Have you ever been in a bad situation? Yes? Well, it sure doesn't compare to the situation I'm in! Imagine, Trapped in the body of an ork, I wake up in the middle of an Ork raid on an Eldar craftworld with a giant Ork Warboss staring me in the face...
The craftworld of Kirian-Niekt has fallen into ruin; the once glorious technologically advanced continent that was home to millions of Eldars has been destroyed by the WWWAAAGGGHHH! Of the Warboss Orkbrakka Gratz Kogkrakka, the Warboss of renown deployed all his forces to get a good fight.
In addition, he got good fight, the streets of the craftworld were covered with orks and eldars, tanks and gigantic war machines exchanged fire and fought on all sides. The craftworld's central building was where Orkbrakka met his end at the hands of Farseer Avandra.
Due to a stray bullet, the Farseer was left unprotected against the Warboss's attack, which pierced her stomach with his Power Klaw, using all the power she had left, Avandra incinerated the Warboss, reducing hi, to ashes, due to that, the WWWAAAGGGHHH! Ended, but it was too late to save the craftworld.
Right now, the survivors watched through the windows of their ships as explosions and gunfire from the ork ships were tearing the place they called home apart. Large fragments of wraithbone were hurled into space as the craftworld broke in two and into smaller pieces with each explosion.
Within the Eldar ships, families embraced, wept for their loved ones whose souls could not be saved, and for their ancestors who dwelt in infinity circuit, all devoured by She Who Thirsts.
Inside a Voidstalker, the largest type of Eldar ship yet smaller than a craftworld, the council of farseers who ruled Kirian-Niekt gathered.
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There were five of them in total, all seated at a large circular table in a room with a large glass dome, giving a view to the space above.
A serious silence took over the room, no one dared to speak, and all those present removed their helmets, showing faces that revealed a mixture of sadness and anger.
The silence was broken when one of them spoke, it was the oldest looking farseer, old by Eldar standards, he had the most ornate armor and covered in symbols, he was Anvorain Ulthriuc.
"What's the situation?" Anvorain asked.
"Our population has been reduced by the thousands. Our combat capacity is almost non-existent as most of the survivors are civilians, food is also an issue, we have enough for a few months of travel, but we will need to resupply somewhere soon." Another farseer spoke, his name was Yhiel-Rían.
Anvorain leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands in front of his face, thinking deeply.
"And Avandra?"
"She is in critical condition, it was necessary to put her on life support, but we don't know if she will survive, her careless use of powers has left her in a comatose state." Another farseer replied, called Fiachele Dreamsoul
