THE SHADOW OF DEATH

Many millennia ago, the refined Eldar civilisation was ripped asunder by a galactic cataclysm. The magnitude of this catastrophe not only tore holes in the fabric of space itself, but also forced the Eldar to assume nomadic existences within vast city-ships known as craftworlds. These organic world-scapes travel gracefully through the gulf of space, inhabited by the surviving members of the Eldar race. Among the largest and most populous of these craftworlds was Iyanden.

Although Iyanden's rune-casting Farseers had foreseen the tendrils of doom upon the paths of the future, the first physical signs of the Great Devourer were reported by Iyanden's Rangers. The assimilation of over a dozen outlying planets in Imperial space betrayed a course heading directly toward their craftworld. Many of Iyanden's Rangers fell mute in terror at the sheer scale of the nightmare descending upon their peaceful world.

However, one of the Rangers, Irilith, spoke eloquently of their discovery at the conclave called to discuss Iyanden's course of action. Farseer Kelmon, spiritual leader of the craftworld, called together all of Iyanden's inhabitants at the Place of Answering. Several actions were debated, including carrying the fight to the enemy and even flight. It took an impassioned plea from Irilith to convince her fellows of the awesome scale of the Tyranid fleet. They must all fight or be consumed.

"Gather the dead for war, let them join our ranks, lest we are forced to join theirs." Farseer Kelmon

Farseer Kelmon ordered the entirety of Iyanden to be mobilised immediately. No mere barricade or battle line would contain this conflict. The eldritch architecture was fortified, the Eldar fleet recalled, and help sought from other craftworlds. The Exarchs awakened the very spirit of Iyanden's war god, taking the form of a fearsome Avatar. In an act foreshadowing the terrible price Iyanden would have to pay, Farseer Kelmon ordered the Ghost Warriors to be brought forth. The spirit stones of the Eldar's ancestors were plucked from their resting places, an act akin to robbing a tomb, and placed within wraithbone shells to fight alongside their still-living children. Craftworld Iyanden was ready for war.

Tyranid spores hurtle towards prey worlds.

THE KRAKEN STRIKES

Twenty days of trepidation passed before the first of the hive fleet ships began to attack.

The first wave of Tyranids to attack the craftworld, a teeming horde of biological monstrosities, were dispatched with efficiency by the defending fleet. The graceful ships of Iyanden outmanoeuvred and outgunned the hive fleet in battle after battle, sustaining very few casualties themselves. The Eldar stationed on the craftworld allowed themselves a glimmer of hope as entire waves of Tyranid ships were destroyed. But the Farseers remained silent. Although Iyanden's fleet was formidable indeed, the nightmarish bio-constructs of the Tyranids seemed to be without number. Slowly, craft by craft, the Eldar fleet was succumbing to the sheer scale of the Tyranid forces. When a massive second wave attacked, almost twice the size of the last, the defenders proved unable to stop the aliens from landing on Iyanden. The Eldar fleet sustained horrendous casualties as the jaws of the Great Devourer closed.

On the craftworld itself, the landing forces were contained and destroyed. The wraithbone passageways of the craftworld were cleansed of taint, the sacred groves purified. The spirits of the Eldar were raised further by the fact that the next wave of aliens was almost pitifully small, a mere shadow of what had come before. Although Iyanden's decimated fleet could not prevent yet more landings, these incursions were also dealt with by defending Aspect Warriors. For a brief moment, the craftworld allowed itself to breathe once more, daring to hope that they had weathered the storm.

BATTLE IS JOINED

The next two waves of Tyranid ships were vast, dwarfing those that had previously attacked. Bloated, grotesque alien craft blotted out the stars as they descended with implacable purpose, vomiting forth army after army of hideous aliens into Iyanden's unspoilt havens. Impenetrable clouds of spores settled, infecting the craftworld itself. Twisted, spiked forms struggled to emerge from the beautiful organic harmony of Iyanden's architecture. A horrific psychic scream resounded around the craftworld's infrastructure as seething hordes of clawed, scuttling aliens were disgorged into its heart.

"The time for using the knife to remove this cancer is long gone. Bring forth the torch." Exarch Quaillindral

The halls and passageways of Iyanden were soon overrun with the foul Tyranids, the twin waves engulfing the craftworld in a tide of chittering, screaming death. Battle was joined in every imaginable arena. Amongst the treetops of the ancient and holy Forests of Silence, Swooping Hawks fought a deadly aerial dance with dark flocks of bat-winged Gargoyles. Striking Scorpions sliced their way through the massed Termagants blocking the arterial passageways like a vile cancer. Falcons hunted massive Carnifexes as they smashed apart the beautiful and complex sculpture-bastions of the Fortress of Tears. On the hallowed steps of the Shrine of Asuryan, Dire Avengers fought close and bloody battles with seemingly infinite numbers of Hormagaunts. But all fell to the sheer numbers of attackers, their lives sold at a great cost to the Tyranid hordes.

It was not enough.

THE WRATH OF KHAINE

THE PRODIGAL Fifty years before the Tyranid attack on Iyanden, High Admiral Yriel had led the Iyanden fleet with unmatched skill and judgement. However, he was accused of the flaw of pride after a gamble that put Iyanden at risk from a Chaos fleet. His rash actions and refusal to admit his mistake led to him being put on trial. Yriel was deposed as High Admiral, and vowed never to return. The outcast commander had taken those of his fleet still loyal to him and left, bitter and enraged. Over the years, he and his followers had formed an Eldar Raider company that was the largest and most glorious Eldar pirate force in the galaxy.

The searing heat of battle had reached its peak when the Eldar counter-attacked. The Avatar itself led the charge, its gargantuan form glowing with coruscating fire as it smashed apart all that stood before it. Guardian fought side by side with Ghost Warrior as the Eldar gave everything they had to stop the Tyranid advance. The ensuing battle was a berserk orgy of destruction, raging like wildfire through the Forests of Silence, scouring the Tyranids from its sacred earth. But the damage was done, the magnificent arboretum defiled by the fast-growing spores of the aliens. Many of the Eldar wept tears of anger to see the hideous and twisted parodies of once-great trees that were left standing.

But the tide of the battle was turning. The Eldar had forced the Tyranids back, albeit at the cost of untold thousands of lives. The Wraithlords and Falcons had systematically hunted down the giant synapse creatures, destroying the network of command that guided their minions. Choirs of Warlocks united in psychic accord to repel the shadow in the warp that curled around the spirits of its prey. Bonesingers coaxed the writhing wraithbone, rich with the departed spirits of the infinity circuit, to fight against the terrible warping effects of the Tyranid spores.

Then, to the Eldar's utter despair, the hive fleet regurgitated yet another wave of Tyranids onto the craftworld. This was the largest yet, and as the scanners of Iyanden's bridge turned bright with the readings of yet more swarms, the Farseers fell silent. There was to be no escape.

Word of Iyanden's impending doom had reached the renegade Prince Yriel, formerly the High Admiral of Iyanden's fleet and once the finest among his peers. Although Yriel still nursed a righteous anger towards his former craftworld, the fires of his wrath had cooled. At first, he ignored Iyanden's peril, but in the end he could not bear to see it destroyed utterly, and his fleet made all speed to the battle.

Like the burning spear of Khaine, Yriel's forces struck deep into the Tyranid hive swarm enveloping Iyanden. The remainder of the craftworld's battered fleet joined him, and together they ripped the heart from the Tyranid swarm, destroying everything that the Tyranids threw at Iyanden before it could reach the surface. Wave after wave was repelled. Grimly, Yriel vowed to give his life in the defence of his people. On the bridges of his ship, vigilant eyes scanned the runes of their scanners, awaiting the next wave. Tense hours passed, but it did not come. The space-borne hive fleet had been destroyed. THE COST Though the aliens had finally been destroyed, the craftworld's victory was hollow indeed.
Thousands upon thousands of Eldar had been killed, and their beautiful cityscape was covered in the black corpses of their enemies. Iyanden's once-mighty fleet was a pitiful remnant of its former glory, and the shells of the previously glorious craft listed in Iyanden's orbit, silent as the tomb. Worse still, the very souls of those whose spirit stones had been destroyed by the Tyranids were lost forever. Iyanden would never fully recover from the terrible devastation meted out by the aliens. Its fate stands as a warning to those who would underestimate the awesome hunger of the Great Devourer.

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