In the Grim Dark Future of the 41st Millenium There Is Only Cringe

Al'ix, The Craftworld of Aringhe

"All theatres are theatres of war. War must needs be theatrical."
— Farseer Ro-fhessi of Craftworld Ulthwé, describing a Harlequin performance

"And I am an angsty theater kid."
—Al'ix of the Masque of The Dance Without End

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The curtain of light blinked out of existence and the stage lights flicked on seemingly of their own accord. The audience, a collection of gaunt and fearful faces, fell silent as they laid eyes on the illuminated stage for the first time. There was no happiness or excitement to be found amongst the dozens of bodies, only shame, regret, and above all else: fear. And that was what had come to be expected, as only the insane would find any kind of joy in the performance about to unfold. But then again, what kind of sane being would willingly subjugate themselves to the horrors of the past and future again and again?

For the performance they were about to witness was The Dance . The tale of downfall and damnation of a race overcome by their own indulgences and hubris.

This was the story of Aeldari and the Chaos God their sins had birthed.

Nine figures appeared out of nowhere in the center of the stage as the first notes of an unseen orchestra filled the tense air. The figures were clad in the pastel colors of a rising sun that seemed fundamentally at odds with everything beyond the light of the stage, with the conflict only growing more apparent as they began to move. The colors shifted and shimmered with every step and gesture, displaying a bliss and innocence that made many of the audience avert their gaze in shame or weep with grief.

It would have been impossible for any performer to not show empathy to such a reaction, and the same held true for the vibrant bounding figures- who represented the early innocence of the Aeldari. And so they hid their faces behind masks of white with hollow eyes and unwavering harlequin grins.

The music turned light and airy as the nine joined hands and frolicked in a circle, their steps silent and graceful. The forms blurred together by a trick of the shifting light, creating a scene of twin suns of blue and red rising over a pastoral field of greens and pinks. The scene faded away, revealing three titanic figures had joined the original nine.

These new players represented the gods of the Aeldari.

The first and mightiest was Asuryan, the Phoenix King; a towering being of golden light and fire who shared his wisdom with the young race. His every move on stage was deliberate and purposeful. The masked form watched over the young Aeldari like a stern but loving father, and was quick to grab any dancer about to wander out of the light of the stage.

Second in both presence and power was Khaine, the god of war. Angry flames billowed from the between plates of his mighty red armor, as he stood motionless amongst the frolicking mortals, with his greatsword gripped in hands that never stopped bleeding- his punishment for a sin that could not be forgiven by even the gods. If his brother Asuryan was the shepherd of the young race, then Khaine was the hound who protected them from predators. The war god darting across the stage like a comet to strike down a hand reaching out from the darkness.

Finally, bathed in soft greens and yellows was Isha, the Great Mother. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful and graceful figure on the stage, with flowers of vibrant light blooming wherever she tread. The young Aeldari flocked to her side, to which she pressed a kiss on each of their foreheads before sending them on their merry way.

The Aeldari and their gods were one in an age of beauty and innocence. And there was not a single eye in the audience without tears.

The music changed. A note of discord worming its way into the peaceful melody that grew stronger by the moment.