Craftworld Aylis-Nasturcane

From 1d4chan
Unknown heraldry. Picture cap of a Warlock.
Translation Unknown. Insufficient data.
Location Unknown
Specialty Healing, Jetbikes, Striking Scorpions, being much less arrogant and jerkass than any other Craftworld.
Hero Farseer Nytha
Enemy Anyone who actively tries to destroy life (Inquisition (use of Exterminatus when it's actually not needed), Chaos (particularly Nurglites) and Tyranids being especially hated by them, as well as Necrons to a lesser extent)
Colours Grey-ish and Turquoise

What if Eldar were less jerkass? And by less jerkass we mean even less than Saim-Hann (that is canonically the least jerkass). And by that we also mean towards non-Eldar? Then you get these guys...

Aylis-Nasturcane is a Craftworld that has an large number of Eldar that set off on the Path of The Healer. Of all the Craftworlds (even Ulthwé itself), this one has the most Eldar that are fanatically devoted to the Eldar Goddess Isha. Think Dark Angels/Black Templars-tier of zeal, only that instead of purging we get healing. They got this mentality from their heroic Farseer who defeated a Greater Daemon of Nurgle and was the precursor of their incredible medical capabilities.

About the Craftworld itself[edit]

The Craftworld itself was discovered in M.32 after the Horus Heresy, but wasn't this active until M.34. Its biome is that of a enormous jungle that has a gigantic selection of plants and animals. Combining their predisposition towards Biomancy with a mixture of other psychic disciplines, high tech medical equipment, and substances they extract from said plants and animals (going so far as to set out on expeditions for more materials to other planets and even minerals that have medical properties) caused them to grow in size to rival the main Craftworlds due to their far higher medical standards.

The Craftworld is also noted for having a large number of both Jetbike squadrons and Striking Scorpions that make up most of their nominal forces. Due to them taking the teachings of Isha with great seriousness, they have a far smaller number of Wraith Constructs, and even then they'd rather see their death in their Infinity Circuit rather than animating aforementioned constructs. Though someone needs to get new soulstones from Crone Worlds for newly born Eldar and Wraithknights are the only ones for the job.

Actual activity of the Craftworld started, as mentioned before, in M.34 when the Hive World of Martusus came under attack by a Death Guard warband led by a Chaos Lord known only as the Plague Meister. The Imperial Guard stationed there was aided by a warhost of Eldar from Aylis-Nasturcane. When both sides defeated the warband, the Guardsmen thought the xenos would turn on them, only to discover to their surprise (with a bit of shock) that the Craftworlders started to take care of the wounded from both sides. It didn't matter to them anything. Eldar. Human. Both needed medical care. Those who were beyond saving the Eldar let them die with their pain greatly eased. Of course this couldn't last long.

Imperial forces came in led by Ordo Xenos Inquisitorial force. The Lord Inquisitor after finding out what the Eldar did on the planet decreed that everyone bore the mark of the witchkin and thus sentenced Martusus to Exterminatus. A month later said Lord Inquisitor was found in his own chamber brutally eviscerated and with a Eldar Chainsword in his chest that had the words in High-Gothic written on it: "We treasure life, no matter the species. Those who destroy life will experience their own medicine." Ever since, these Eldar would even go so far as to prevent the Inquisition from enacting Exterminatus if there was still a chance to save the lives of the people, gaining them notoriety with it outside of the Ordo Xenos.

The same thing the Eldar did on a planet wide scale later with a Nurgle Daemon World in retaliation for all those casualties on Martusus. The Craftworld "sterilized" the place so hard that after they were finished, the whole place was nothing more than ash and stone. Nurgle was not pleased with it at all.

Lately they gained new enemies in the form of Tyranids due to their ravenous hunger that results in entire planets being wiped out, and Necrons to a lesser extend due to the latter's use of Shackle Scarabs on conquered races. Not to mention that certain Necron Lords and Overlords tend to wipe out all other life that appeared on their Tomb Worlds when they were dormant all this time.

Aylis-Nasturcane simply cherishes life and will always aid those in need no matter who they are. Those who kill and destroy life for the very purpose of ending will feel disproportionate retribution as they inflict the same horrid damage the Eldar swore to cure and take care of.

Due to their modus operandi, as well as even going so far as to give a damn about non-Eldar, they got the ire of some of the Craftworlds, but that became more evident when they called out the other Eldar on their treatment of Craftworld Altansar after Maugan Ra hauled it out of the Warp after ten thousand years. Needless to say, the Phoenix Lord actually expressed gratitude for this act of solidarity with his people.


Storytelling for The Young Ones[edit]

”Farseer, Farseer!” A small child came running down the path, closely followed by her friends as they cheerfully laughed and played. “Can you tell the story of how you beat that nasty daemon again?” he asked, giving the older woman his biggest grin.

Farseer Nytha smiled back at him weakly, absentmindedly touching the wrinkled and scarred flesh that covered most of her left arm and face. She should feel sorrow over it, of how she was forever disfigured by that terrible daemon’s cursed plague-fire. But, she was not.

The battle had left a major foe and a threat to the Craftworld banished, and greatly increased her people’s knowledge of medicine and healing. She nodded to the young child, Farlahn, she recalled. He shone up and motioned for his friends to gather round, half a dozen young Eldar sitting down in a half-circle just to hear her old tale.

“Well, as you know our Craftworld had encountered a string of mass-infections, plagues spreading from world to world. Wherever we went, million lay dead, bloated, shriveled or rotted from the inside out. Eventually we learned of the daemon Mrakalthan and his foul followers, the architects of this disaster. They sought to carve a prayer to their thrice-cursed god with the planets left dying in their wake. We could have found them easily, back then my master Galachaen was the craftworld’s prime farseer, and his skills outclass me by far even today. But, we felt compelled to stop at each world, helping the people and learning more about Mrakalthan’s handicraft. He called it his “Ink of Bereavement”, if I recall.”

The children sat spellbound. They had heard this tale many times, but every time she told it differently, adding or rewording details in such a way that no retelling was the same.

“When we finally did find them, it was on the planet they called Hope’s Ruin, a once thriving human settlement reduced to a barren waste by the daemon’s own hand. They did not see us coming until we were in their midst, taking out their commanders and tearing apart defenses. I lead a team of Dark Reapers, using my powers to guide them to the most necessary targets. And just when they thought that they had a handle on the situation, our legions of jetbikes swooped in, causing further panic. I’m loathe to say it, but I was actually so caught up in our imminent victory that I didn’t even see the daemon before he was right behind me.”

She lowered her gaze to the ground. That was something she had never revealed before, she usually just said the daemon had attacked.

“They say Nurgle’s daemons are fat and swollen, but this one was pale, bony and thin, like translucent skin draped over a mon- over a human skeleton. The Dark Reapers opened fire, and I tried to peer into the future, to divine all possible outcomes of the battle. But the mists were too thick, and the daemon to fast. In the end I don’t even recall everything, just that we fought for what felt like days, that he wielded a sword carved from the bone of some incomprehensible beast of the warp, and that he smelled like rotting death. In the end he spat his Ink at me, and that is how I got these scars. Blindly I charged in rage, and my spear pierced his skull. The next thing I know I am back on the craftworld being tended to by Haedanar…”

They all sat quietly for a moment, before one of the children seemed to want to ask something. Nytha was quicker: “Yes Thalear, Autarch Haedanar walked the path of the healer back then.

How the work of a Craftworld Healer looks like[edit]

Nytha’s skin tingled and impossible-to-describe colours flashed before her eyes as she exited the webway. When last she had been down here, the sounds of combat and dying had filled the air. Now, only the wounded and buried remained. A bombed-out hab-block had been converted into a hospital for the humans, who couldn't be brought to the craftworld for security reasons. Everywhere she walked, she saw bleeding and shivering people lying in droves, eldar healers and human medicaes alike tending to them, working in pairs to bridge the knowledge gap between the two species.

Two Striking Scorpions and two of the human elites –Kasrkin?- stood guard outside the room housing the wounded general, as well as Autarch Haedanar.

Both of them had been wounded while fighting against the enemy commander, a hulking ork warboss called Skullsplitta’. The two Eldar nodded to her as she passed, and the guards eyed her nervously, perhaps expecting a trap. Luckily for them Aylis-Nasturcane doesn’t turn on those in need.

The room itself was freezing, the cold helping to slow the symptoms of the Sporefever, a common effect of fighting orks. Usually it’s not dangerous, but there was no known cure, and the sneezing it causes could end up rupturing one of the seams keeping the two soldiers together right now. They didn’t seem to care though, and were telling war stories to each other, every boisterous guffaw causing the attending healers to visibly panic.

“Autarch, the fleets are ready to cauterize the northern wastes, which should stop the Orks from returning anytime soon.” Haedanar jerked his head to look at her mid-sentence, nodding with a smug grin on his face. “Good, and tell Dranathen here to lighten up a little,” he motioned to the healer, who rolled his eyes and sighed, “Or I’ll have to get one of those Mon’keigh docs to patch me up instead. At least they know how to have a laugh.”

“Human,” Nytha offered, “and you should lie down.” The Autarch laughed at her, only to wince in pain as one of his stitches audibly burst.

Nytha stayed while Dranathen patched him pack up, and would never forgive herself if he died. He may be a stubborn, careless fool, but he was an old friend. Besides, it was her fault all along, she had lied to him, she had seen that he would be gravely hurt, but that it was the only path that would have lead to their victory without even greater losses. The human general seemed to be much better, being mostly machine by this point. He was smoking some type of lho stick that filled the air with a thick, heavy smoke, having responded to every attempt to take it from him by literally snarling at the doctors.

Sometimes Nytha could see why most of her people looked down on the humans.

“You know what? You Eldar aren’t so bad as they say,” he exclaimed between drags, “Wonder why the pencil-pushers are so afraid of you? The church I understand, what with ‘filthy xenos’ and all.”

Nytha decided not to react to the casual slur, and turned to leave, deciding she'd put her faith in Dranathen’s skill, and get out of the heavy smoke. “We are sworn by the path of Isha,” she casually remarked as she left, “but other Eldar are still quite dangerous.”

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