+++Eldar Background Information+++
+++Datafile 1+++

from Codex Titanicus and White Dwarf 110

Compiled by Lane Shutt
lmshutt@hiwaay.net

FIR LIRITHION ( HEARTS ARMOURED FOR BATTLE )

The Fir Lirithion of the Iyanden Craft World have a most unusual attitude towards combat. This Eldar clan are slow to ire and they never go willingly to war;yet they are , once on the field, among the most fearsome of all opponents. To the Fir Lirithion, war is a cancer to be eradicated. They strive to cut out the disease but leave the body unharmed; to this end they will go to inordinate lengths to purge their enemies of belligerent leaders while leaving the unwilling masses unharmed.

This tactic of course, relies on the idea that the masses will be routed upon the death of their leaders. As a consequence, the first time the Fir Lirithion found themselves fighting Orks, they suffered the biggest defeat of their long and glorious history. They struck at the Ork command post with a lightning strike, killing all of the tribe's leaders in one fell swoop. Expecting the Orks to fall apart without leadership, they did not expect the retaliation they recieved, and were taken by suprise. their losses were heavy that day.

Fir Lirithion are regarded is the surgeons of the battlefield by most observers. They heve fought many highly effective campaigms, such as the route of a company of Emperors Children on the moon of Balthon; a strike force of Phantoms went deep into the Valley of Envy and destroyed the trators' command center. The leaderless and battered Marimes were forced to withdraw to a savage feral world in the outer system, where they were killed by a virulent plague that caused their Larraman's Organ to emit cells uncontrolably, terminaly thickening their blood.

FIR DINILLAINN ( PROTECTORS OF THE FALLEN )

Since Imperial records began the Eldar Phantoms of the Saim Hann Craft world have been known as the Fir Dinillainn - the Protectors of the Fallen. Yet on their own time scale, this name is but a recent acquisition earned by an act of outstanding courage and selfless service to another clan many thousands of years ago. Lord Amthillon, leader at the time, sacrificed a third of his force to protect the dying warriors of the Fir Lirithion Clan - his companions in the field - so that their spiritstones could be retrieved. By that single act of self sacrifice the Fir Lirillyon - the Knights of Purpose were renamed. the Fir Dinillain. Since that day the Phantoms of the Saim-Hann Craft World have astonished even Imperial forces with their selfless heroism.

FIR FARILLECASSION ( WATCHERS OVER ANCIENT WRONGS )

It is widely-rumoured among the few Eldar unaware of the truth that the true location of the Black Library - said to hold the Eldar codices that concern themselves with the worship of Chaos and tell of the Eldar's downfall - must be the Biel-Tann Craft World. Although this is certainly untrue, the Phantoms of Biel-Tann do display an unparalleled hatred of Chaos. The driving force behind this hatred is afeverent wish that no other race should suffer the terrible downfall that befell the Eldar.

Inquisitor Trant tells of his journey to Truan IX to destroy a Khornate coven. However, Trant arrived too late - upon reaching the surface he found that virtualy the entire population had been wiped out. In the rubble of the western continent's capital city he found a half-burnt banner bearing the symbols of the Fir Farillecassion - the Phantoms of Biel-Tann. They had arrived before him.

FIR IOLARION ( EAGLES BORN OF FIRE )

The Fir Iolarion - Eagles Born of Fire -were almost completely destroyed four centuries ago when they lost control of the warp gates onboard their Craft world, Lugannath, allowing the Daemons of the warp to enter and attack them. For many years the clan drifted helplessly in space while they laboured to make the necessary repairs; stranded, and with their numbers severly depleted by the creatures in their midst, they were reduced to being one of the weakest Eldar clans.

Over time however, thanks only to their own unrelenting and steadfast efforts, they have not only regained the power they once had, but have exceeded it tenfold. their almost total obliteration is now regarded by their leaders as a baptism of fire.
In the months after their warp gate accident, the Iyanden Craft World sent Eldar troops to nearby systems to gather materials for repairs. On the Ork world of Gragnar they found a lake of liquid copper vital to the restabilisation of their warp gates. Although their operations to drain the lake were constantly hampered by attacks from Ork Gargants, the presence of the Fir Iolarion Phantoms meant that they were able to get the metal they required without sustaining heavy losses.

Most Eldar craft-worlds have their own Titan forces whose crews work together with an Infinity Circuit.

The Infinity Circuit is used in many forms by the Eldar, where other races would use computers and similar devices. Each Infinity Circuit is imprinted with the character and memories of a living Eldar through the process of ‘soul-grafting’ (Failleanam). The Eldar’s body is left as a mindless husk, but his thoughts live on in the Infinity Circuit . Soul-grafting is seen as the ultimate sacrifice that an Eldar can make for his people, and the ancestors and relatives who live on within Infinity Circuits are treated with great respect. They are revered and marked by the title of Tuisich-Novasmair, which Imperial sources normally translate as Lord-Phoenix.

The Infinity Circuit of an Eldar titan is normally mounted in the centre of the crew compartment, and takes the form of a large and intricately faceted piece of carrecenad, the ‘soul-stone’ which forms the basis of Infinity Circuit technology. Unlike their Human counterparts, the crew of an Eldar Titan is not physically connected to the machine; smaller chips of stone set in headbands allow the crew to meld psychically with the Infinity Circuit and the highly-sophisticated Mind Impulse Units it controls.

An Eldar Phantom crewman is immediately recognisable by the Spitit Stone he wears upon hisforehead. Upon becoming a Titan crewman, a ceremonial band is wraped around the Eldar's head; almost immediately, the band bonds to his skull and sends tendrils into his brain. The headband bears a small chunk of Spirit Stone taken from the Titan that the Eldar is to serve. Upon taring his place in the cockpit, each crewman psychically links with the Titan using the fragment of the stone. In effect, the Titan and crew become a single entity. The band may only be removed upon tk Eldar's death.

Like all Eldar, a Titan crewman bears a Spirit Stone on his chest that, upon his death, will preserve his spirit for a short time. The shape of this stone often reflects the symbol of the Eldar's clan: the Fir Lirithion, for instance, have heart-shaped stones.

Because of the close links that are required between the Titan's crewmembers and the Titan itself, it is usual for each crew to consist of Eldar from one family. This affords them a great deal of respect within the craft world's hierarchy, as a family must be truly worthy to serve in a Titan clan.

When in battle, each crewman wears a close-fitting boiler suit that contains the life-support systems he needs. His boots are made of a slightly adhesive substance that is ideal for moving around the organic tubes and passageways that cris-cross the Titan. When outside the Titan, each Eldar wears either a jacket or a coat for warmth. Like the boiler suit itself, these topcoats bear the Titan's rune and victory symbols on the left shoulder, and the Eldar's clan symbol on the back.

The Phantom has a crew of four - three living Eldar and one Infinity Circuit. The Infinity Circuit is normally mounted in the centre of the crew compartment in the Titan's head, and the living crew -frequently blood-relatives of the Infinity Circuit - occupy couches around it. Unlike their Human counterparts, they do not have specific functions. Each crew member is equipped with a headband in which is set a fragment of the carrecenad stone; by means of this they merge their minds with the Infinity Circuit, forming a composite mind capable of handling multiple thoughts and actions. This mind is linked to the Phantom's mechanical systems by Mind Impulse Units which are far in advance of those used by the Imperium. The relationship between a Phantom's living crew and its Infinity Circuit is intimate and all-sharing; they know each other totally, and are marked by their ability to finish each other's sentences and thoughts out loud. In any other Eldar, this would be unthinkable presumption, but Titan crews are know for the closeness they develop and the eccentricities that arise from it. To Eldar outside the Titan Clans, they are almost a race apart.

ELDAR STORIES

Iyanden was going to war. Grav-tanks Sped forward, leading the way for the Titans. Four Phantoms wore the green and gold of Lirithion, with the heart and thorns on their banners.

Behind the Titans came an army of Walkers, and above them hovered a swarm of Jet bikes, buzzing like angry hornets. Gracefully, the Titans picked their way through the Infantry that Milled around their feet. The leading Titan bore the sigil of Lord-Phoenix Fiallathandirel, Wall against Evil. In its head ,a domed mass of Carrecenad soul-stone held the essence of the Eldar who had borne that name. The living crew - blood-relatives of the Lord-Phoenix - reclined on couches around the stone. Each wore a headband of polished metal, set with a smaller brother of the stone on the floor Their eyes were empty; their minds were one with their Ancestor. They had become -Fiallathandirel.

The crew's eyes saw nothing: it was the mind of the Titan that beheld the Orks through the sensors that were his eyes and ears. There were many foes: hideous Gargants towered above Buggies and Battlewagons. Here and there among the mass of troops could be seen the squat, brutal Dreadnoughts. Orks covered the ground like a poisonous green mould

Iolavai Firnamaidd! The battle-cry came from all places and from nowhere it flew from the throats of the living, and echoed round the silent stones. Time for the killing.

Grav-tanks leapt forward, spitting bright laser-fire. Artillery added many voices to the song of war. Dreadnoughts and Walkers loped forward and behind them, with shorter strides, ran the battle-suited Avenging Warnors

The Phantoms leapt ahead, swift movement and bright laser-bolts weaving a tapestry of death. Fillathandirel led, dancing in a storm of refracted colour as defensive screens broke up his image. Missiles flashed from the Phantom's wing, and his pulse laser traced a line of fire across a Gargant's shields. Swift Badbaltrilas raced forward. Lady Double-Armed With Swords of Light. and a Gargant died. One of her pulse lasers destroyed its shields. and the other broke its oily heart in a gout of fire. Missiles and laser fire rained down on the Ork infantry. Spirit Warriors brought Wartraks and Buggies fiery doom. But the Orks were taking their own toll. From a score of positions. las-cannon picked off Dreadnoughts and Walkers.

Fiallathandirel saw Rash Lantillifieth. Bright Slayer of Darkness. rush forward through a storm of enemy Shells. Before he could fire. his pulse laser was destroyed and bright blue sparks showered from one wing. The crippled Phantom swerved violently and his power fist tore into the head of a Gargant.

Far off to the left. another Gargant died. Caught in a web of fire from the Walkers and artillery, it began to pour smoke and settled on its broad haunches. One of its turrets rattled briefly and Dreadnoughts fell like grass in the wind.

Away to the right a haze of colour solidified into brave Brylidassian, Opener of The Gates of Doom. The Phantom stood like a statue as a vortex of light swirled out from his D-cannon. The last Gargant toppled and crushed the troops beneath. Half its right side had simply vanished. The Phantom was lit up with fire - his pulse laser turned to slag. Before he could seek safety in movement he was destroyed. Fiallathandirel was saddened; another Spirit-Brother would dance no more.

The Orks were wavering; their charge had been brought to a standstill. Here and there pockets of infantry dug in, and hails of bolters fire greeted the advancing warriors. This was the Fate-time; the moment at which all would be lost or won.

Suddenly, the air was filled with the scream of flight packs. Like a storm of meteorites. the Fian Silspeiraigh plummeted into the heart of the Ork infantry positions.

Seeing the Caurifellianaidd was almost a shock after the stories. Liafil had heard - they looked very like himself. He tried not to stare at the shifting red-and-black of soul-stone in their head-bands. "It is my thought," said one, "that the Orks..." "Agreed." The second interrupted. "But recall..." "Very different terrain." A third voice. "However..." "Luatheinn on the left flank can..." "If necessary. We shall know more from this briefing." Liafil was relieved to reach the briefing-chamber. The Caurifellianaidd's constant interruption of each other made him very uncomfonable.

In the head of the Phantom, three Eldar reclined on ornate couches, loose-limbed and empty-eyed, twitching occasionally against their straps as their minds moved the great war machine. Each wore a metal headband set with a luminous red stone, shot through with a shifting filigree of black. At the centre of the triangle formed by the three couches, a larger piece of the same stone was set into the cabin floor.

A slight smile appeared simultaneously on three vacant faces as the renegade Humans came into view. It was a huge force. Crowds of infantry scurried like insects by the feet of the lumbering, unlovely Human Titans. The Eye of Horus glared from a dozen banners, proclaiming their allegiance to Chaos.

The first Phantom was already dodging as a battery of weapons came to bear from the Traitors. A hail of plasma and laser fire cut through the whirling, multicoloured shards of disrupted light where the Phantom had been, just as its pulse laser spat a volley of multi-coloured laser bolts. The flare of void shields was followed by an explosion as a Traitor Titan lost a power first. A second volley of shots smashed into a building as the Phantom ducked behind it.

Another Traitor Titan met its doom as the searing volley of a pulse laser cut its legs from under it, but the second Phantom had stayed still a fraction too long. As its shape coalesced out of the whirling holo-field distortion, a macro-cannon spoke, and the pulse laser was snapped in two like a twig in a hurricane. The third Phantom was no more than a blur. Its Holo-field defences scattered its image over a wide area as it strode flat out, trying to outflank the Traitor force. A trail of file followed its disrupted form, but the Traitors could not find their target.

The jet bikes screamed down on the Traitor infantry as the dreadnoughts and artillery opened fire on the foremost of the Traitor Titans. A pair of plasma cannon vanished in a boiling cloud of vapour, and its legs ground to a sparking, sputtering halt.

A cluster of blue icons appeared on the holo. Blue for unidentified. Brannon snapped the comm open.

“Praebete aures, Hornet Group, this is Leader. These could be our Traitors. Odd numbers will proceed left around the buildings. Even numbers will follow me to the crest of the hill. Await my order to fire. Acknowledge.”

The white icons representing the rest of the Fire Wasps force flashed gold once, and the formation split with parade-ground precision.

Half of Hornet Group followed Brannon’s Nemesis to the crest of the hill, spread out in arrowhead formation.

“Moderati will prepare their weapons.”
“Macro-cannon ready.”
“Plasma gun ready.”
“Las-cannon ready.”
“Chain fist ready.”
“Iyanden is ready.”

Brannon punched the comm button angrily.

“Who said. . . ?” At that moment, his Nemesis crested the hill. On the plain below, a force of Eldar was waiting. There were three slim, deadly-looking Eldar Titans; dreadnoughts, infinity-circuit robots and war walkers stood at their feet while a small group of jet bikes hovered by the shoulder of the lead Titan. To the rear, Brannon could just make out a detachment of mobile field artillery. Even as Brannon took in the size of the Eldar force, the strangely-accented voice sounded again.

“Iyanden is gladdened, friend Hornet.” Something about the languid tone irritated Brannon, and he tried to keep his voice level as he replied.

“This is Hornet Leader. What is your purpose here, Iyanden?”

“Our purpose is not incompatible with your own, friend Hornet. We, too, seek those whom you call Traitors.’’

“This is Imperial business, Iyanden.” Brannon replied through clenched teeth. “We have not been informed of any treaty of co-operation.”

“There is none.’’ Brannon was sure he heard a hint of supercilious mockery in the Eldar’s tone. “Our business is not with your Imperium, either as friends or as enemies. We seek those whom we seek for reasons of our own.”

“Iyanden.” Brannon’s tone was stiff with formality and irritation. “Be informed that this planet is within Imperial jurisdiction, and that your presence here constitutes a technical invasion. If necessary, we stand ready to...”

“To weaken both our forces Such a thing would gladden those you call Traitors, who, by the way, are approaching. You will pardon us for the present, although we shall be happy to continue this discussion in a short time.”

The Eldar force had already begun to move off, and the lead Titan raised its power fist in a casual wave as it turned. Almost at the same tirne, a thick spread of red Traitor icons appeared at the edge of Brannon’s holo-display.

“Hornet Group, this is Leader. Pugna incepta. All Titans will move to engage the Traitors. Treat the Eldar as non-hostile, but be on your guard. Those decadents are capable of anything.”

As he led Hornet Group toward the Traitors he recited the Fire Wasps’ Litany of Combat silently, summoning his faith in the Emperor to overcome his resentment of the Eldar’s high-handed attitude and clear his mind for the coming battle.

The Fire Wasps arrived just in time to see a damaged Eldar Phantom charging a Traitor Nemesis The severed stump of its pulse laser blocked a scything chain-fist as plasma vaporised one of its wings, then its power fist siezed the Nemesis by the barrel of its las-cannon, the Phantom locked one leg behind the Nemesis’ knee-joint, and the Traitor Titan toppled and fell.

On the Traitors’ far flank, a pulse laser volley crashed into the blind side of another Titan, fracturing the reactor vessel at its heart. Plasma boiled skywards, and another Traitor Titan staggered crazily out of the explosion, struck a building and fell.

The Imperial Titans of Hornet Group fell on the Traitors’ near flank like a thunderbolt, laying down a holocaust of plasma and laser fire as they advanced.

With the Traitors already weakened by the Eldar, the battle was brief

Fiallir led his Wind Riders high over the battle. In the distance four of the ugly, brutish Ork Gargants lumbered forward, contrasting grotesquely with the Phantoms of Fir Lirithion they faced. Grav-Tanks sped forward weaving as they headed for the chosen artillery positions.

The Wind Riders left the Titans behind. Fiallir wondered briefly what it must be like to have a machine respond as if it were your own body. Then he laughed out loud. He knew. His Cycle rolled and swerved, sharing his laughter.

Far below him the artillery was firing. Explosions appeared among the advancing horde of Orks. With the wild song of the Avenger keening through his veins, Fiallir led the Wind Riders to the attack.

"Iolavai Ceifulgaithann!" Six voices echoed the warcry as the Wind Riders swooped. Shuriken tore through steel and leather. flesh and bone. Orks scattered: Bikes and Wartraks swerved madly to avoid the onslaught. A Wartrak gunner died trying to bring his las-cannon to bear. Another was faster - Fiallir threw his Cycle into a tight turn as a lasa-bolt grazed his front fairing. Behind him Rhiadlior fell in a storm of bolter shells - now they were five.

Hugging the ground the Jet Cycles screamed along the Ork lines. Grav-tanks hurried to reach the gap before it closed. Rubble flashed by, inches away - vital cover against the concentrated bolter fire of the Ork infantry. Five Orks died against the stump of a wall but Mathlahir fell with them.

Dodging and weaving the four Jet Cycles headed deeper into the Ork lines. Auto-cannon shells marched along a wall behind Fiallirs shoulder; he flung his Cycle sideways out of the line of fire and swung round the building.

The Gargant came as a complete surprise Fiallir swerved and climbed, almost rolling over in the effort to avoid the huge machine Liassalath reacted an instant too late. A dozen Orks died at their firing-posts as the three Jet Cycles flashed past. The Gargant was behind them before the answering bolter fire started.

The Wind Riders bore down on the front line to find it awash with Avenging Warriors. The whole of the Ork centre had dissolved into small hand-to-hand skirmishes, and stalking Dreadnoughts sowed destruction along the flanks. A wrecked Gargant lay on its side, a makeshift fortress where a small group of Orks made a determined stand.

They took the Orks by surprise. A huge Ork stood bellowing orders - Fiallirs shurikens cut him in two and the others fled. With Eldar infantry all around them and Jet Cycles attacking from behind, panic spread quickly. A few fired back, and Talission fell.

The two surviving Wind Riders made a low pass over the ruined Gargant. but there was no answering fire. Fiallir exchanged a wave with one of the Avenging Warriors, and headed back toward the Eldar lines.

Ralahir sat quietly in the hold of the Falcon, waiting for the Vengeance to begin. Around him sat nine others, all clad, like him in the mask of The Avenger. Ten Eldar, one face, One mind. The Avenger's Song beat soundlessly through his mind as he knew it beat through nine others - and across the battlefield, in thousands more. Two thousand minds, two thousand guns, one mind, one song, one spirit. So it was taught - that each was The Avenger and The Avenger was all.

An explosion jolted the Grav-Tank but it veered and regained its course Ralahir was thrown against the straps of his harness and for a moment his concentration strayed. Then his mind became one with the song again; his spirit rose and fell in tune with two thousand others.

Through their mental song with distant ears, he heard the dull crump of Ork weapons and the voices of lasers and shuriken cannon. They blended somehow, forming bass and descant to the song of war.

The Falcon stopped abruptly, as a dancer stops at the end of a high leap. Ralahir loosened his harness and stood up in a single motion, holding his shuriken catapult in readiness. Doors swung open, and the Avenging Warriors went to war.

The Phantoms were almost with them, blurs of colour behind and to the right. Jet Cycles screamed overhead as the Falcon sped away with the rest of its group, to harry the Orks left flank. In the distance Gargants lumbered forward like mobile buildings, towering above the crowd of infantry and the hordes of wheeled and tracked vehicles. The air was bright with laser fire and the ground shook to the tread of the huge machines.

The heavy weaponry was already within range; soon it would be time for shurikens. The Jet Cycles sowed explosions along the Ork front line; one fell, like a shooting star. Ork vehicles lurched forward from the flame and smoke spitting shells, plasma and laser fire. Dodging between ruins and rubble the Avenging Warriors ran forward to meet them.

A gang of Wartraks thundered down on their position. spewing, death as they bounced and jolted across the broken ground. Their lasers were answered with shurikens. The driver of the leading vehicle slumped across his handlebars; it swerved abruptly into one of its fellows. The surviving crews jumped clear of the wreck, drawing bolters. None lived long enough to fire.

The other Wartraks were past them now, heading deeper into the Eldar force to exchange fire with the Walkers.

Ralahir looked around; across the battlefield the wave of vehicles had cut through the Eldar infantry. A few headed straight for the Phantoms prompted by some suicidal bravery to attack the biggest target they could find. Meanwhile the Ork infantq was closing.

Shuriken and bolter fire lit up the air with a deadly-bright hail as both sides dug in. The broken ground was a deathtrap - whoever left cover first would die first.

Jet Cycles made a strafing pass over the Ork positions but their fire would never be enough to break the deadlock. Ralahir thumbed his communicator into life.

" Iolavai Silspeiraigh!" There is food for the Hawks here! Let us feast on the sorrows of our enemy!

The battlefield was silent. Corpses were strewn across the ground, their weapons as broken as their bodies. Vehicles lay smoking, overturned, their dead crews sprawled on and around them.

But among the death, there was movement. Grim graceful figures glided from ruin to ruin, from wreck to wreck. Slowly, silently, the Eldar took back their dead.

At the center of the field, where the fighting had been fiercest, six great pyres were lit. The Orks were ignored, their bodies left to feed the carrion-beasts which already scuffled and chittered among the rubble. Not for them the rites of Tienespiorath; no remembrance for the enemy.

Liathair turned his back on the pyres for the fourth time and went back toward the ruined building. A jet bike passed him, the normal scream of its engine lowered to a mournful hum as its rider brought back a fallen comrade. Further away, he could see a group of searchers carrying bodies into a Grav-Tank. To his left, a Banshee strode towards the pyres holding the body of an Avenging Warrior in its great hands like a broken doll.

It was late now, and the dead were truly lost; earlier a few had been saved into the spirit-stones of the Lords-Phoenix. Now, the slain were beyond saving, their spirits sucked into the void, into the great abomination which the Eldar must bear, of which only the Harlequins speak.

Inside the building, Liathair kicked an Orkish carcass aside and gently lifted the last of the Eldar bodies in his arms. For the fourth time he made the journey back to the place where a fresh pyre was being built. The mask of the Avenger snarled up at him from the helmet: my life was sold dearly.

He laid the corpse on top of the growing pyre. He did not look behind the mask, to see who it was; it was irrelevant. All the dead had died in the spirit of the Avenger, their other selves forgotten, No names, no faces - just snarling masks and blazing shuriken catapults.

Pain is ours, and sadness at your parting,
Never to taste of our victory's joy.
The fires are lit for you, those who live weep.
Not enough Orks exist to atone for your lives.

The dirge rose over the communications network, stately and measured. Though the lost had no names still they were lost. He had found the four dead from his coillineir and performed the marcarath which the living owed the fallen.

A great shadow fell over the unlit pyre; one of the Phantoms now towered above it. A huge pulse-laser reached down, with something like gentleness - a flash, a crack, and the pyre was lit. The Titan stood over the pyre as it burned, arms crossed and head bowed in mourning.

Lane Shutt
lmshutt@hiwaay.net

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