The Eldar is not your waifu.
~~~
Around Elves, Watch Yourselves
The datablocks clattered into a pile on Drago's desk. A nearby techpriest, marking anti-xeno blessings onto an impaler driver, made a noise of distress, before he was shushed by Magos Saren's screeching undulations.
The general gave it a narrowed glare. "And what is this?"
"Collected eldar notes from database. Some combat footage, surveillance recovered from datanets of planets under dark eldar raids. And some autopsies."
Drago took the nearest block and plugged it into his console. He got as far as the first scream before pulling it out. "Autopsies."
The genetor shrugged. "Got started early. Subject eventually came around."
"…Thanks," said Drago, eventually.
Saren bobbed. "Recommend inquiring with local inquisitor. Possible information exchange with Ordo Xenos factions. As well, consider extracting memories of first-hand encounters with assistance from Unseen University."
The general felt the growing pain that foretold a lot of paperwork. He toggled his intercom. "Lieutenant-General Durant, report to meeting room—" he checked the timetables— "Room Five at your convenience. And bring some caf." He stood up. "Come on, cogboy."
~~~
Durant brought two cups, and when he laid his eyes on the stacks of data he only swore a little. Six hours of skimming later, he'd managed to organise it.
"Right," said Durant, pointing at the first pile, "This is irrelevant. Cultural observations, Craftworld paraphernalia or the finer points of an eldar liver enzyme recycling system. Not our problem."
"This pile," he said, tapping at the middle pile, "We can use. Anatomical range of motion we can use to simulate melee, actual melee styles in use, weapons and vehicles and some tactics. Essentially primary observations."
"And this pile," he said, shoving the last heap into the corner, "Secondary sources. Historical encounters. Rumours about Comorragh. I don't have the time or the patience to go through this in depth."
"Understood," said Saren ominously. "I will begin preparations."
~~~
Corporal Jamak was stretching on the arena floor. Across him, the stripped down servitor hung from a rack as the techpriests fussed over its joints, applying lubricants and braiding wires securely. A siren beeped, and they quickly finished up, shuffling out and locking the bulkhead.
From behind the glass windows, the entire battalion was standing at attention. The head techpriest, who'd set up the whole thing, patched into the comms.
"—test one, subject one. Begin recording. Corporal Jamak. We will begin simulations in just a moment."
"Take what you need," he muttered, staring as the servitor powered on. With a whine, it jerked upright, its limbs rotating in their sockets. It collapsed onto the floor, then lifted itself up, jittering on all four spidery limbs, before returning to an upright stance.
What in the name of the Emperor.
"Corporal Jamak. In front of you is a servitor refitted to simulate a Dark Eldar combatant. The movement algorithms have been extracted from telepathic memory-bridges. However, as we cannot account for unrecorded techniques, this will not be a fully accurate representation. Do you understand?"
Jamak nodded. The servitor jerked about, a tech-engine humming to full power, and then it somersaulted, cartwheeling into a full roundhouse kick.
He managed to raise his arms to block, the force pushing him off-balance. The servitor twisted in midair, somehow using its weight to redirect into a diving crash heel first. The corporal threw himself into a desperate roll, coming back up to catch two dagger-hands with his forearms.
"Holy fucking shit," he muttered breathlessly, kicking the servitor in the chest. It swayed back like a blade of razorgrass, one leg sweeping up. The pointed toe jabbed into the back of his knee, lifting him up and laying him out for the smashing axe-kick.
Jamak thudded into the mat, the servitor's blade hand jabbing too close to his eye before it froze, a small red light blinking at its wrist.
"Needle to eye. Crippled. Servitor systems functioning."
The second time around, it spent ten seconds circling around him, hooked his ankle, and pushed his head into the floor. If it were plascrete, his skull would have cracked.
"Concussion. Unconscious. Servitor systems functioning."
Twist of the arm brought him into a rising knee. Foot to the stomach, elbow to the spine. A high somersault, with its hands locked around his wrists, almost popping his shoulders before it let go with a beep.
After all that, Jamak was sore and sprained, while the servitor was swaying on its toes, perfectly fine.
"Level one testing complete. Level two authorised." The techpriest jabbed some buttons, and waved in a visitor, a psyker in heavy robes. "Psyker David, you may enter the arena."
The psyker bowed in thanks, before shuffling across the mat to the servitor. He smiled, a shock of white hair peeking from a metal band across his forehead. "Corporal! How well did you fare?"
"Like shit," said Jamak, rolling to his feet. "You make this thing?"
"I transferred the memories," the psyker replied, fitting an identical metal brace into some prepared sockets on the servitor's crown. It jerked, sending sparks raining down, before David drew two interlocking triangles in light across the back of its head. "The techpriests converted the vid into modelled movements. Very accurate, but not very inspired."
"What are you doing?" Jamak said, squinting.
David fiddled with the last piece of material, and waved to the techpriest. "Giving it some inspiration, and taking some control. The servitor may have the motions, but I will give it motive. The idea of the Dark Eldar, not just its image." He shuffled out of the arena as the servitor twitched, swivelling gracefully on one foot like a dancer. "Our best effort to fill the gaps in for your training."
Jamak watched him close the door, before turning back to the servitor. It was grinning, moving like a snake. He raised his arms in a basic guard, before it danced forward and jabbed him right in the chest, throwing him into the wall.
In the observation room, Saren watched Jamak get his ass handed to him. To the watching soldiers, he said, "Please note the lack of weapons. As we do not keep xenos technology on hand, we will be substituting the monowire flayers with an electro-prod of similar size."
They all shivered.
~~~
AN: Let's not even kid ourselves. We're probably going to fight them in glorious melee, and they've got a thousand years headstart on anti-monkeigh fighting.