Alasiel Belanir
Alasiel Belanir is an Eldar consumed by a single drive— revenge. His every waking moment is filled by thoughts of fiery retribution upon those that have wronged him. His very essence is now built upon the need to exact vengeance. But it was not always like this.
Alasiel spent his youth, like many Eldar in the region, drifting between the stars aboard a long-forgotten Craftworld, one of the magnificent floating cities constructed by the Eldar to house their race, last trace of their once great culture. He learned about his race’s hubris, the fall from grace into gross profligacy, and the truth of She Who Thirsts. He was taught how his people would deny the endless hunger of the Warp using spirit stones, and how, through rigid self-discipline, they could avoid the mistakes of the past. For a time, at least, he thought he knew how he would spend the rest of his days.
Like a great many Eldar before him, Alasiel walked numerous paths, learning statecraft, art, and warfare. He bent his talents to mastering each of these disparate fields; he knew the risks in delving too deeply into any one path and strove to maintain balance in all he did. It was a battle he often struggled to win. Whenever he felt himself slipping towards one discipline or another, he would walk amongst the great wraithbone gardens at the heart of the craftworld. Alasiel felt a deep kinship with the infinity circuit and the souls bound therein. He often wondered what wisdom they could bestow on him if only he possessed the talents to stand near them.
As he grew, Alasiel found the struggle to remain balanced becoming more and more difficult. Even his meditations amongst the spirit stones of his ancestors could not help him. Afraid of becoming subsumed by one path or another, Alasiel, and a crew of like-minded Eldar, elected to leave the confines of the craftworld and travel the stars alone. Reasoning that travel and time away from his people would help give him perspective, he journeyed far and wide, visiting many strange and disparate worlds and encountering many species whom Alasiel dismissed as primitive and without merit. He returned to his craftworld occasionally to trade or swap stories with his old companions. The life of a wanderer suited him, and for a time he believed himself content.
Several centuries ago, Alasiel and his crew returned to the craftworld after an extended voyage into the depths of the Koronus Expanse. He was in good spirits and looked forward to seeing familiar faces and spending time with his ancestors in the gardens. As his vessel exited the webway, he was confronted with a scene of carnage. The blackened structure of the shattered craftworld drifted aimlessly through the void, clouded in debris. As swiftly as he could, Alasiel drew nearer the wrecked craft, searching desperately for any sign of life. His search proved fruitless as he found no survivors. Finally he left his ship and entered the now-ruined place of his birth. Instead of a craftworld filled with life, Alasiel found only death. Ragged corpses populated the streets and the once graceful towers and domes lay shattered and broken. Amongst the dead, Alasiel saw people he recognised, people he had once called friends or kin. He also saw strange new bodies, lumpen and clumsy. They were shaped like Eldar but lacked all refinement and grace. Dressed in odd scraps of armour and possessing weapons of murderous power, there was little doubt these must be the creatures responsible for the attack of his world. As he explored, a sudden, utter terror gripped Alasiel’s heart and he began to run. His crew called after him, chasing him through the ruined streets until eventually they found him in the wraithbone gardens. Alasiel stood, motionless amidst the ruins of his once beloved gardens, surrounded by the remains of the devastated infinity circuit. Dozens of spirit stones lay strewn about him, many of them cracked and broken, their light forever snuffed. As Alasiel stood and wept, he realised that many, perhaps most, of the stones were missing; taken by the hateful creatures who had wrought this carnage. Slowly, the sorrow that consumed him was replaced by anger, a righteous fury that burned with the heat of a star.
Alasiel and his crew left the remains of the craftworld much as they found it, an echoing tomb of former glories. Searching the debris around the wreck, he discovered more evidence of the race that performed this violation. He saw wrecks of vessels that looked familiar, ships belonging to a supremely primitive and unutterably arrogant race called humans. Knowing his prey, Alasiel set off in pursuit of his vengeance.
He tracked the attackers across the stars, catching their ships in twos and threes. Wherever he found them, he annihilated them utterly, leaving no trace of their existence. Throughout his campaign, he drew ever closer to his true prize: regaining the lost spirit stones of his craftworld.
By chance, he discovered the ships carrying the stones were due to meet up with a larger fleet just beyond the rim of the Screaming Vortex. He raced to intercept them, fearing they would be lost to him forever should they flee into that nightmarish realm, but he was too late. The vile perpetrators had not fled, but had instead been cut down by another force of humans. Knowing he was too weak to tackle the newcomers alone, he bided his time, shadowing them as they moved away through the Warp. He watched as days later they engaged a second, larger group of human vessels, eventually defeating and subsuming them. Thinking them nothing more than pirates with little knowledge of the treasures they carried, Alasiel approached the lead ships, offering to pay handsomely for the stones. He was greeted by a counter offer. A pompous and self-important insect calling itself Vir Modren offered to return the stones to Alasiel if he would help him better understand some relics he carried in his hold. With little alternative, Alasiel agreed. The relics turned out to be trophies of the Ruinous Powers, monstrous totems of the ancient evils dwelling beyond the veil. Realising what manner of creature he now dealt with, Alasiel feared for the safety of the stones, but was powerless to move to rescue them.
Since that day, Alasiel has become trapped by the abhorrent Modren, bound to perform certain tasks for him in return for the continued safety of the stones. Resentment and hatred burn deep in the Eldar’s heart, and given the chance, he will gladly murder Modren and his entire race for the unspeakable crimes they have perpetrated against his people. But for now, he must think of his ancestors and wait for his time to strike.
Alasiel spent his youth, like many Eldar in the region, drifting between the stars aboard a long-forgotten Craftworld, one of the magnificent floating cities constructed by the Eldar to house their race, last trace of their once great culture. He learned about his race’s hubris, the fall from grace into gross profligacy, and the truth of She Who Thirsts. He was taught how his people would deny the endless hunger of the Warp using spirit stones, and how, through rigid self-discipline, they could avoid the mistakes of the past. For a time, at least, he thought he knew how he would spend the rest of his days.
Like a great many Eldar before him, Alasiel walked numerous paths, learning statecraft, art, and warfare. He bent his talents to mastering each of these disparate fields; he knew the risks in delving too deeply into any one path and strove to maintain balance in all he did. It was a battle he often struggled to win. Whenever he felt himself slipping towards one discipline or another, he would walk amongst the great wraithbone gardens at the heart of the craftworld. Alasiel felt a deep kinship with the infinity circuit and the souls bound therein. He often wondered what wisdom they could bestow on him if only he possessed the talents to stand near them.
As he grew, Alasiel found the struggle to remain balanced becoming more and more difficult. Even his meditations amongst the spirit stones of his ancestors could not help him. Afraid of becoming subsumed by one path or another, Alasiel, and a crew of like-minded Eldar, elected to leave the confines of the craftworld and travel the stars alone. Reasoning that travel and time away from his people would help give him perspective, he journeyed far and wide, visiting many strange and disparate worlds and encountering many species whom Alasiel dismissed as primitive and without merit. He returned to his craftworld occasionally to trade or swap stories with his old companions. The life of a wanderer suited him, and for a time he believed himself content.
Several centuries ago, Alasiel and his crew returned to the craftworld after an extended voyage into the depths of the Koronus Expanse. He was in good spirits and looked forward to seeing familiar faces and spending time with his ancestors in the gardens. As his vessel exited the webway, he was confronted with a scene of carnage. The blackened structure of the shattered craftworld drifted aimlessly through the void, clouded in debris. As swiftly as he could, Alasiel drew nearer the wrecked craft, searching desperately for any sign of life. His search proved fruitless as he found no survivors. Finally he left his ship and entered the now-ruined place of his birth. Instead of a craftworld filled with life, Alasiel found only death. Ragged corpses populated the streets and the once graceful towers and domes lay shattered and broken. Amongst the dead, Alasiel saw people he recognised, people he had once called friends or kin. He also saw strange new bodies, lumpen and clumsy. They were shaped like Eldar but lacked all refinement and grace. Dressed in odd scraps of armour and possessing weapons of murderous power, there was little doubt these must be the creatures responsible for the attack of his world. As he explored, a sudden, utter terror gripped Alasiel’s heart and he began to run. His crew called after him, chasing him through the ruined streets until eventually they found him in the wraithbone gardens. Alasiel stood, motionless amidst the ruins of his once beloved gardens, surrounded by the remains of the devastated infinity circuit. Dozens of spirit stones lay strewn about him, many of them cracked and broken, their light forever snuffed. As Alasiel stood and wept, he realised that many, perhaps most, of the stones were missing; taken by the hateful creatures who had wrought this carnage. Slowly, the sorrow that consumed him was replaced by anger, a righteous fury that burned with the heat of a star.
Alasiel and his crew left the remains of the craftworld much as they found it, an echoing tomb of former glories. Searching the debris around the wreck, he discovered more evidence of the race that performed this violation. He saw wrecks of vessels that looked familiar, ships belonging to a supremely primitive and unutterably arrogant race called humans. Knowing his prey, Alasiel set off in pursuit of his vengeance.
He tracked the attackers across the stars, catching their ships in twos and threes. Wherever he found them, he annihilated them utterly, leaving no trace of their existence. Throughout his campaign, he drew ever closer to his true prize: regaining the lost spirit stones of his craftworld.
By chance, he discovered the ships carrying the stones were due to meet up with a larger fleet just beyond the rim of the Screaming Vortex. He raced to intercept them, fearing they would be lost to him forever should they flee into that nightmarish realm, but he was too late. The vile perpetrators had not fled, but had instead been cut down by another force of humans. Knowing he was too weak to tackle the newcomers alone, he bided his time, shadowing them as they moved away through the Warp. He watched as days later they engaged a second, larger group of human vessels, eventually defeating and subsuming them. Thinking them nothing more than pirates with little knowledge of the treasures they carried, Alasiel approached the lead ships, offering to pay handsomely for the stones. He was greeted by a counter offer. A pompous and self-important insect calling itself Vir Modren offered to return the stones to Alasiel if he would help him better understand some relics he carried in his hold. With little alternative, Alasiel agreed. The relics turned out to be trophies of the Ruinous Powers, monstrous totems of the ancient evils dwelling beyond the veil. Realising what manner of creature he now dealt with, Alasiel feared for the safety of the stones, but was powerless to move to rescue them.
Since that day, Alasiel has become trapped by the abhorrent Modren, bound to perform certain tasks for him in return for the continued safety of the stones. Resentment and hatred burn deep in the Eldar’s heart, and given the chance, he will gladly murder Modren and his entire race for the unspeakable crimes they have perpetrated against his people. But for now, he must think of his ancestors and wait for his time to strike.
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