Aenarion
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Aenarion the Defender
Phoenix King of Ulthuan, years -4500 to -4420 (Imperial Calendar)
Aenarion the Defender is the greatest, and most tragic, of all of High Elven Heroes. A wanderer who had travelled the length of the world, Aenarion returned to Ulthuan in its time of need. Realising that the pitiful weapons of the High Elves where of no use against the unfurled fury of Chaos, Aenarion battled his way to the Shrine of Asuryan, the Creator God, and there pleaded with his God to aid his people. If Asuryan heard, he gave no notice. Aenarion burned offerings, but the God paid no heed. He sacrificed a white lamb, but still, no response came. Then, in desperation, Aenarion offered himself, saying he would give up his own life if Asuryan would only save his people.
As the God made no response, Aenarion kept his promise, and threw himself into the raging, white-hot inferno. The Flames of Asuryan wracked his body, pain searing his skin. His hair burned away in an instant and his heart stopped. The flames burned into his very soul.
Then, a miracle happened. Aenarion refused to die. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself through the fire. As he did so, his burned skin healed, and his scorched hair regrew. Aenarion emerged from the flames unscathed, transformed by the cleansing fire. The spirit of Asuryan had entered him. There was a light in him, that all onlookers could see. All were aware that he had become a vessel of the power of a God.
Leaving the shrine, Aenarion led the Elves to war. Outside the walls, he faced the howling Daemon Horde. With a single throw of his hunting spear, Aenarion slew the Daemon General commanding the hordes, before taking up the Daemons own fallen blade and butchering the rest of the abominable horde, the strength of Asuryan fuelling his limbs.
The High Elves took heart in Aenarions actions and rallied to him even as the Daemons reeled from the shocking defeat. Caledor Dragontamer, the greatest high elf sorcerer of the age swore fealty to Aenarion, and together they trained the High Elves for war. With his army behind him, and wearing armour forged on Vaul's Anvil, Aenarion was nigh undefeatable, and the elves and dragons swept all before them.
In a brief respite from the fighting, Aenarion wed the Everqueen Astarielle, and sired by her a daughter, Yvraine, and a son, Morelion. All too soon, however, the silver horns of Ulthuan called Aenarion to war once again.
The Daemons came with renewed fury, their numbers beyond counting. Every elf that fell was a grievous loss, but the daemon horde was without end. They clambered over each other, eager to tear the elves apart.
The elves knew that the war was unwinnable. Caledor Dragontamer proposed a desperate plan. Realising why and how the Daemons had entered the world, Caledor proposed creating a vortex, to siphon out magic itself from the world. As daemons cannot live without magic, the daemon horde would perish. The plan, however, had little chance of success. Aenarion opposed this, calling it a counsil of despair. Though he knew in his heart there could be no victory, he was determined to put off the defeat for as long as possible, rather than risk Caledors plan failing. If not he had been called to war, it is likely that Aenarion would have changed Caledor's mind entirely. The messenger bore a tragic message though. Wounded and weary unto death, the messenger told of how Astarielle had been slain, tears in his eyes. The wife of Aenarion was dead, and his children were nowhere to be found. Overcome with sorrow and fury, Aenarion swore that he would kill each and every Chaos creature on the face of the planet. Few doubted him.
Aenarion announced that he would travel to the Blighted Isle. Dread filled those around him, as this could only mean one thing; Aenarion intended to draw the Sword of Khaine. All knew that to wield Khaine's sword was death, to doom you and your lineage for all eternity. Ignoring advice from mortal and immortal alike, Aenarion set of on the back of Indraugnir, greatest of Dragons. Leaving the great drake just a few leagues from the Altar, Aenarion walked towards his doom.
The words of his best friends in his ears, even those of the gods themselves, pleaded with him to stop. It is said that even the spirit of his deceased wife begged him to turn back. Though he loved his wife, Aenarion hardened his heart and ripped the great, blood-dripping blade from the altar, sealing his fate.
When he returned, Aenarion was unbeatable. Entire armies were slaughtered by the Phoenix King, and Aenarion was feared by daemons and Gods alike. None could withstand his strength, with the might of Asuryan in his heart, and Death itself in his hand. Those High Elves most embittered by the war flocked to him, and Aenarion founded a new Kingdom in the harsh lands of Nagarythe. There, to great surprise, he took another wife, the beatiful and mysterious seeress Morathi, with whom he sired a son, Malekith.
However, Aenarion couldn't be everywhere, and even the Sword of Khaine could not prevent Ulthuan from being overrun. Caledor, fully aware of Aenarions madness, left his old friend, and set of to fulfil his own plan. It is said that Caledors departure angered Aenarion greatly, but he was called off to war before he could take action against his former friend. Caledor gathered the wisest of all of elven mages to him, and set of to the Isle of the Dead to create the vortex. With Caledor intent on performing the ritual, Aenarion was left with no choice. He gathered the elven armies to him, and set off to the Isle of the Dead.
At the centre of Ulthuan, the two forces met. Dragons so numerous that their wings blocked the sky descended upon the Daemons. On land and sea total war was fought between elf and daemonic minion. The death-throes of monsterned turned the sea to foam. Dragons were blasted out of the sky and plummeted towards earth like falling stars. As the spell began to take effect, the seas churned and the very earth shook with the raw force of magic. A great and terrible wind blew from the north, and lighting bolts hammered the tortured ground. As the battle raged all around them, the elven mages chanted the spell that would create the vortex. For a second, the world stood still, all was silent. Then the mountains shook and terrible energies pulsed between earth and sky. The daemons, realising what was happening, sent four Greater Daemons, a chosen from each of the Chaos Gods, to disrupt the spell.
A warrior barred their way. The mighties of elves to have ever lived, the greatest warrior and the most brilliant general of all time, empowered by the strength of the Gods themselves, Aenarion stood defiant, preparing for the greatest sacrifice of all. His faithful dragon mount beside him, Aenarion drew his sword. It was a battle which no mortal could ever hope to win, yet Aenarion refused to be beaten. Cleaving the head of the Lord of Change, Aenarion had his ribs broken by the Keeper of Secrets. Rising to his feet, Aenarion hammered the Sword of Khaine through its chest. Assailed by the daemon of Nurgle, Aenarion was saved by Indraugnir, the white-hot flames of the dragon searing the skin from the daemon's body. The Bloodthirster dealt the great Dragon a fatal blow, and shattered the arm of the Phoenix King. Khorne's chosen roared in triumph. Aenarion staggered to his feet, and clove the daemon in two.
As Aenarion defeated the four daemons, the ritual was complete, or at least partially so. The vortex was complete and the great siphon sucked out magic from the world, banishing the daemon hordes. However, the mages were caught inside it, doomed to forever hold it open, lest the world be lost to Chaos.
Weary unto death, Aenarion climbed unto his faithful steed and the pair set out on their last journey. Trembling with fatigue, Indraugnir crashed on the Blighted Isle. With a last great roar of defiance, the great dragon died. Alone, Aenarion dragged himself towards the altar. Ramming the ancient blade back into the altar, Aenarion the Defender lay down besides the torn bulk of his beloved friend, and passed from this age of the world.
Ultimately, the vortex saved the world. Ulthuan was in ruins, the greatest of its heroes dead, but at least it had a future.
Aenarion - Chrace Lore
On a bluff overlooking a high elf city below. A memorial to Aenarion. (55808, 19251)
