"You do not conquer stars with fire alone. You beckon them… into forgetting their light."
— The Witch-king of Angmar, M31.001
The Echoes of Twilight (Eldar Perspective)
There was once a time when the Eldar ruled the stars. They danced among nebulae, sculpted planets with song, and mastered the Warp like one might breathe. But decadence birthed damnation, and She Who Thirsts was born.
Now, they drifted.
The Craftworld Aver'lir moved silently across the void, a blooming flower lost in an ocean of ash. Its Farseers walked with guarded dignity. Its Aspect Warriors trained with desperate resolve. Its Bonesingers whispered to the wraithbone structures, urging hope into a dying race.
But none dared to speak aloud what they all knew:
They were dying. Slowly. Elegantly. Eternally.
Until he came.
The First Whisper (Farseer Relarien)
Farseer Relarien saw it in a dream first — a towering figure cloaked in night, his crown aflame with cold fire, his voice like cracked crystal.
"You linger on the edge of extinction, child of Isha. But I see your people rising again — not as slaves to their past, but as authors of a new dominion."
He awoke drenched in psychic frost, the runes floating around his chamber spinning with uncertainty.
When he sought guidance from the Infinity Circuit, the spirits were… silent.
Not in fear.
In awe.
The Shadow Unveiled (Witch-king's Arrival)
The Witch-king of Angmar did not come in war. He came as a shadow through the Webway, gliding along forgotten paths carved in the time before the Fall.
His arrival was marked not by blasphemy — but reverence.
Where he stepped, the wraithbone resonated in low harmony.
The Eldar watched, blades sheathed, as he entered the Council of Seers unchallenged. Tall. Silent. Regal. The crown of Morgul shimmered with an unnatural grace.
"I am not your enemy," he said. "Nor your savior. I am the guide you abandoned. The path you refuse to walk."
Relarien stood, clutching his staff. "You are of Chaos."
"I am of power," the Witch-king replied. "And I offer yours back to you."
The Gift of Forgotten Glory (Council Dispute)
Arguments flared like suns:
"We should not trust this corpse-king!" cried Autarch Saiel. "He reeks of corruption!"
"He walks the Webway," murmured Warlock Thiriel. "No daemon does that without tearing it apart."
"He is a relic," said another. "A shadow that remembers when we were gods."
The Witch-king merely stood, offering no protest. Only patience.
Finally, Relarien said, "Speak, then. What do you offer that the Old Ways do not?"
The Witch-king stepped forward, and from his cloak he drew an orb of black starlight — memories, stolen from the Eye of Terror itself. Visions flooded the chamber:
Eldar warhosts soaring through the void, free of She Who Thirsts.
Maiden worlds reclaimed.
The Phoenix Lords reforged in a pantheon of ascended power.
An empire — not of survival — but of dominance.
"This… can be."
"How?" asked Relarien.
"By unshackling your soul from fear. Embrace desire. Not decadence — but direction. Not the Slaanesh of your past. A new pact. A new god."
The room fell silent.
The Seduction Begins (Craftworld Changes)
Weeks passed.
The Witch-king remained aboard Aver'lir as a guest. Not prisoner. Not king. His words spread like wind through a canyon — quiet, persistent, reshaping.
He never forced.
He simply asked.
"Why do you train for a war you are too proud to win?"
"Why do you sing to gods who do not answer?"
"Why do you mourn a legacy you still could forge anew?"
And the Eldar listened.
Farseers began dreaming of ancient thrones.
Exarchs found themselves training harder, more violently.
Some Bonesingers added dark veins to the wraithbone — runes that shimmered with alien light.
The Witch-king walked among them, smiling beneath the mask. "Not worship," he whispered. "Purpose."
Relarien's Crisis
Relarien stood in the Dome of Crystal Seers, surrounded by the preserved remains of his predecessors. He bowed his head.
"Have I failed them?" he asked aloud.
One spirit flickered in the Circuit — ancient, female, kind.
"You have done what all Eldar do: hesitate. We are ghosts of ourselves. Perhaps the shadow speaks truths we refuse."
Relarien turned. "But Chaos?"
"What if it is not Chaos? What if it is evolution?"
He gasped.
And at that moment, the Witch-king entered, his presence calm.
"You seek permission to lead," he said. "But leadership is not given. It is claimed."
Relarien wept.
And followed.
The New Path (The Eldar Reforged)
Months Later…
Aver'lir was changed.
It did not fall to Chaos — not entirely.
Its people still practiced the Path. Still trained. Still communed with Isha and Khaine. But now, there were other paths. The Path of the Crownless. The Path of the Flame Without Fire. The Path of the Silent Glory.
And those paths whispered to the Warp.
The Witch-king taught them how to mask their souls. To walk the edge of corruption without falling. He taught them to make war not as vengeance — but as declaration.
They began raids — not to survive — but to conquer.
Maiden worlds lost to humans were reclaimed. Mon-keigh colonies were razed in silence.
They carved symbols into the stars.
Symbols no one recognized.
Not yet.
Meeting the Other Champions (Witch-king's Perspective)
When the summons came — when Joker called the champions to the neutral ground — the Witch-king answered.
He stood before the gathering of legends:
Darth Vader, the broken knight of Tzeentch and Khorne.
Shao Kahn, brute emperor with his Ork slaves.
Dr. Wu, still stained with Ork blood and twisted ambition.
Griffith, radiant and cursed.
Hisoka, amused and dangerous.
The Witch-king bowed to none.
He listened. He spoke little. But he understood them all — especially the Clown.
Joker laughed as the others argued.
"You don't talk much, Witchie," he said. "Don't trust the group?"
"I trust only what is inevitable," the Nazgûl replied.
Joker grinned. "Oh, you're going to be so much fun."
Hidden Motives
The Witch-king had no need to conquer the Eldar.
He simply let them walk into their own vanity.
Let them believe they still led.
He watched as their souls flickered between light and dark — not consumed, but changed.
One by one, he was crafting a new pantheon.
Not for Slaanesh. Not for Nurgle. Not even for Chaos.
But for something yet unnamed.
And in the far distance, as the Eye of Terror churned, the gods of Chaos watched their newest pawn… and wondered if perhaps, this pawn had its own board.
A Future Whispered (Eldar Seerling)
A young seer, child of Aver'lir, stood alone in the meditation halls.
She touched a rune, and in her mind, a voice not her own spoke:
"You will become more than a ghost. More than prey. You will become legend."
She smiled.
The Witch-king had told her so.