Xenos
Harlequins
The Masque · Players of the Laughing God
XENOS · AELDARI · HARLEQUINS
Servants of the Laughing God
When Slaanesh devoured the Aeldari pantheon, one god slipped the trap: Cegorach, the Laughing God, who hid in the Webway and runs still. The Harlequins are his players and his army both — Aeldari who belong to no Craftworld and no Dark City, who live in the tunnels between worlds and answer only to the trickster's long, unknowable plan. Where other Aeldari mourn, the Harlequins laugh, because they alone remember that the trickster always has one more move.
The Dance Without End
Every Harlequin is a dancer, and every performance is the same story told a thousand ways: the Fall, the death of the gods, and Cegorach's escape. To watch the Dance is to be told a sacred history; to fight a troupe is to become a part of it, cast in the role of the slain. Art and slaughter are one act to them. A Harlequin will pirouette through a firing line, kill with a flourish, and vanish before the bodies have finished falling — and to them it was all simply the next verse.
Masques and Troupes
The Harlequins gather into Masques — the Midnight Sorrow, the Veiled Path, the Frozen Stars — each a wandering company with its own repertoire and grudges. A Masque appears without warning, performs its murder, and is gone, leaving rumour and ruined warbands in its wake. They do not hold ground or build empires; they arrive only where the Great Plan, or the Laughing God's whim, requires a death.
Weapons of the Mountebank
Holo-suits smear them into shifting rainbow blurs that the eye cannot fix; flip-belts hurl them across the battlefield in impossible arcs. In their hands the Harlequin's Kiss — a coiled monofilament that, pressed to flesh, unspools inside the victim and liquefies them from within — and the neuro-disruptor, shuriken and fusion pistols. Beautiful, lethal, and gone in the same breath.
The Solitaire
Among every gathering walks one figure the other players will not touch: the Solitaire, the one who dances the role of Slaanesh in the great performance. To take that part is to damn one's own soul, and so the Solitaire is exiled, nameless, unbound — a peerless killer who trains alone, fights alone, and is owed by the She-Who-Thirsts the moment its final dance ends. They are the most feared blades the Aeldari possess.
Keepers of the Black Library
Deep in the Webway, where the tunnels fold past reason, the Harlequins guard Cegorach's hidden vault: the Black Library, the greatest hoard of Chaos lore in the galaxy. They will let no one near it — and yet they will, on rare and calculated occasions, fight beside Craftworlder, Ynnari, or even mon-keigh, when the Laughing God's design demands it. No one, perhaps not even Cegorach, knows how the long joke ends.
See also
Sources
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