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Librarium

Clan of the Waning Moon

The oldest legends of the Eldar speak of their lost home world and its three moons; Lileath the white maiden moon, Khaine the blood red moon and the green moon of Kurnous the hunter. Every cycle as Kurnous embarked on his great hunt across the night sky he would seem to wane as shadow fell across him, until he was reduced to a deathly sliver, a pale reflection of his full majesty. Yet every time he would shake off his dark assailants, returning to his splendid emerald glory at the pinnacle of the heavens.

Thus the waning moon has ever been a symbol amongst the Eldar of triumph and rebirth out of darkness, even when all seems to be lost.

Clan-Prince Galathaniel pressed his hands together in front of his face, closing his eyes and setting his expression as hard as wraithbone. A hot wellspring of muddy hate bubbled and broiled behind his war mask, and it took a considerable exertion of will to keep it in check.

He felt the psycho-conductive skeleton of his Warlock titan vibrate in anti-phase with his pounding heart, the spirits of long dead Eldar psykers drifting away from him deeper into the core of the gargantuan war machine.

Losing control now would avail him of nothing he realised, and forced himself to be calm in spite of the latest augury data.

The humans were beaten, didnt they realise this? Why were the mustering against him? Couldnt their primitive, unevolved minds grasp that this was once more an Eldar world? Fighting humans was often like slaughtering a bull grox; both took time to realise they were dead even after the killing blow had long since landed.

And landed it had. Galathaniel had overseen the razing of the utilitarian and drab human cities from the face of this maiden paradise, until virtually no stone stood upon another. What was left for the human counter attack to reclaim? Only a few of their largest buildings still stood. Perhaps they hoped to recover something else of value from the shattered rubble of their endeavours? In the end it mattered not to the Clan-Prince; all human desire was brief and transitory, a brief sigh in the face of the hurricane will of the Eldar.

Galathaniel spared a thought for his lost home of Malan'tai and a single tear rolled down his cheek. The humans had played their part in its virtual destruction, even though it was the dread Tyranid menace that crashed against its beautiful star-lit shores. If he had not led his AEther Dragon Titan Clan to defend the Exodites from human aggression, if he had but listened to the Farseers and the doom they foretold instead of arrogantly ignoring it, he could have been there to save his beloved home.

Galathaniel shook himself back to the present. Now was not the time to mourn. Now was the time for the humans to repay their debt; one crude idol to their machine god for each drop of Eldar blood spilled.

The enemy titans loomed large on the view screen and the order to engage was given without another moments hesitation. The newly renamed Clan of the Waning Moon strode forward to meet them.