Ynneadwraith
Raodruin, Godborn, Allfather, Son of Asuryan. High Lord of Selesti
With no small amount of difficulty these days, Raodruin called up one of the souls of his victims from the hazy miasma swirling within him. Old, clouded, befuddled thing. One of his earliest hunts. Before the Fall, even. From what his own ruminating thought processes could decipher, the ancient murdered soul had once been somewhat of an expert in the matters of warp-Gods. Not that its word could be trusted. It was older than he was, and had experienced the slow gradual decline into general confusion that afflicted all stored souls of the Eldar.
From what he could understand of the incoherant ramblings, the hooks that bound warp-Gods to their mortals appeared to travel in both directions. Warp-Gods were reflections of the beings which created them, but they also embodied aspects of them. Remove one, and the hooks would leave ragged wounds in the consciousness of a race. They knew. Apparently the Eldar had tried it a few times on some of the vermin-species. It was amusing, in a way. Like breaking a wheel off a clockwork toy so it could only spin in circles.
Raodruin thought he could hazily remember himself, if remember was even the right word. He wasn't sure how many of his memories were his own and how many were the accreted thoughts of his victims bleeding through into his consciousness. The moment his Gods died, so had parts of his soul and the soul of every other Eldar in perpetuity. It had been horrendously painful on a level only a soul could feel. Yet, it was impossible to quantify what had been lost. In what way they were broken. Conspicuous only in its comparative absence. It was as if you were a spider, and some higher being had removed all but three of your legs. You hadn't the capacity to understand what had happened, nor the slightest possibility of regaining what was lost. All you knew is that you were struggling to escape, unstable and skittering desperately away. That's what the Eldar were now. Three-legged spiders scrabbling around among the other insects of the galaxy. There were Eldar for generations who had never even known they were missing something. Never known what might and majesty their collective soul was lacking.
Ynnead, however, proved intriguing. Could it be possible to replace what most could not see was missing? Did Raodruin even want whatever this...dead god...offered to plug the gap? Provided it even worked that way of course. On that matter the poor faded soul was no use whatsoever. Either that or he wasn't able to comprehend what it was saying with his own addled mind.
Raodruin, Godborn, Allfather, Son of Asuryan. High Lord of Selesti
With no small amount of difficulty these days, Raodruin called up one of the souls of his victims from the hazy miasma swirling within him. Old, clouded, befuddled thing. One of his earliest hunts. Before the Fall, even. From what his own ruminating thought processes could decipher, the ancient murdered soul had once been somewhat of an expert in the matters of warp-Gods. Not that its word could be trusted. It was older than he was, and had experienced the slow gradual decline into general confusion that afflicted all stored souls of the Eldar.
From what he could understand of the incoherant ramblings, the hooks that bound warp-Gods to their mortals appeared to travel in both directions. Warp-Gods were reflections of the beings which created them, but they also embodied aspects of them. Remove one, and the hooks would leave ragged wounds in the consciousness of a race. They knew. Apparently the Eldar had tried it a few times on some of the vermin-species. It was amusing, in a way. Like breaking a wheel off a clockwork toy so it could only spin in circles.
Raodruin thought he could hazily remember himself, if remember was even the right word. He wasn't sure how many of his memories were his own and how many were the accreted thoughts of his victims bleeding through into his consciousness. The moment his Gods died, so had parts of his soul and the soul of every other Eldar in perpetuity. It had been horrendously painful on a level only a soul could feel. Yet, it was impossible to quantify what had been lost. In what way they were broken. Conspicuous only in its comparative absence. It was as if you were a spider, and some higher being had removed all but three of your legs. You hadn't the capacity to understand what had happened, nor the slightest possibility of regaining what was lost. All you knew is that you were struggling to escape, unstable and skittering desperately away. That's what the Eldar were now. Three-legged spiders scrabbling around among the other insects of the galaxy. There were Eldar for generations who had never even known they were missing something. Never known what might and majesty their collective soul was lacking.
Ynnead, however, proved intriguing. Could it be possible to replace what most could not see was missing? Did Raodruin even want whatever this...dead god...offered to plug the gap? Provided it even worked that way of course. On that matter the poor faded soul was no use whatsoever. Either that or he wasn't able to comprehend what it was saying with his own addled mind.