A Brief Discourse on the History of Craftworld Khoura-Suine
As told by Scribe Arrithi
Life begins, and life shall end. The cycle shall always continue onwards; birth, death, and rebirth. Civilizations shall grow to glorious heights of power, fall to the dizzying heights below, and rise from the ashes, learning from their past mistakes and trying to fix the wrongs which they did commit. In the end, will it be for naught? Is there a purpose to it all? That is unknown, the truth still remains hidden, concealed by the shadows of our own minds, but the cycle will always go on, whether we wish it to or not.
As it is for every sentient being, so it is for the Eldar. A mighty civilization which spanned the stars, sowing the seeds of life and making it flourish where once it had been dead and barren. Peace was at the height of its time, war was unknown, and on the outside, the Eldar were nearly Gods, shining examples of the best which could be achieved. As with all things however, it must eventually end, and so it did. That which blinds us the most, which conceals our eyes from ever seeing the truth, is what brought about their downfall. Pride and arrogance was all it took, two simple emotions which would destroy and entire civilization.
Within the warp, the forces of Chaos waited, biding their time patiently, watching as the unsuspecting prey grew in number. Slowly, they perverted the minds of the weak and led astray the arrogant and self-serving. Once they had striven to become better beings, to advance themselves to further enlightenment throughout the galaxy. Now, they slowly became more indulgent, more concerned about experiencing hedonistic pleasures and surely enough, began to forget the old ways. Only a certain few, those pure of heart, began to see the tell tale signs which confronted them so clearly; the cycle was about to turn, and it was time for death to take its toll.
Hundreds of thousands fled the doomed place, but even more remained, content to live in a world full of sensuous pleasures. It was a low rumble at first, barely audible, but it would pick up speed, it would grow in strength, and before many knew what was about to occur, it was simply too late. From the insidious depths, from the cradle of Hell, Slaanesh arose to take his place in the universe among his brother Gods, and with him spelled the end of the Golden Ages of the Eldar. Millions would die terrible deaths, their souls thrown to the hounds of Slaanesh to be hunted and torn apart in a most grisly manner. The god of pleasure gorged himself upon his fallen followers and in a cataclysmic explosion, the home world was swallowed by what is today called the Eye of Terror.
Most which managed to escape would be destroyed, the psychic scream emanating from the terrible carnage enough to drive even the most hardened man out of his mind. Others still were caught within the warp, their ships torn apart from the inside out by the menacing daemons of Slaanesh. Only a few lucky survivors would ever see the light of day again and they would never be able to return to their home.
A fairly small, unnamed Craftworld would be the last to leave the home world. Filled with frightened Eldar who could not believe that their entire race had nearly been wiped out in a single stroke, they fled into the sea of stars, led by a charismatic and noble figure, Khoura-Suine. There departure however was to be plagued by the evils which they were now trying to escape. While the estimates are unsure, it appears that at least half of the crew had been subverted by the dark pleasures of Slaanesh, and the massacre which would ensure would be a grisly end for the frightened, huddled masses which had gathered together on the Craftworld.
The uprising was sudden and instantaneous, the blood flowed freely and the cries of pain agony, and joy echoed throughout the halls of the Craftworld. Eldar fought Eldar in a terrible battle which raged across the ship. When it appeared that the loyalists had finally gained a foothold; that they were indeed winning the battle, they arrived...
With joyous screaming and haunting moans, the daemonettes of Slaanesh tore through the pitiful remnants of the defenders, led by the awesome might of an avatar of the Prince of Pleasure. Hundreds of thousands of lives would be swept aside in a mass orgy of death and destruction as the daemons tore throughout the ship in a whirlwind of fury. Khoura-Suine, along with several others, were cornered now, on the bridge of this doomed place, battling with the forces of Chaos, rage shining brightly in their blood soaked eyes. For every one the daemon's killed, they would in turn lose 50, and a pile of bodies knee deep soon littered the stained ground. Even this however, would not be enough to stem the tide of Chaos... Mortally wounded, and with only one companion left, it appeared that the end had finally arrived, that eternity was finally prepared to accept Khoura-Suine's soul. A hideous creature charged through the doorway, its shockingly white fangs barred in a grimacing manner as its claw was raised to strike down the heroic man. Khoura-Suine raised his ritual blade, preparing to block the blow and just as the Daemon's claw crashed downwards, all stopped.
Time stood still, and the ship was frozen in place like an eerie piece of artwork. Foe stood toe to toe, locked in the hellish imprisonment of the warp. Khoura-Suine resembled an intricate statue, frozen in place, down upon one knee, his left sword held high, barely touching the tip of the Daemonette's vicious swing. On the lower decks of the Craftworld, the fire's which were raging throughout sent a grotesque light down the silent halls, its ghastly dance of destruction halted. Scenes of carnage littered the ship, all frozen in place, almost as if time itself had wanted to perserve this very moment for the rest of eternity...
For thousands of years, the Craftworld floated throughout the warp, undisturbed, untouched. It seemed that the ship was destined to fade into history, a single star who's light had been consumed by the insidious darkness. All he had fought for, everything Khoura-Suine had sacrificed, had now come to nothing, or so it seemed...
While the fact of the matter is still being debated, it is unsure how long the ship had drifted in the warp, and by what means it finally strode free of its shackles. Somehow, someway, the Craftworld exited warp space, and with that single action, time resumed its normal course.
To those onboard however, not a moment had gone by. The Daemonette's claw crashed downwards, Khoura-Suine's blade deflecting the strike with a sharp metallic clang. Swinging his right arm around, he slashed across the creature's midsection, ending the abnomation's life in one fell stroke.
But now, the true test lay ahead for this weary man. At the entranceway stood the Greater Daemon itself, snarling slightly with a dribble of greenish yellow liquid escaping out of the corner of its mouth. It took but a moment for the thing to slice Khoura-Suine's companion in two parts, killing him next to instantly. The thing then turned to Khoura-Suine, slowly, deliberatily, with something that might have passed for a smile crossing its scarred lips, a glint of joy playing across its yellow eyes. A moan of pleasure perhaps escaped its lips as its gaze fell upon the noble man. Its steps echoed throughout the room, ringing in Khoura-Suine's ears as it neared. Standing to his feet, he glared defiantly at the daemon as he took on a combat stance, swords at the ready.
It grinned, a slight groan escaping it as its melodicaly beautiful voice floated to his ears, "Ahhh... Khoura-Suine. At last we have the honor of meeting." The Daemon then brought its gigantic claw up, eyeing it for a second before turning its gaze back to Khoura-suine, "You can only imagine the raptuours pleasure I will give you... let me show you, it will be glorious..."
Still at the ready, he stood motionless, his voice calm and composed as he spoke, "I am Khoura-Suine, sworn to protect the people of this Craftworld. Sworn to give my life for them. Sworn to defeat you." With that, he gestured with his sword for the beast to come at him.
Rearing back its head as an inhuman laugh coursed through the daemon, it looked back down at the man, spreading its arms open as it conversed, "Oooh... I will enjoy this. I can feel your soul already, so delicate, so fragile..." Its voice slowly drifted off into a barely audible moan of pleasure for a moment and in a lightning quick action, the thing charged forward, its roar coursing throughout the entirety of the ship.
The battle was titanic, the two parrying, feinting, landing blow upon blow as their intricate dance was woven throughout the corridors. Both fought with the rage of the stars behind them, the steel of their blades singing loudly as they clashed over and over. Khoura-Suine's hatred however, had festered within him. His mind, plagued with the death of so many of his kin, was not focused. Fighting for the wrong reasons, fighting for revenge, fighting for hatred itself, he could never hope to win, never hope to defeat this thing. Finally, when he had made a strike at the creature too widely, the Daemon backhanded him roughly, knocking Khoura-Suine into the bulkhead with a loud thud.
Clinging to consciousness, the sword fell from his lifeless hand, while the other was clutched tightly in a deathgrip. He would not get up from the blow, he knew that much. Khoura-Suine's body had been shattered, and it was all he could do to look up in time as the Daemon loomed over him. Leering, it impaled Khoura-Suine upon its claw in a swift motion, and raised him up to eye level so that it might look at this worthy rival face to face. It was no doubt that the end had finally come, after all of this. Visions, visions of the truth, of the very fabric of life, raced through his weary eyes, and a single teardrip would form, splashing against the ground.
As the Greater Daemon spoke its final words to him, "I win Khoura-Suine," his reply leaves us questions which plague us to this day yet.
"No... None of us shall win. It will go on, and in the end, it will not matter. We shall not be judged upon how much we have conquered, or how great our power has become, but how much we have grown and how much we have learned. I am prepared to die, but are you?"
Within a moment it was over. His once lifeless arm now held the strength to raise his blade high and plunge it downwards, through the base of the Daemon's skull. An inhuman roar tore through the ship, echoing throughout its halls as the Greater Daemon toppled to the ground, Khoura-Suine still impaled upon its claw, a smile playing across the now lifeless man's face. As suddenly as it began, it was over, but a terrible price had been exacted..
Re-emerging into the cold void of space, the people of Craftworld Khoura-Suine ( As it was named in honor of our great leader ) set about to pick up the shattered pieces of their lives. They would never fully recover from the blow they were dealt, but nonetheless, the people of Khoura-Suine would struggle onwards in the hopes of one day restoring themselves to their former glory.
Even now, they struggle against the universe itself to survive the horrors which had befallen them. The Eldar of Khoura-Suine are known for their willingness to fight for a cause they believe in, to never back down against the wrongs of the universe, no matter the odds, and to champion the causes of righteousness, valor, and honor. They look upon the past not as punishment, or a terrible tragedy even, but as a lesson to learn from. To this day, the last words of Khoura-Suine are analyzed and debated over, their true meaning lost to time.
The cycle shall go on, civilizations shall rise and fall, and in the end it will matter naught. We, the descendants of Khoura-Suine, seek the truth, the answers which lay just out of sight, barred from us by the restrictions which the mind places upon its subjects. Perhaps, in time we will find those answers. Perhaps we will never find them. But in the end, life will move onwards, and the wheel will continue to turn, with, or without us.