Bolter shells chattered across his armour, the millennia old armour plating of the Khornate warrior held true as the countless shells rained in. Stepping forward, whilst the bolter in his hand sang it's deviance against his foes. Two fell to his torrent of shells, another was wounded as the bolter shell struck the victim between the breast plate and the shoulder. The entrenched Marines before him sang their praises to the Emperor as the Khorne marched across the muddied ground.

Tallassar Prime was enveloped in a thick blanket of smoke. The Imperial Artillery had been hammering it solidly for a week. Colonel Karlov didn't think much of such tactics. He knew full well that the bombardment would not kill nearly enough of the enemy troops who would be hiding in deep, and reinforced dugouts, waiting for the barrage to lift and the subsequent assault. What it would succeed in doing would be to make the whole city a nightmare of ruined buildings and streets; it would be next to impossible for tanks to advance through at any reasonable pace, and the enemy would have an unfortunately large number of traps and ambushes waiting for the Imperial Forces, hidden amongst the rubble. But Karlov had been overruled. The higher ups had decided that a weeklong bombardment was in order, so they would have a weeklong bombardment. After all, it wasn't their men who would have to advance through the hell of their own creation, the Imperial Guardsmen who would pay for the advance with their blood were just statistics to the generals running the campaign. To Colonel Karlov they were more than that; they were his men. Well, at least the Prandiun "Remnants" were; the other four regiments going in with the 24th were not, but Karlov knew those regiment's commanders felt the same way. Karlov wondered what the famous Colonel he'd been named for would have thought of the whole sorry state. That as usual got him thinking about the rumours surrounding his name. The men said that he was the legend reborn. That he, the second Colonel Karlov to command this regiment, was somehow the reincarnation of the man who saved the regiment on Prandiun; the man who, through sheer tactical genius, destroyed the Ork attack on Xanthia Prime. The man who took the head of the Ork Warboss leading that invasion as a trophy. The same trophy of which a replica resided on his banner pole. How could he be such a man reborn?

Colonel Karlov was distracted. The Orks he was fighting had reminded him of his first campaign, the Battle for his homeworld, Prandiun, the jewel of Ultramar; and the subsequent formation of his regiment, the Prandiun "Remnants". Granted, that campaign was against the monstrous Tyranids who made the Orks look like harmless beasts of burden, rather than the blood crazed maniacs that they were, but the fighting was the same style. Defending miles of trench against wave after wave of bloodthirsty aliens intent on conquest. He kept thinking about the final battle on Prandiun as his remaining troops of the 23rd and Colonel Grinksi's remaining soldiers of the 10th, fought to hold onto the landing field that they needed to escape. They had made it, just, but only due to the timely arrival of the transports that would carry them to safety. He'd earned the Honorifica Imperialis in that battle, for extreme courage and inspiring leadership. Amongst other things, he had saved the wounded Colonel Grinski from certain death at the hands of two Tyranids Warriors. Beasts that towered over him, almost twice the height of a man. Grinski had died of his wounds after the battle, and Karlov had been given command of the survivors of the two regiments. They were all that remained of the five Prandiun guard regiments that had started the War for Prandiun, barely seven hundred men. That number was halved again when an orbiting hive ship caught one of the two transports in its flailing tentacles and snapped the ship in two.

The sun broke the mid-tones of the night, casting streaky beams of light across the dusty hiveworlds. Within the Vault cities, vast reinforced windows sheltered the citizens and Guard that had crowded the streets in Hive Primus, as hundreds had taken to the streets to hear the Governors address.

Thinking to himself, remembering the speech given to him by Chaplain Mathews, "Death awaits us, the unvigilant shall be the first to die, lest not these aliens sneak our patrols, our goal is theirs, make sure not even a single Eldar gets past our patrols!" Turning to brother Marines beside him, he too was astonished at the drifting Eldar warriors, their forms constantly becoming clearer in the shifting light of mid-morning.

My study into such an artefact as that found on Tyloon III, Sector 33 Alpha. It has become apparent that the Eldar are growing desperate, in that the increasing occurrences of Wraithlords being employed by certain Eldar Craftworlds, their large armoured hulks becoming a sight that has become more then a myth, but in fact a reality.

Endobai descended gracefully through the morning misty clouds, which had hidden his advance for some time now. His brother Swooping Hawks had already attacked, and were moving steadily toward the enemy lines from behind their main line. Halting abrutly as the cloud cover shifted beneath him, his form was visable for a brief few seconds. Endobai darted into the cover of the clouds again. However, it was too late, the Imperial Hydra emplacement beneath had spotted him, and it's quad barrels burst into life. The air around Endobai blossumed into explosions. Then the Hydra went silent once again, it's loud testimony had been silenced by Endobai brothers. As he left the cloud again to see which way the tide was turning, he noticed a unit of mounted men making a break through the Eldar lines, Endobai's time to attack had come. Leaning forward, his wings threw him into a small arc in the air, then he darted down, his eyes locked intentally upon his prey. As he came nearer, his wings steadied his speed. One foot touched, then a second...

An extract from "Daemonic Beings, God's Manifestations, page 263, chapter 23, 'The Eldar Avatar.'"

Legionnaire Krylorn stared up in amazement as an eagle of wraithbone bore down upon the planets surface, it's sleek form of it's shadow raced across the landscape toward the entrenched veteran Guardians. The roar of powerful siege engines signalled the sudden drop from low orbit, Kyrlorn knew this well.

After the cataclysmic events of the birth of the Great Enemy, the surviving Eldar of old which had managed to survive the massive psychic disturbance had cast themselves into an age of isolation. This time, which only the oldest of Eldar warriors truly remember but fragments of ancient knowledge of those days. It was during this time that Asurmen first began to teach his ways which would become the Aspect Warriors, in response of a growing threat from the Yngir.

"Marneus Calgar" screamed Arnell, his eyes intent upon the large portrait, rage howling inside him. The woven tapestry designed in the likeness of the Chapter Master of Ultramarines was guided with gold and silver, and although it still hung on the southern wall of great hall of Arnell's newly conquered world. "Master, Lord Zaelin, requires your attention over the comm-link," spoke a Champion, his voice rasping from a scar upon his exposed throat he received from a Hormagaunt some time ago. "Tell that fool, that I have my prize, our deal is done.." Glancing back at the portrait of Calgar, his grip rested upon a nearby fire lamp, lifting it up to gauge the weight of it's contents. Pleased that is was nearly full, the lamp was sent flying towards the protrait. As the roar of newly created flames engulfed the portrait of Marneus. A smile cracked upon the daemon-princes face as the tapestry was being incinerated within the raging flames. Within the corner, lay four Imperial Guardsman, their presence dominated by the Khorne Worshippers above them.

Tracing the lines of disturbance with her eyes as the passing wind blew softly against her face, the Ranger's cloak flapped almost silently, thrashing lightly against the tree behind her. Leaping from out of her hiding place, Kylin bounded across another open field toward the large edifice that is the Webway portal, shrouded behind the treeline.

This world, located near the outer edge of the Eye, in the sector opposite that of the Candian Gate, and of which is commanded by one known as Arnell. Surrounding it are the Daemon Worlds of Kydrin, Nullthrax, Xenasil and the crone world of Danviois.

Mylinth chanted quickly, his eyes closed in deep mediation and his mind was deep within thought. The low tone of a chime rang at the door, his eyes shot open, and yet Mylinth knew who had come. A the door slid smoothly open, Mylinth's eyes closed again. "I have been made aware that you require my presence, Mylinth" enquired the Warlock. "I have a task for you, for this task is of most import. My castings have shown that an Imperial ship will be in danger of a Chaos raid, and lest they cannot be destroyed, for the ship will be present at one of our major attacks. They will turn the tide against our enemies that day, and if the destruction of the ship is accomplished. Then the Imperial leadership will send another, only to arrive too late. No, I want you to ensure that it reaches it destination intact. It will be in what they call Ignaric system. I believe you know it well, a large warp storm is there present, take the aft entrance to the system to circumvent the hurricane of energy. Khaine be with you! The Warlock turned to leave.

Master Tyross gazed out into the open fields of Panderaan, his mind elsewhere. A single rune, held firm between his fore and index finger, was held aloft, his mind fixed upon it, the slightest possibility was not over-looked as Tyross searched for the course of action which was to prove most beneficial.

Faelthrain glanced over the smooth surface of the crystal pool, it's surface had not been disturbed in centuries, the reflected light shown brightly. The inner sanctum of the Eldar subterranean monolith was encrusted with polished crystal, every wall gleamed with inner life and refracted light. The mere sight of the crystal walls which resembled marble to some extent filled Faelthrain with renewed hope. A smile played about his face as he realised that there are still places where the enemies of the Eldar had not dared enter or could indeed found.

The door slammed into position as Inquisitor Ularn's eyes blazed at Titus Qualis, a known authority upon anything Eldar. Theirs eyes met in a cold dual as the power armoured leviathan paced across the room, his anger barely a whisper away from engulfing the powerful body of the Inquisitor. "WHY have you held this information to yourself, TITUS," the Inquisitor's voice boomed with rage at the blattenly devious of facts had escaped his watchful eye. Titus shuddered before answering, his mind spinning with possible replies, most of which would end up in him being executed a heretic. At last, he spoke "The xenogens have been most devious in their dealings, it had only occured..." Ularn broke in, "occured to you WHEN?"

Stepping forward below the hunched archwork of the ancient Eldar building of the former Eldar settlement, Tyross approached Andahil. The ancient Eldar building had stood for millennia, and was located just south of the unholy chaos Warp gate. The massive building was a massive dome. The outskirts of the dome itself lay a small woodland area, and were but two entrances to the dome itself, to the north east and to the south, each with a sweeping curve that formed the doorways. Andahil had always wondered about the purpose of this barren and seemingly useless Eldar building.

The Guardsman stood, quivering with uncontrollable fear, his torturer still reliving the sensations of his last kill. Two strikes with his blade and it was done, the once proud Space Marine had killed another foe with equal ease as his last one. Turning to face his Lord, the Marine's mind hummed with discordant music, every sense tingled as the scent of his Lord's strong yet provocative perfumes filled his nostrils. Breathing deeply, the Marine was able to almost smell the overwhelming pleasure that such a smell could impart upon a being of utmost pleasure. "We advance on" gleamed the Lord, his armour was awash with pleasure of slaughter.

Scorching fires burned in the darkened hall of Iunsan, around the center hung chainaxes, chainswords, power axes. Every cutting edge touched by one or more victims blood. Stood amid the burning fires, the four legged behemoth Arnell, his attention transfixed upon the clashing of weapons out on the killing fields surrounding his great hall. Chanting Khorne Berserkers ran around outside, their eternal bitter war going on to appease their master, and to claim the right to go on his next conquest.

"Why do we fight this foe?" enquired Warlock Talachi, his gaze fixed upon Farseer Tyross as he spoke. "We must fight these abominations now or forever lose this Maiden World to the Four Winds. I have cast my watchful eye across the skeins of fate, and there is no other way. No other recourse but to drive forth our attack into the heart of the enemy" replied Tyross, his eyes fixed firmly upon the marching Nurgle lines as it came across the rolling sands of the eastern continent.

To my knowledge, there is but two Eldar Gods which existed pre-Fall that are deemed by the Eldar to be still in existence, that is 'Khaine, the Eldar God of War, and the Laughing God, the one which the 'Rillietann' (trans. Harlequins) belief in. Indeed, it was a matter of interest that I started this researching into the one God for the Eldar Craftworlds, name 'Khaine.'

Four Plague Marines moved swiftly along the deserted woodland surrounding the Tau outpost. Champion Faikion, chosen for his infiltrating abilities, gave a single hand gesture as he crept to the edge of the wood. Glancing around though the visor of his helmet, his vision tinted yellow from the vile ichor that oozed from a head wound. 'Enhance' whispered Faikion as his helmet adjusted for distance and the picture zoomed in. He watched, two Tau Fire Warriors, dressed in mainly black but with grey highlights, stood to attention, and watched as their Ethereal gave them the look to be dismissed. Thinking to himself, 'and they thought we could never find him!' thought Faikion to himself.

Five Plague Marines burst from the fine misty storm that had been created when the wind started blowing across the fine desert sands of the beach. The Plague Marine marched toward the small Guardian patrol, their muzzle flashes marked the death of those unfortunate enough to be targeted by those to whom Nurgle called servants. The small skirmish continued, the Guardians firing and moving in careful formation, staying their distance from the Plague Marines as ordered by Tyross himself. Guardian Lax dropped behind the others as they continued their slow retreat back to Eldar lines as he lost his footing and arose fast enough to catch the fist of a Plague Marine in mid swing. Turning aside his clumbsy mon-keigh blow with a twist of his arm, Lax leapt back out of reach of his foe. A faint tingle whispered at the back of Guardian Lax's throat, a faint messenger of woe that went unheard.

Looming at the fore of his horde, Daemon Prince Arnell darted forward upon powerful daemonic legs, his glaive burning bright red as it sensed the nearby foes. Behind him stood a handful of Berserkers, and a regiment of Imperial Guardsmen, before him lay the vast countless Tyranid swarm.

"Warhound Turalis to Cap-Com. Approaching front at sprint-speed. Alert all Guard units in area that we are moving through their sections."

Vensyvien crouched low behind an outcrop of rock, silent as death. A hot wind swept past throwing up small clouds of sand and grit from the desert floor. The sun glistened off the black plates of his armour casting a low shadow over the ground behind him. His squad waited behind him for any sign of movement, but he was still.

"When the virus was unleashed, thousands of our citizens were turned to walking corpses within minutes. We knew that when the Nurgle drop pods started hitting the planet's surface that our planet was doomed! Within hours, the Nurgle followers were surrounded by a shifting mass of green skinned walking dead. Our defense forces were helpless to their onslaught. Within days our capital fell to these traitors, weeks flew past as the Guard stationed there fought long and hard day and night to fend off their attacks. But even the most stubbornly contested posts were overrun eventually. Our continual communications for help heralded yet fouler things. In response, the Demon Angels Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes answered the call, and sent a full four companies in a hope to stem the Traitors. However, it was not apparent until they made planetfall that them too had been infected by the virus. Even with their god-like strength, the Demon Angels were cast down into damnation as they transformed into yet more plague marines. All but three Companies of Marines commited suicide as the oinslaught of the changes begun. I do not know the fate of those that were effected by the virus. Even I fear for as I send this, my body has begun the transformation."

Seer Signual braced himself against the charge of twenty blood crazed mad men, his trusty blade clasped in his hand. "Blood for the Blood God!" screamed the Khorne Berserkers as they changed, and as the first of their number came close, Signual dashed to the side, avoiding a mighty chain axe. Seeing the right instant to strike, Signual dashed back into the Berserker's side, the armour buckling under the force of his strike, forcing the Berserker backwards.