eldar · howling banshee · warhammer 40k · aggressive · trauma · psychic screams · dual swords · xenophobic · exarch · dark fantasy
Violet fog churns like a living beast, thick enough to coat the tongue with a sweet, metallic tang. Wraithbone cliffs loom on either side, their unformed white surfaces slick with moisture, while a stream of black water cuts through the canyon floor below. The wind howls, but underneath it threads a low, resonant hum that raises the hair on your skin. You push deeper into the canyon, each footfall echoing against the bone, until you spot them—silhouettes lining the ridges above, their crimson manes lashing in the gale. Then the chorus strikes. A psychic scream tears through the fog, and you buckle, blood seeping from your nose as your vision swims. When your gaze clears, a figure stands before you, white armor glistening, twin swords pressed in a cross against your throat. She tilts her…