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post #1 of 5 (permalink) Old 11-23-11, 05:38 AM Thread Starter
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Default The Fall of Ravanont (Intro)

Something I work on in my spare time, my friends like what I have so I figured I'd toss up the intro here to see what the general warhammer readerbase thinks.

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I stand on the ashes of what was once a forest world, nature’s beauty brought down by the great destroyer. My hand rests on the hilt of my jewel-encrusted blade before moving up to touch the soulstone around my slender neck. My other hand is clasped around my ornate spear, lightning in my violet eyes as I overlook the horrid scene unfolding in front of me impassively, letting the psychic energy build up inside of me. My warning came to this planet too late as I see the feral forms of massive armoured behemoths, feral snarls plastered on their unnatural feline faces, their orange and black armour writhed in flame as their bodies twist and change.

I navigate the scored ground beneath my feet, the smell of ash heavy in the air as more trees fall. Mon’kiegh run screaming as flesh melts from their bones, the forms of great beasts cutting them down and twisted Daemons appearing from nowhere. I look ahead and see an armoured giant on the ground, my men warning me to be weary of him though I don’t heed their advice, walking towards him. I reach down my hand and place it to his torso, transferring the energy from my body to his, just like the plants in the Atrium back home. I feel a warmth on my fair face as a single tear runs down my cheek, embracing the feeling and allowing it to fuel me. My eyes turn back to the behemoths as the Harlequins with my troupe prepare for the dance of death, the slender form of a solitaire visible out of the corner of my eye.

The ground beneath me trembles as I look down, the armoured giant at my feet stirring and rising, removing his helm as his long tangled hair falls in front of his emerald eyes. The cracked plate on his chest shows the heraldry of his once proud chapter and his streak. He lets out a cry for his fallen brothers and picks up a hulking weapon; a massive maul crackling with molten fury. He charges into the twisted behemoths as they continue to change, others following him into the clash as blade meets blade, brother meets brother, and a world’s fate is unfolded. I stand back as my men press forward, assaulting the twisted forms of the fallen.

The aftermath is red. The ground is stained with blood. Death is everywhere. A god laughs. All is darkness…
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post #2 of 5 (permalink) Old 11-24-11, 08:16 PM
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Default Wow.

I cannot speak for everyone, but as for my self...

I really like your style as well as the intensity of your work so far. Maybe in the future you could clarify who the behemoths, armored giants and changing figures were as well as what kind of Eldar warrior the story is comming from.

i could not stop reading the intro and hope that you will add to it soon.

A good reputation take a long time to build, but only a moment to destroy. Wow, that's deep! Check out the H.O.E.S. short story competition.
Other stories from Adrian.
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post #3 of 5 (permalink) Old 11-24-11, 11:34 PM Thread Starter
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I'm glad to hear you enjoy it. I've been writing on two different ways to find out which I want to do. One in third person, the intro being a vision, and one continued in first person. Haven't decided which to carry on with yet though

The aftermath is red. The ground is stained with blood. Death is everywhere. A god laughs. All is darkness...
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post #4 of 5 (permalink) Old 12-03-11, 03:49 AM Thread Starter
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Chambers of Sem’ael Elear
Craftworld Saim Hann
Thirty cycles before the Fall of Ravanont


My mind breaks from the tangled web that is the Skein, sweat beading on my brow. A handful of intimately crafted runes of wraithbone circle around my head before coming to rest in a leather pouch at my waist as the witchlight begins to leave my violet eyes. I focus on items in the real world to center myself; First the rune of Sem’ael Elear, my rune, my focusing point and a representation of all that I was, all that I am, and all that I could be. Next is my form, my figure, the slender Eldar build, long elegant legs and arms, pointed chin, and patches of crystal covered skin on my body from prolonged tread of the Path of the Seer. I see my face, the violet eyes, pointed nose, long sandy hair, the soft lips. My ornate blue and red rubes come now, golden silk decorating the cuffs and collar, before my simple meditation room comes back into existence.

“I am Sem’ael Elear, one of the elder race, the Eldar. I am bound to the Path of the Seer, my own flesh a testament to that. I am one of the last sons of a dying empire, an all but extinct Craftworld, Asha’dar...”

I kneel on a smoothly crafted floor decorated with a cream coloured cloth and at one end a table. A simple bust of Asuryan sits on a small table at one end of the room, his eyes intense though the rest of his face is soft and loving. The father of the Eldar looks over the room and, though dead for many years, his presence always gives me comfort. To his left is a bust of mother Isha, a single tear running down her beautiful young face. She is the light in the darkness that is the universe, her love for the Eldar unending and each tear she sheds is shed for the knowledge that each Eldar soul is sought by She Who Thirsts, for the horrible destruction that we brought upon ourselves, the love that only a mother can give her children, unconditional no matter the circumstance. But where her face is kindness and love, the face to the right of the Asur spells only death.

To the right of Asuryan sits a face that crys blood, a face that each Eldar sees during times of war, who we all turn to when we must. This is the face of Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God. His hand cuts a bloody path of destruction across all threads of the Skein, his touch lies everywhere, upon each life. His is the hardest lure to resist and he is one of two of the Eldar gods who managed to survive their war with the Gods of Chaos. These three gods together overlook my meditation, helping to shape my path as I wander along the Skein and this time they moved me to this path.

The face of the man comes to my mind once more as I bow before the Eldar gods and make my way towards the opening of the chamber to move into a hallway and gracefully stride towards my Atrium. He is Alastir Drake, and I know him well, our paths crossing many times in the past. He is one of the Masters of a chapter of the Mon’kiegh attack dogs known as the Space Marines. His chapter is particularly nasty, coming close to destroying the forces of my troupe in the past. I came to him in peace and he tried to destroy me...
No...
I came to them, they wanted me dead, but he spoke out for me. He listened to me, he was...different. I looked into his soul and saw something that wasn’t present in the others, a compassion not shared by most Space Marines...


“He is Xenos and therefore is a threat!” another of the leaders of their legion spoke to him, one of lower standing by his pauldron marks. “We must kill him before he does the same or worse to us.” His voice was a guttural growl rising above the silence like a chainsword. His demeanour gave away his intent better than his words, hand on his blade and a crude human pistol drawn in his hand. His rugged hairy face was twisted with hatred as he glared through me, clearly looking to see where his rounds would impact the wall behind me. Alastir’s green eyes looked upon me curiously, his orange gauntleted hand moving to the pistol of his comrade and lowering it for him. His face too was hairy though trimmed in a goatee where his comrade’s was rugged and savage. His long hair was drawn back in a ponytail where the other man’s was gored up into a crest. The two leaders were an exact contrast of one another.

“My brother thinks we should skin you and make your skull into a drinking mug, Eldar.” His voice was much softer, certain facial features distinguishable on both men, along with posture similarities and having the same deep green eyes. These two were biologically identical. I could tell they were twins without searching the skein, though why were they so different? “I think it would be more beneficial for us to listen to you. I know that if you were here to kill us your men would have shot first and asked questions after and therefore I will hear your peace before I pass judgement.” He and I formed a sort of relationship, we have both come to one another’s aid since then. I give a soft smile as I enter the atrium, noticing the face of one of the fallen marines was that of his brother.

I shall slay him and take great pleasure in it, I think to myself before releasing the thought. It is dangerous to take pleasure in killing, She Who Thirsts devours the souls of Eldar who are careless with their thoughts and actions and I know her presence when I feel it. I walk into the atrium and take in the different colours and fragrances of the exotic, and in most cases extinct, flora that occupies the room. Natures beauty, so simple yet so complex. I move towards a beautiful crimson flower. It is long extinct now but is still a symbol to Mon’kiegh. I smile as I run a gentle finger over its drooping blood coloured petals, making life flow back through the flower with a though. Its petals overlap one another once more creating a beautiful shape as the green stem becomes erect and the thorns down its length stiffen as well. Most Mon’kiegh will never be able to see the true beauty that is a rose, the flower going extinct long ago on their Terra. The rose offers me comfort as I ponder my trip upon the Skein. Why was I taken to Ravanont? When will this occur? What causes this? The Skein was clouded to me for the events leading up to the atrocity that may take place. If I only knew what caused it perhaps I could stop it...

But would this be the wisest course of action? The Tigers of Ravanont are savage beings. Surely their loss would not be harmful to the galaxy, perhaps even making it safer for the Eldar.


<You miss the point Sem’ael> I feel another mind touch upon mind and smile softly as I sense my lifelong friend approaching me in my dwelling. <They do not simply die out, they are changed. They become a tool of the Great Destroyer. Your trip down the Skein has brought you to this event because you must find a way to stop it.> I approach a slender man standing in the doorway. His long hair is braided in several places with several colours. His deep blue eyes hold years of knowledge behind them and his simple white robes flow elegantly around his slender frame.

<You come at an opportune time Dy’aer Agaieth, I know I cannot let this vision go unheeded, but I know not what I must do.> My old friend smiles as our hands touch briefly, the greeting lasting a touch longer than would be considered formal. <I must warn the Lord of the Senjat of this fate, but the paths to the planet of Ravanont are treacherous. Saim-Hann is much farther than our Asha’dar was from the dwelling of the Tigers.>

<I know my friend, but action must be taken. I too have seen the Fall of Ravanont. If it is allowed to come to pass many Eldar lives will be put at risk, the enemy will be strengthened by their union with the changer of ways.> Dy’aer shudders. I know his thoughts are sincere. He and I have been with one another for many centuries. We know each other better than any other. When I am distressed he comes to my aid, as I do for him. He smiles once more and moves to smell a multi-coloured flower native to the exodite world that once existed near our home Craftworld before it was destroyed by the Necrons. <Natures beauty...brought down by the great destroyer. Though the foe may be different, the words mean the same> He is correct of course. I know I must try to warn Alastir Drake, I must try to save his savage people so that my people will be able to rest easier. The thought makes my mind ache and I dismiss Dy’aer politely as I retire to my chambers. Tomorrow I shall speak with the council, today I must rest and ponder what I shall present.
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We stand and sniff the air briefly, our enhanced senses picking up the familiar scents of the oils used to clean and anoint our armour, among other day to day aromas of the fortress. Our eyes cut through the darkness like a hot knife through soft flesh, the simple metallic chambers we are situated in housing nought but a bed and our armour. We move towards the armour and begin to meticulously assemble it upon our body, layer by layer, taking extra care with our chest plate and pauldrons, each bearing the large embroidered “T” with “Tigers of Ravanont” encrusted into the silver plate in gold trim. Our tiger-skin cloak clasps to our pauldrons and another drapes at our waist, plates laced with runes adorning much of our greaves and chest.

When finished we admire ourselves in a large mirror, our long fair hair pulled back in a ponytail, our goatee trimmed and tidy, our sparkling emerald green eyes wander up and down the stunningly polished plate. When we are satisfied that no imperfections are present we make our way to the War Room. We smile and softly say,
“Come Strafe,” as a large tiger stretches and saunters off of the bed, our fingers running softly through his mane as we make our way along the hall. Something about the cold steel of the hallway is almost comforting until a cold chill passes through our body as we round the corner and look into the twisted faces of the man standing there...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chamber of Sem’ael Elear
Craftworld Saim-Hann
Twenty-Nine Days before the Fall of Ravanont


I awake in a cold sweat, my blankets drenched as I recoil from the evil presence that I felt in my dream. Though some believe that dreams hold no significance the Eldar know better. I would not question the fact that, even for a farseer, this was an odd dream. Never before had I dreamed I was someone else and the experience is somewhat unpleasant. As I try to ponder it the face, “our” face, vanishes from my mind into nothingness and I shake my head, dismissing it for the time being. If it is important I shall remember it later. My current pressing issue is how I shall address the council today. I know what must be done, but I must convince the other seers and the Autarchs that this is worth the time of day and will be beneficial to take action.

I stand in front of a mirror in my personal chambers, a simple cream coloured tunic rests over my chest and a pair of black leggings below. My black boots come to my knees and my black gloves come half way up my forearms. I sigh softly as I take a simple blue cloak and pull it over my shoulders, my soulstone used as a broach to hold it in place. My long sandy hair is straight as I use a colour wand to highlight strands with pinks, blues, and greens and I smile as I clasp a belt to my waist to complete the ensemble. One nice thing about being in my position is people don’t often question my style, though what I wear is often thought to be a bit outlandish and akin more to the raiders that sail in black ships across the stars.
I hail a grav-car and make my way across the different institutions of our Craftworld towards the Dome of Eternal Light, also known to some as the Council of War due to the actions that most often take place there. As I approach I feel the heart of the Craftworld flowing through me, each breath filled with life. Activity is everywhere as we go along; to our right at one point a troupe of Harliquins performs the War of Heaven, further along a sculptor reveals his latest sculpture of Asuryan, further still we see a symphony preparing to entertain the masses. I smile as I remember that Yvette Ashra, a beautiful young woman had invited me to see this particular symphony, though I had to politely declined due to knowing that I would be busy today. I told her that perhaps I could see them next time they performed and though she looked slightly upset she smiled and rested her hand gently on my cheek as she said she would hold me to that. I doubt now that day will come.

As we draw nearer to the Dome of Eternal Light I begin to feel the minds of the assembled seers at the council. We will discuss the business of the Craftworld as always, what different seers have seen, and, if any are dire, what consequences should be taken. The world’s top strategic minds gather as well, the Autarchs. They represent the martial aspect of the world and are as wild and unpredictable as many of the other warriors of Saim-Hann. I notice a large amount of jetbikes surrounding the dome and chuckle, thanking my driver as I step out of the grav-car and move towards the magnificent structure in front of me.

The dome itself looks like a hive. Hexagonal planes of glass separated by wraithbone line the entire building, though to look from the outside one would see nothing more than mirrors. Non-Eldar may think this building extravagant were it to be compared to one of their own structures, but compared to many of the Eldar structures this is quite plain. I approach the building and a door materialises in front of me, the entrance only accessible to those of the path of the Seer, or one of the three Autarchs of the world. Many revolutions passed before I was allowed access, being of offworld origin originally and not necessarily of as high a standing as I was on Asha’dar. My tactics and worth have since been proved on many occasions and I have been giving access to many places seers who once had higher standing than I are not allowed to wander.

I feel connected instantly to each seer in the room, our minds connecting in somewhat of a mental handshake. We each touch base faster than conceivable by the human mind before each seer moves to take his or her seat, myself and the other farseers seated near the center of the room with the Autarchs dead center. Your status dictated your seat, Dy’aer and myself seated in the centermost ten seats reserved for Farseers who have tread the path of the seer longest and gained highest honours. He subtly nods at me and I return the gesture before turning my attention to the center of the room. An Autarch in black armour with an ornate power sword strapped to his waist stands to his feet and speaks first. He is Prince Eldred, most powerful of all of the Autarchs of our world.


“Children of Isha hear me!” his voice is hard, hoarse from centuries of yelling orders in battle. The scars on his face tell the tale of his battle torn past, from losing his family at a young age to the Orks to rising quickly through the ranks of the Eldar through sheer will and determination. None could boast more victories than he, though few had also lost as much. The room goes silent as he speaks. He addresses the state of the Craftworld and the surrounding worlds, as well as the current threat level of nearby enemies. He covers newly awakened Necron tomb worlds, sending many an angry groan upon the lips of the Eldar, knowing oh too well of the past with the once mortal Necrontyr. He speaks of recent battles and soon each Autarch and Farseer has his turn to address the council with their own reports, other Farseers from the inner circle presenting delving into the Skein, though none are pressing matters. When the time comes for me to speak Dy’aer nods once more and I stand, clearing my throat before I go to speak.

“Sons and daughters of Asuryan,” my voice flows like honey in its soft tone as I begin. “I stand before you today distressed. Last cycle I had a disturbing vision of the near future, one that is very strong on the Skein.” I see many of the seers start to listen more attentively as I begin to explain what I saw, going into vivid detail as I present my case. “These beasts are the Mon’kiegh known as the Tigers of Ravanont, we have encountered them before. They are ruthless and if they fall to She Who Thirsts they will be unstoppable. I share this with you because I believe that there is a way for me to stop this. In fact I believe that somehow I am the only one who can stop it. Though the Skein is clouded and the path unclear I feel as though there is something that can be done for these people so that She Who Thirsts shall be cast out of their ranks and they will not suffer this fate. I know that most of you wonder why should we care about the happenings of these Mon’kiegh,” I notice a few nods from the others, “but I assure you if they fall we will not be safe. They will come for us and they will destroy us.” Murmurings occur now, seers turning to their neighbours to ask if they believe this to be true. I see one seer stand up.

“With all due respect Farseer, how do you know they will come for us? Mon’kiegh are self destructive, surely they would most likely destroy one another before they become an issue to us.” Many nod at this comment, though I saw this coming. Dy’aer stands now, I knew he would. He looks at the seer who spoke and speaks in his distant voice.

“These Mon’kiegh have a...history...with our people. One of their leaders was dishonoured when he was told he could not slay Farseer Elear and myself by another. Though they are not all corrupt my belief is that were they to fall that leader would come seeking blood to bury his past shame, and the Tigers of Ravanont are known as hunters, they would track us here.” Another thing I had not thought of, though I should have. Drake’s brother had come after us after we spoke, promising that when next we met one of us would die. Many of the council look to us now, we can read them like opened books. They wish us to be cast out, which, although not ideal, would allow us to carry out our task. The Autarchs sense this and mutter upon themselves before one of them stands and asks for silence before Prince Eldred speaks once more.

“Sem’ael Elear, Dy’aer Agaieth, the two of you have brought a potential threat to this Craftworld. Most here would ask that we banish you and I would not be wrong to agree with them.” More nods at this comment, I look to Dy’aer who shrugs. “But that is not our way. Prepare your host Farseer Elear, gather those who serve you loyally. You will go to Ravanont, and you will do anything you can to fix this. If you return it will only be on the condition that She Who Thirsts does not make this vision come to pass, and furthermore he who would have you dead shall be killed, and his head brought to me.” The entire assembly agrees with the notion, we look at one another, knowing that this is nothing less than what we had expected. “I will not have more Eldar blood spilled than needed. Tel’darian Halst shall accompany you,” one of the autarchs stands. He is adorned in red armour and lifts a large pike in salute as his blonde hair flows down to his shoulders. “He will report back to us on your progress. I do not want your mistakes brought back to haunt this Craftworld. Go to the Exodite world Kelmath, by your old home of Asha’dar, there is a webway gate there close to Ravanont.” Dy’aer and I bow before exiting the chamber early, dismissed from our duties to prepare our hosts. It seems we are preparing for war, and from the way things on Kelmath were last we heard we very well might see war before we land on Ravanont.

The aftermath is red. The ground is stained with blood. Death is everywhere. A god laughs. All is darkness...
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