni'qeth said, "We will fight to preserve what we treasure, even if it is never witnessed."

A flight of ebony ravens cried as they flew across the glade. Their harsh calls sent a shiver down the assembly, and their hearts skipped a beat. All those who dwelt in Athel Loren knew of the blood-eyed shrikes that were one of the forms taken by the Lamentation of Despairs. If they were reaper spirits however, none of the party fell, so for whom they called for it could not be told.

"Now then," said the Wishmaster, "let us see about containing the threat of this new magic.." 

Finally, my fledgling Wood Elf army had it's first outing in the local Games Workshop store yesterday. I didn't get any games in with it, but I did manage to set it all out on an unused table to show it off. 

A Wild Ride Through The Night

Scavius's armoured boots slammed against the shattered pavement as he thundered down the street. Although it was deep in the night, the darkness around him was scattered by the flickering bursts and glows of flames and explosions, playing out beneath an audience of a hundred thousand stars that filled the inky sky above, seated amongst the dull clouds and watched over by the two moons of the world Scavius was currently on. 

It was a Cardinal World, situated in the vast wilderness of the galaxy's east. Sanctus Espirtus was what the slaves of the Corpse God had christened it. It was an old world, and like it's sibling planets much of it's surface was covered by titanic cathedrals, abbeys, chapels and other edifices to the pathetic faith these wretched humans followed. The streets, like the one Scavius was running down now, were cobbled and lined with an unending stream of famous figures of their dogma. Many had already been defaced or toppled. The rest would join them in time, but for now there were still enemies to focus on. 

Though it had negligible value as anything more than a symbol, the False Emperor's minions had already begun to pour onto it in it's defence. They were still mostly lowly soldiery from the Imperial Army, but an enormous force of the fanatical elite guard of the Imperial Church that held dominion over this world had also made planetfall. Scavius had clashed with elements of them before, and he had relished the experience. He longed to hunt them once more. 

Scavius was not without allies either however. Indeed, the warband of Night Lords which he belonged to had been drawn to the conflict as support for the gigantic crusade of Word Bearers that had first assaulted the world. Scathius sneered with contempt at the thought of them. For all their numerical size they were still blind fools who slaved away to uncaring entities. Like all of his brethren, Scavius knew the truth - to follow any form of faith, to submit to anything other than oneself, was nothing more than weakness. Power was all that mattered, and power could only be gained first hand, by tearing it from others. It would not be handed over by some great being or creature. 

A band of mortal soldiers had appeared at an intersection ahead. They were setting up a gunline, but with his enhanced senses Scavius had already seen the palor of their faces, the quiver in their step. Their fear was almost palpable, and when the guardsmen finally started firing it showed in how their timid shots streaked straight past Scavius and his squad, those sporadic few that hit harmlessly glancing their ancient power armour. As the Night Lords closed with their new quarry, they made sure to live up to their nightmarish impression. 

"We've come for you!" They bellowed, the various distorted voices that left the external speakers on their power armour merging together in a hellish twisted echoing cacophony. At once they followed it by unleashing a torrent of shells from their boltguns. Several Guardsmen were reduced to tattered bloody ribbons of shredded flesh and smashed flack plating by the impacts, but the majority were simply maimed by the barrage. They were the unlucky ones. Moments after the last few boltgun shells hit, Scavius and his squad barrelled into the midst of the Imperials, knives drawn. Scavius shivered with ecstasy as he left his mark upon the new victims, taking much pride in how he found new creative ways to carve them apart. He marvelled in the terrified screams they gave. One of the other members of Scavius's squad opened up his flamer on the weaklings, unleashing a magnificent roaring cascade of burning chemicals that sent them reeling and screaming, fleeing wildly in circles as their forms burned. 

Once they had finished their work, the Night Lords made sure to proudly display their latest masterpieces, splaying the mutilated bodies of their adversaries across the statues that lined the road, as a message to both friend and foe, before continuing along the street. Above them the Raptors that accompanied their warband leapt from spire to spire, blazing trails from their jump-packs streaking against the sky. Occasionally a battered corpse fell from their lofty perches as they forged their own bloody carnage through the district. In the distance, Scavius could hear the roaring engines of the warband's bikers as they sped through the city. The Corpse God's feeble minions could not stop them. 

Scavius laughed inside his armour. The night was young, and the night belonged to them. 

Crying Wolf

Julia tried to shy away towards the back of the crowd as best as she could. She was starting to feel sick inside. She hadn't wanted any of this to happen. It had all gone wrong.

For all of her fourteen years of life Julia had lived in the same place on the same world, named New Heathsfall. It had a few cities and towns that were islands of humanity in a sea of endless plains and fields. Every once and a while a ship would show up in orbit and shuttles and landers would ferry goods between it and the surface all day, and every so often another ship would show up and an enormous number of the world's men would be hauled onto it (and sometimes a few of it's women too). Almost all of them were never seen again, and the few that did never talked about what happened to them after they left. Julia dreaded that ship, because she knew one day it would come for all the boys she knew. She wouldn't mind if some of the mean or irritating ones left and never came back, but there were also ones she was friends with and others she admired, and she'd like them to stay for as long as possible. Julia knew that the world was ruled by a planetary governor, and she knew from her school classes that the world was on the distant edge of the galaxy, and a long, long way from Terra, the home of mankind.

But Julia cared little for that. She was young, a teenager, and her days were still carefree, filled with friends and laughter and parties, in between studying when she had to. She paid homage to the Emperor of humanity just as everyone else did. But her main concerns in life at the moment were good grades, finding a date to the annual dance social, and what her friend Madeline was doing.

Madeline. For almost as long as Julia could remember she had been inseparable from her. Thick as thieves when they were children, best friends when they grew older. They liked the same songs, the same style of clothing, the same books. Whenever one was upset or hurt, the other would be rushing to her side to comfort her. They were like sisters, and Julia had thought she was perfect in every way.

But things had changed in recent times. More and more Julia had started to gain a creeping, growing feeling of neglect. It felt like the spotlight was constantly on Madeline, with her and her actions being constantly praised. Julia had studied just as hard, and earned top marks in her exams, but Madeline had received the academic award that year, amongst others. When Julia had proposed an idea for a class project, she was ignored, but when Madeline proposed an identical one it was chosen. The final straw had been when Julia's crush had asked Madeline to a date, and the two had been in a relationship that seemed to grow ever closer and more romantic ever since.

Julia had started to grow desperate. She knew she was just as deserving of credit and praise and fortune as Madeline was, but no-one seemed to notice her. In her frantic search for something that would shift some of the limelight away from Madeline and back onto her, she had recalled the stories and tales told to her as a child. Tales that were told to every child that she knew, and indeed every child on the world. Strange, frightening tales of evil witches who would gather in the dead of night to spread terror and death, slaughtering beasts and razing fields, and conjuring up horrible monsters to slay and torment townspeople. Julia was certain that they were just simple fables meant to frighten children into obedience, but she also knew that the people of her world were very superstitious. So she did something, something malicious and cruel, but something she did not intend to seriously harm anyone with.

She had said that Madeline was a witch.

She had spread it in secret as a rumour. She had pointed out how people were drawn to her, and said that it was not in fact because of her merits, but because she had cast spells on them. She had even planted some evidence, just a few odd-looking trinkets and an occult book or two, in and around her room and school cabinet. And the word spread like wildfire. Soon all the students in her school were whispering about it, and cold looks were given at Madeline when she went past.

But then things began to spiral out of control. She did not know how, but the story had managed to reach the ears of the planetary governor. And then a few months after Julia had started the slander, a new ship had arrived in the sky. This one carried a tall, brooding man. He wore a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat, and was adorned in seals and I-like emblems. He frightened Julia. He had come with a large number of black and grey armoured soldiers, who carried large weapons that some of the more militarily-interested boys called hellguns (while some others insisted they were lasguns, and others still said they were hotshot lasguns). They had set up a perimeter around an apartment building, cleared out it's tenants, and kept Madeline there for weeks.

Julia's plan had worked. She started getting noticed more. She started getting more praise. In a few days she became the most popular girl in school for exposing the wicked creature in their midst, though they didn't know she had made all that up. Madeline's boyfriend, Julia's crush, had even asked her out. It was everything she had wanted to get, but now she no longer wanted any of it. Especially when she managed to catch a glimpse into Madeline's new prison and saw what was being done to her...

And now it had come to this. Julia was in the middle of a gigantic crowd, gathered in the town square, jeering and shouting and snarling out at what was before it. The object of their attention was a vast stage that had been erected, and on it was dear, innocent Madeline, Julia's best friend, lashed to an enormous black monolith, emblazoned with skulls and other icons of death, and the same I-like insignia the man in the hat and coat wore. It was late afternoon, and the sun was setting and painting the sky a great, agonising, resplendent triptych of reds, pinks, oranges and yellows. At the fringes of the sunset the sky was turning to deep mournful midnight blues, and New Heathfall's two moons were just starting to show in the haze. An icy, bitter wind was scourging through the square, and it pierced straight through Julia. Amber and ochre leaves chased each other on the breeze. A black cat slinked around the fringes of the square. And Madeline waited, her comely, elegant features gripped in a heart-skewering look of confusion and sorrow, her great sapphire-blue eyes brimming with tears as she tried desperately to search for a reason why all this had happened to her, why she was about to die and her family were cheering for it, and why her friend hadn't tried to help. Her long golden tresses feebly reached out in the winds, and struck out like torchlight against the cold grim obsidian black of the device she was tied to.

The man in the hat and coat was on the stage, with a book in his hand, and he was preaching to the crowd about how the righteous must be ever-vigilant in these dark and terrible times for the unclean and the wicked, and that the people had done a great service to humanity for exposing this heretical fiend. He condemned Madeline for consorting with vile powers and acting out against mankind, and said she was now sentenced to death.

Then a great and terrible whirring whine began to radiate out of the black monolith.

Julia looked down and saw herself in a puddle, her raven coloured hair flanking her face and grape green eyes like curtain drapes. She shut her eyes quickly. She couldn't bear to look at herself. Her head was filled with thoughts of guilt and regret. A small voice whispered out amidst the despair, a strange serpentine purr that she did not recognise, and tried to ignore. A voice that said she had done the right thing.

A burning lump was catching in Julia's throat, and her insides churned. Her veins were on fire. She wanted to go far, far, far away from this place, and curl up in a cave somewhere and never come out. She never wanted this to happen. She never wanted her friend dead. She just wanted a bit more attention.

But what Julia didn't know, what she couldn't know, was that those stories told to her and the other children of their world weren't just tales. There really were witches and monsters out there.

And the people like the planetary governor and the man in the hat and coat had very good reason to do what they were doing.

Upon the stage, Madeline gave a sigh, and made one final look upwards into the heavens, calmly resigned to her demise. The whining reached a crescendo, and at once burst into a brilliant flash of light and fire, and a wave of heat roared over the crowd. In the centre of the firestorm, Madeline was turned to silhouette, then bones, then ashes that were swept upwards into the wind.

And as the sparks and embers swirled upwards with them, a shooting star streaked across the midnight painted sky.

Baptism of Fire

Shas'la'Kel'shan'Mont'yr'Ta Darted across the alleyway and lunged into the shadow of a nearby building, pressing close to the towering wall and ensuring there was as little chance of him being targeted as possible. Snipers were known to be operating in the area, and he did not intend to be one of their kills today. Despite this supposedly being a relatively calm sector, Mont'yr'Ta could nonetheless dimly hear the sound of heavy automatic weapons fire, making it's way across the dusty air over the buildings from some other block of the city.

A series of ominously deep bass explosions echoed from distant artillery fire as the young Tau paused to take stock of the situation. He was deep within an enormous city, a key strategic location on the planet his hunter cadre was currently deployed on, and all around him were colossal towers and spires, titanic peaks of alloys and concrete that lanced upwards into the sky. It was late in the afternoon, and the world's setting sun cast long finger-like rays of light through the buildings while they stood as defiant silhouettes in it's amber  radiance, casting grim foreboding shadows across the urban forest. Motes of dust and the occasional bright ember drifted through the air. Behind La'Mont'yr'Ta, the main street was illuminated with a flickering glow emanating from the burning wreckage of his team's Devilfish troop carrier, downed by a Gue'la lascannon nest further up ahead. Cycling through the vision modes on his helmet display showed no nearby enemies. Mont'yr'Ta checked his communications channels, and found they were still being jammed. He checked the power cell in his pulse carbine - it was at 75% capacity from the bursts of fire he'd laid down at the Gue'la position while running to the alleyway- and quickly moved up to where the rest of his team were.

There were seven other Firewarriors active at the team's position, including the Shas'ui team leader, who was pondering on a piece of debris. Another four were propped against a wall, they'd been injured when the Devilfish crashed. The Shas'ui looked up as Mont'yr'Ta stopped next to him.

"Good, you made it. We'll need as many of the team as possible if we're going to press onward to the objective. Did you see the others?" he inquired.

"No Shas'ui. I think they must be on the other side of the street. Are the drones from the Devilfish still available? Perhaps we could use them to cover them while they link up with us?"

"According to my tactical display the Drones are still functional, and have taken shelter behind the Devilfish wreckage. If they move past it they'll be easy pickings for the Gue'la's heavy weapons. We're going to clear them off the road before regrouping with the Drones and the other Shas'la, assuming of course they're still alive."

"We're going to storm them? They have a prepared position, that does not seem like a wise course of action to me Shas'ui."

"We're not charging straight in. From the quick look I had as I was getting out of the street I noticed they don't seem to have any troops inside the buildings around their heavy weapons. We can slip in through the back door on one of them, get to a higher level and rain fire down on the Gue'la from there."

"What about the injured?"

The Shas'ui looked down for a moment, as if thinking. "We'll leave two here to guard them while a six-strong fire team makes the attack. Do I have any volunteers to stay here?" He asked the team. Three Firewarriors promptly raised their hands. The Shas'ui pointed at two of them. "You, and you. Everyone else is with me."

A string of mortar rounds impacted just a few dozen metres away from the them. "Right then. Let's move," said the Shas'ui.

Mont'yr'Ta was given point. The Gue'la position was not far, though between the slinking from cover to cover, and moving slowly and carefully to make sure they remained undetected, it seemed to take an unnerving amount of time. Eventually they reached their intended destination, a tall building adjacent to where the humans had set up. It had had several large holes blown in it, but was intact enough that the Tau would be able to move around in it without being seen if they kept away from the lower windows. Mont'yr'Ta felt giddy and on-edge. Although he'd been well trained in the Kel'shan battledome, and had performed admirably in the exercises there, this was his first combat deployment, and all at once he felt that the stakes were much, much higher. These were alien soldiers shooting at him, with lethal force, not training drones and mockups armed with stun-weaponry. In addition, the exercises had been just that - exercises, simulations. They had definitely played a big part in his own life, as well as his Team's, but in the greater scheme of things they had little real impact. Here, an entire world hung in the balance. And perhaps more; Mont'ry'Ta had studied the history of the Fire Caste. He had learnt about the Damocles Crusade, and how the Gue'la had waged near genocide against his people. He'd learnt of the Gue'la assaults on his homeworld of Kel'shan, and how the Gue'la there had only stopped their relentless attack when faced with an even greater alien threat, and he knew they'd almost certainly try again if they weren't stopped.

But that wasn't the main thing motivating Mont'yr'Ta. No, he was driven by the fact that they'd just tried to kill his team. His friends. And if there was one thing that Mony'yr'Ta did not abide, it was those who tried to hurt his friends.

The six Firewarriors slipped into the building and made their way up to the upper floors. Once they reached the desired elevation, the Shas'ui halted them. As one, they crept up to the building's windows that faced towards the street, taking care to keep out of sight. Mont'yr'Ta looked out and down through the window from the side. Below, the Gue'la were still looking towards the Devilfish, likely waiting for the gun drones or the other two Tau to show themselves. Or perhaps they were just ordered to concentrate on that approach.

"Alright Shas," The Shas'ui said as quietly as he could, "On three. One.... two.... "

Mont'yr'Ta moved his finger over the trigger of his pulse carbine.

"three."

In unison, the Firewarriors levelled their weapons out and downwards towards, aimed, and fired. The Gue'la were taken by complete surprise, and most were quickly struck down in the storm of plasma pulse bursts. The Tau made sure to target the small-arms equipped infantry first, those manning the lascannons were not as much of an immediate threat. A few searing beams of lasgun fire shot out in response, most hitting the building's walls. One hit a Shas'la, but did little more than scorch their armour. One of the Gue'la took off up the road. Mont'yr'Ta trained his pulse carbine on the human and dropped them in a single burst. The Gue'la command post and it's jamming equipment, which the team had been sent to neutralise, could not be informed of an imminent attack. They would have doubtless been contacted by these troops, but was likely that the Tau had been reported as eliminated. It was best kept that way.

"Good shooting Shas'la," Said the Shas'ui, "I'm setting a waypoint path for the Drones now. Let's get back to the others, if they're still there to get back to."

As they were making their way back out of the building, one of the Shas'la approached Mont'yr'Ta. All of the team were in full combat armour, including the standard Firewarrior helmet, and as such all looked almost identical besides the Shas'ui and his coloured helmet, but by the way this one approached Mont'yr'Ta he knew it had to be her. Of all his team, Mont'yr'Ta was closest to her. "Nice work with the runner back there," she said, "I'm glad to see you made it out of the ambush."

"I appreciate it," Mont'yr'Ta replied, "I'm just as gladdened to see you made it out uninjured."

"It'll take more than some hot light to keep me down." Mont'yr'Ta liked hearing that. He did not want to loose her just yet. "You and me shas'la, we're going a long way together."

"Perhaps one day I'll be your close protection officer when you're a commander." she said.

Beneath his helmet, Mont'yr'Ta smiled at this.

Dearest Amelia

++++ Correspondance Document ++++
++++Delivery Destination: Ultima Segmentum; Scandiacus sub-sector; Gretchen system, Lacuna Lithia [ERROR: Planetary location address classified]++++
++++Send date: 997.M41++++
++++Recieved: 997.M41++++
++++ Source Location: [ERROR: origin location classified]++++
++++Author: Inquisitor Jav're, Ordo Hereticus++++
++++Attachments detected; recieved. Attachment subject: physical cargo - organic matter. Size class: minoris++++
++++Running security checks++++
++++Weaponry detected: none++++
++++ Toxins detected: none++++
++++Dangerous pathogens detected: none++++
++++Dangerous technology detected: none++++
++++Psychic signature: negative++++
++++Psycho-conductive content: none++++
++++Running purity checks....... probing for taint........ scouring for taint......... checks complete; no taint detected. Purity status: Pure++++
++++Threat assessment: nil. Document and attachments safe to review++++
++++Thought for the day: He who is without righteousness is nought.++++

Dearest Amelia, sweetest Katherine, 

I pray this letter finds you well, in good health, in fine spirits and, above all, by the eternal will and glory of the God-Emperor, alive. You are truly a treasure, both to this honoured branch of the Inquisition, and even more so to me. Already I cannot bear to fathom you lost. 

I also trust that the flowers I send with this letter make it to you intact. As you will probably note upon immediate inspection, they are a rare variety of Cosmorose, found in scant places within the Imperium, and especially scarce in the Galactic East. Indeed, I am told they are thought to be a dying species. Recently we stopped at a small Convent-world, and I found several bushes of them growing around the primary Ecclesiarchal chapel present, and their icy blues and violets recalled the infinite depth and beauty of your eyes. The Sororitas there, of the Order of the Celestial Cross, were kind enough to help me pick and preserve in stasis a few of them for deliverance to you. Some of them commented that you were lucky to have the adoration of such a dedicated and pious servant of humanity. I myself beg to differ, for I consider myself far luckier to have discovered you. It was a wondrous little 
world, full of light and colour and pretty little horticulture arrangements, and the chapel was a thing of marvel. Perhaps one day we might have the good fortune of uniting there in marriage someday, when this darkness finally breaks. 

I am afraid to say that I cannot reveal where I currently am at the moment. As I'm sure you know full well, secrecy is paramount in this business, and information is dangerous if left unguarded. Suffice to say I am somewhere far far away from Holy Terra, where the blessed light of the Emperor does not quite reach, and as always hunting something particularly dangerous. The particular heretics I have secured of recent in my pursuit of the heart of their blasphemous coven have proven notably resistant to both interrogation and pennant cleansing techniques. They revel in any sensation, even excruciating pain, and unlike many others of their ilk, sensory deprivation only seems to incite them to dream up imaginary experiences to feel. I have come to employ a method where the subjects are heavily sedated, before being put through various tortures, such as the Martyred Widow, the Crucius Gibbet, with carefully recorded footage of the procedures being recorded and shown to them once they are fully conscious. It has thus far proven effective enough to glean a number of confessions, and I believe I am coming closer to rooting out this vile tumour. Praise be the Emperor! 

I have also come to discover that these heretics seem to particularly favour port worlds in which to fester in. Indeed, just a few days ago we uncovered the largest cell yet of this insidious cult on a world just bellow a major naval starbase! The heretics had managed to worm themselves into the heart of the planet's cities, with many of their number masquerading as individuals of ill repute and providing 'entertainment' services for Imperial crews on leave. Who knows how many fine upstanding Imperial Navy personnel might have been corrupted by these infernal traitors? Fortunately we were able to wipe the scum from the face of the planet with fire and fury, with the support of the planetary Arbites. It certainly did strike a chord of nostalgia in me to be working with them again. Regrettably however our victory came at the cost of 14 dozen good souls in total. An especially high amount of those were also hardened veterans of my household troops. I do not know how long it will take to find replacements that pass muster. 

The days are long and sore without you at my side. Though the time we spent together was but a short few months, already I feel you in my heart, and coursing through my veins. I see your exquisite beauty in the stars, the void they are suspended in as lustrous and dark as your ebon tresses, and all my dreams are of us sharing a lifetime together. I yearn for your touch and wish nothing more than to hold you again in my embrace. I pray fervently to the Emperor that I may be able to see you again soon. Perhaps you will have Cosmoroses in your hair? 

Yours forever, and forever the Emperor's, 

- Jav're