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By means of an intro, this is the start of the fluff concerning the new eldar army I'm starting. They're a presently an unlisted conglomeration of eldar who escaped the fall by hiding in the webway, then joined by various other refugees as word of their hiding place spread. I'll expand on the background for the web-world later, but below is the introduction of the wraithlord I'm presently constructing, and her soon to be made spiritseer and co.



His eyes were like knapped flint, dark and sharp. His posture, poised and alert despite his outward relaxation, forever hiding his inner self from the sight of others.
He allowed his gaze to span the holo image of the battle below with barely contained contempt. He would have spat had the gesture not demonstrated the worth of his enemies. The images showed them clumsily advancing towards his own lines, in a manner only a mon-keigh could consider stealthy. Even these gorily clad humans had learnt no guile or subtlety from their dark masters. What thoughtless arrogance he mused, to waste such gifts that those terrible entities could bestow, gifts that no inferior mind could truly appreciate. He turned his dark frustration inwards, and forged his incandescent emotions into pure force, honed along the edge of his sword, manifesting in a coruscating psychic blaze that danced along its length. He idly turned the blade in his hand, his scrying showing him the faces of those whose threads he would cut that day. The thoughts of the battle to come simmered in his blood as he rose, walking towards the towering wraithbone constructs that were soon to house the spirits of his kin.
***
She applied her great will to gather up the fragments of her consciousness that she had spread throughout the network, their separate wants resisting, pleading to stay in the comforting embrace of the inifinty circuit. More forcefully now, melding them together so that her psyche resembled something of a whole, yet still a shadow of her glory. She moved toward the golem, drawn towards to the summons with a pang of nostalgia that only he could induce. Sarayun poured herself into the blank slate that sat beneath, feeling her very nature recoiling at the transformation, like blood returning to a limb. Recalling the wrenching, twisting agony of her own birth, she broke free of the conduit and became one with the machine that was the wraithlord.
He gently traced a single finger along the giant palm, feeling the pulse of eldritch energy ebb and flow along its crystalline skeleton, responding to his touch.
+I am here brother+

His mind, unbidden, raced back to times when he stood side by side with her and his sisters, her banshee helm covering her fierce features with an even more terrifying visage that struck at the heart of their enemies. It had been a bloody skirmish against the same brutal chaos cult when he had last touched her mortal skin. Although her body had been broken the unrestrained ferocity of the Terminator Lord's attacks, it could not match the ferocity of her spirit. In her undeath she had chosen the way of the phantom lords, and in time she had been joined by the rest of her family, whose shared spirit could not be tamed by life's end. Now, they rose from their unsleeping peace in the circuit, reanimating the constructs around her in preparation for war. Even in death, their duty continued.

The sleek prow of the drop ship angled intently towards the planet's surface, the power of the engines humming with anticipation. The locks disengaged, and with the slightest of disturbance, it fell gracefully away from the larger craft which remained, circling like an aerial predator in the space above.

Inside the now accelerating ship, Sarayun waited, the false gravity inside masking their plummeting descent. She felt around her armour, seeking to know every inch so that she could better visualise her alien form. Presently, she could see through her brother's farsight, now scanning the churning landscape below. Images flashed past, some vibrant and rich in detail whilst others were vague, wisping away like smoke. She focused on what he was trying to show her, her own senses now lacking the connections to the real world. She extended her thoughts to her sisters, who hung like her, suspended in their harnesses, eager to be released into the solid, tangible mass of the battlefield. There the fury of the awoken would be unleashed upon the ancient enemy. No mote of vengeance stirred within, the memories of her death at the hands of these Chaos bretheren long since purged of such base motivations. Instead, only
the purest, darkest hatred burned at her core, for the very waste, and simultaneously, the very temptation that they represented.

With a barely audible hiss, the bay doors opened below her feet, the chamber remaining eerily silent within, despite the rushing wind outside. With a pulse of
thought, the clamps bracing her released, dropping her like a dead weight into the low cloud above the war torn scene. For a second, she felt nothing, then, upon passing the field around the ship, the wind was upon her, assaulting and battering her shell, as if searching in vain for a weakness. Briefly, falling through the ethereal clouds with only the white noise of the air around her, she felt at home, as though she was wandering the infinity circuit again, lost in the meandering, unknowable mists of that realm. Suddenly the clouds broke below her and she was plunged from her reverie into the conflagration below. Arcs of tracer fire and beams of laser energy jostled to find her, searching as she fell, now highlighted on the enemy's sensors. Sarayun used the precious moments of borrowed vision below the clouds to pick a target, adjusting her fall to place her as close as possible. With a deft movement that belied her size, she unsheathed her sword from behind, grasping it woth both hands above her head.

Like a demi-god of ancient myth, she struck like a meteor, the shuddering impact of the wraithlord's form creating an explosion as all of her not inconsiderable kinetic energy was converted into heat around her. As the shock wave rushed out from her the ungainly tank was lifted awkwardly from its track onto its side. Sarayun used the opportunity she had created to bring the blade down from its position above, cleaving the underside of its chassis and igniting the ammunition within. The corrupted Leman Russ burst like an overripe fruit, sending shards of hot shrapnel and scorching heat in all directions. She emerged unscathed, her unshakeable form more than a match for the forces of an unassisted drop, let alone the whickering fire of the mon-keigh's immature technology. She linked with the mind of her spiritseer and strode implaceably forwards, his guidance drawing her towards her kin, and together, the enemy.