There are probably more responsible ways to choose your first Warhammer 40,000 army.
You could compare faction rules.
Study tournament results.
Calculate the cheapest path from a starter box to a full army.
Watch seventeen YouTube videos titled some variation of “DO NOT START THIS ARMY UNTIL YOU WATCH THIS.”
I did some of that.
Then I discovered there were space elves.
More importantly, my four-year-old daughter discovered there were space elves.
And suddenly this became a much easier decision.
That wasn’t the only reason I chose Aeldari for my first Warhammer 40K army, but it ended up revealing exactly what I wanted from the hobby.
I didn’t just want an army that was powerful.
I wanted something I would enjoy looking at.
Painting.
Learning.
Collecting.
Changing.
Making my own.
And, unexpectedly, something my daughter could pull up a chair beside me and be excited about too.
The Aeldari checked all of those boxes.
Even if I still have absolutely no idea what I’m doing with half of them.
Choosing My First Warhammer 40K Army
Getting into Warhammer is a strange experience because the game immediately asks you to make a fairly significant decision before you really understand enough to make it.
Pick an army.
Simple.
Except there are Space Marines, Orks, Tyranids, Necrons, Chaos armies, Sisters of Battle, Imperial Guard, T’au, Drukhari, Aeldari and a small library’s worth of other possibilities depending on how deeply you want to descend into the 41st Millennium.
Every faction has its own aesthetic.
Its own history.
Its own battlefield personality.
Its own collection of people online explaining why it is simultaneously incredible, terrible, overpowered and completely unplayable.
As a beginner, that makes choosing a Warhammer 40K army feel less like selecting a game piece and more like selecting a minor religion.
Eventually I realized I was asking the wrong question.
Instead of:
“Which army should a beginner play?”
I started asking:
“Which army makes me want to stay in the hobby?”
That’s a much more useful question.
Because playing games is only part of Warhammer.
You’re also going to build these things.
Paint them.
Read about them.
Look at them on a shelf.
Search eBay for models at times when responsible adults should probably be sleeping.
Spend an unreasonable amount of time trying to identify a weapon attached to a Guardian you bought secondhand.
The army becomes a creative project.
So I decided I needed a faction that made me want to create.
First, They’re Space Elves
Let’s address the obvious.
The Aeldari are essentially Warhammer’s ancient, psychic, technologically absurd space elves.
There is obviously much more going on than that.
We’ll get there.
But when you’re trying to explain Warhammer to a four-year-old?
Space elves works beautifully.
When I started looking through the armies, the Aeldari immediately stood out to me visually.
Then I showed them to my daughter.
She was interested.
That changed things.
Suddenly we could sit together and look through the models.
She could point out which ones she liked.
We could talk about what colors they should be.
She could help decide what should be pink.
At four years old, she may not have particularly strong opinions about the strategic consequences of losing a Craftworld.
She has extremely strong opinions about color.
I can work with that.
The Pink Started With Her
I already knew I didn’t want to simply copy an established army color scheme.
Part of what attracted me to miniature painting was the chance to make the army feel like mine.
Dark armor.
Bright accents.
Interesting contrasts.
Maybe some unusual combinations.
But once my daughter became interested, I knew I wanted pink somewhere in the army.
Not as a gimmick.
As a connection.
Something that made these tiny plastic space elves partly ours.
That sent me into an entirely different creative direction.
What if the pink wasn’t just a random accent?
What if it became part of the army’s visual identity?
Maybe magenta spirit stones.
Weapon energy.
Helmet markings.
Armor panels.
Glowing runes.
Small details that repeat from model to model.
Suddenly choosing colors became worldbuilding.
Why do they wear this color?
Does it mean something?
Is it associated with their Craftworld?
A military order?
A remembrance?
A ritual?
And there went another afternoon.
Apparently my inability to leave fictional civilizations without several thousand years of backstory happens even when you make first contact with miniatures.
A Hobby We Can Share, Even If We Share It Differently
This may end up being my favorite part of choosing Aeldari.
My daughter doesn’t have to play Warhammer with me for the hobby to become something we can share.
She can sit beside me.
Look at models.
Choose colors.
Ask questions.
Tell me one looks cooler than another.
Possibly demand that I repaint something because I have failed to include the required amount of pink.
That’s enough.
There is something I really like about a hobby that creates those little points of connection.
Maybe years from now she won’t remember what a Guardian Defender was.
She might remember sitting with Dad and painting space elves.
I’d take that trade.
And it makes the miniatures themselves more interesting to me.
A model doesn’t just become something I finished.
It can carry a story.
This was the one she picked.
She chose this color.
She thought this one needed pink hair.
Those tiny memories matter more to me than whether the army perfectly matches an official color guide.
The Aeldari Look Different From Almost Everything Else
Even without the personal connection, I kept coming back to the Aeldari because of their design.
Warhammer 40K is wonderfully excessive.
A lot of the universe is enormous, industrial, brutal and covered with enough armor plating to survive atmospheric reentry.
There are chains.
Spikes.
Tanks.
Cathedrals with engines.
Skulls attached to skulls attached to machinery that possibly also runs on skulls.
Then there are the Aeldari.
Smooth armor.
Curved shapes.
Sleek helmets.
Graceful weapons.
Vehicles that look grown rather than assembled.
They belong in the same universe without looking like they came from the same civilization.
That immediately appealed to me.
There’s an elegance to Aeldari models that still feels dangerous.
They don’t need to be enormous to look threatening.
They don’t feel industrial.
They feel ancient.
Precise.
Almost fragile.
Which turns out to be pretty appropriate.
Aeldari Let Me Experiment With Color
From a miniature painting perspective, Aeldari also give me exactly what I want as a beginner:
permission to experiment.
Some armies have such a strong visual expectation that deviating from it can feel intimidating when you’re starting out.
Aeldari already exist across an enormous range of colors.
Red.
Blue.
Yellow.
White.
Black.
Green.
Bone.
Teal.
Purple.
And plenty of combinations that get much stranger than that.
Their smooth armor panels also create these little canvases where color choices become extremely visible.
That means I can experiment with darker schemes and still punch them with bright magenta.
I can try gradients.
Edge highlights.
Glowing effects.
Spirit stones.
Contrasting helmets.
Different finishes.
And when I inevitably create something terrible?
Paint over it.
The fate of the galaxy will survive.
Probably.
I Like That There Isn’t One Correct Way for My Army to Look
One of the things I’m learning quickly about miniature painting is that I don’t want the goal to be making my models look exactly like somebody else’s.
I want inspiration.
I want techniques.
I want to learn how other people create effects.
But ultimately I want to look across the table and immediately recognize:
Those are mine.
The Aeldari give me room to do that.
Maybe my army eventually gets its own Craftworld identity.
Maybe some units share colors while Aspect Warriors retain more of their traditional identity.
Maybe certain pink markings develop meaning.
Maybe secondhand models get incorporated into the lore because they look slightly different.
I don’t know yet.
That’s the good part.
The army gets to evolve while I learn.
Then I Started Reading the Lore
The models got me interested.
The lore made the Aeldari stick.
Calling them space elves is useful shorthand, especially if your audience is four.
But they’re much stranger than that.
The Aeldari are survivors.
Their civilization reached heights almost unimaginable to the younger species around them.
Then it collapsed catastrophically.
Now the remnants live with the consequences.
Craftworlds drift through space carrying fragments of a civilization that once dominated the galaxy.
Their history isn’t ancient trivia.
It follows them around.
Their dead remain part of their society.
Their culture is shaped by restraint because they know exactly where unrestrained excess once led.
Their victories happen beneath the shadow of decline.
That is much more interesting to me than simply playing the faction with the fanciest technology.
They are advanced without being ascendant.
Powerful without being secure.
Ancient without necessarily being wise.
They know things other civilizations have forgotten, but knowledge hasn’t saved them from tragedy.
That’s fertile ground for stories.
The Aeldari Are Living After the End
That may be the part of their lore I like most.
The Aeldari aren’t trying to build their first great civilization.
They’re living in the ruins of one.
Not literal ruins all the time.
Something deeper.
They remember being greater.
They know what was lost.
They are surrounded by evidence that civilization can reach extraordinary heights and still destroy itself.
That gives everything about them a slightly melancholy edge.
Their technology can be beautiful.
Their warriors can be terrifying.
Their psykers can glimpse possible futures.
And none of those things guarantee there will be an Aeldari future.
There’s something compelling about a people capable of seeing the road ahead while still being unable to control where history is going.
Especially in Warhammer, where history usually seems to be driving an armored vehicle directly toward a cliff.
The Gameplay Sounds Like Something I Want to Learn
I didn’t choose Aeldari purely because of gameplay, but I like what their general playstyle asks of me.
Movement matters.
Positioning matters.
Timing matters.
Units tend to have jobs.
You aren’t necessarily supposed to plant everything in one place and politely exchange gunfire until somebody runs out of models.
Aeldari seem built around deciding where the fight happens.
Moving quickly.
Applying force where you need it.
Using specialized units effectively.
And, importantly, attempting not to leave fragile elves standing somewhere unfortunate when the enemy gets a turn.
I’m still working on that last one.
My understanding of tactical positioning currently includes a significant amount of:
“Well, I won’t do THAT again.”
Fortunately Warhammer provides immediate feedback.
Usually by destroying the unit involved.
I Wanted an Army That Would Teach Me
That’s actually appealing.
I didn’t want a faction I would immediately understand.
I wanted one I could grow into.
First I learn the basic rules.
Then unit roles.
Then movement.
Then positioning.
Then army construction.
Then how different units work together.
Then how opponents work.
Then the strange tricks and interactions you only learn after somebody performs one against you and your carefully constructed plan evaporates.
There is runway here.
I like that.
A hobby becomes much more interesting when you can still imagine discovering things years later.
Starting With Someone Else’s Aeldari
Part of my collection came secondhand.
That created another unexpected corner of the hobby:
miniature archaeology.
Instead of opening a pristine box and following the instructions, I received models somebody else had already assembled.
Which raises questions.
What weapon is that?
Why does this Guardian have this piece?
Is that an older sculpt?
Are these Windriders supposed to look like that?
Why does this jetbike look different from the newer ones?
Is this an official part?
Is this a conversion?
What exactly did the previous owner do with this glue?
Suddenly I’m learning the history of the faction through the objects themselves.
I didn’t expect to enjoy that.
But I do.
Older Models Don’t Bother Me
Aeldari have existed in Warhammer for a long time, which means the model range has accumulated layers of history.
New designs.
Old designs.
Revisions.
Different proportions.
Different aesthetics.
Secondhand collections can end up carrying some of that history.
I actually like it.
An army doesn’t necessarily need to look as though every soldier left the factory yesterday.
Especially not this army.
The Aeldari are ancient.
Their culture revolves around memory.
Having a few models that visually feel like they came from another era almost works.
A veteran model can actually look like a veteran model.
Convenient.
I will absolutely pretend this was intentional.
There Are So Many Different Things to Paint
Another reason I’m glad I chose Aeldari is variety.
Guardians give me one kind of painting problem.
Aspect Warriors give me another.
Characters another.
Jetbikes another.
Vehicles another.
Wraith constructs another.
Then there are faces.
Helmets.
Weapons.
Cloth.
Armor.
Energy effects.
Spirit stones.
Huge smooth surfaces that will probably reveal every brush mistake I’ve ever made.
Each part of the army can teach me something different.
That’s perfect for where I am.
I don’t want to simply finish an army.
I want to get better while building one.
This Is Becoming More Than an Army
That’s probably what I failed to understand when I first started looking at Warhammer.
I thought I was choosing game pieces.
I’m actually choosing a long-term creative project.
Maybe someday there’s a complete army sitting on the table.
Maybe I’ve developed a consistent painting style.
Maybe the pink has evolved into a recognizable visual motif.
Maybe I’ve written far too much lore explaining who these Aeldari are and why they look the way they do.
Maybe my daughter is older and still remembers helping me choose some of those colors.
That’s a much more interesting goal than simply reaching a certain number of points.
The army can become a record of the hobby.
The first model I painted.
The first technique that actually worked.
The first one my daughter helped design.
The terrible experiment we don’t talk about.
The model I finally felt proud of.
The one I painted years later and realized how far I’d come.
That’s the kind of collection I want.
So, Why Did I Choose Aeldari?
Because they’re cool.
That answer still counts.
But now I know there was more underneath it.
I chose Aeldari because I love the elegance of the models.
Because the lore gives me something worth exploring.
Because their style of play looks deep enough to keep teaching me.
Because their models give me enormous freedom to experiment with paint.
Because I can turn a secondhand collection into something completely personal.
Because apparently I needed another excuse to invent fictional history.
But one reason sits above the rest now.
I showed my four-year-old daughter some tiny plastic space elves.
She got excited.
Suddenly she wanted to look at them with me.
Talk about them.
Choose colors.
Make sure I understood that pink was available and therefore should probably be used.
That changed the project.
This wasn’t just Dad disappearing into another hobby.
It became something she could occasionally wander into with me.
Maybe she’ll never care about the rules.
Maybe she won’t remember what Aeldari are called.
That’s fine.
If she remembers sitting beside me while we looked at tiny space elves and decided what colors they should be, that’s enough.
And now when I look at the pink and magenta I’m planning to weave through the army, it isn’t just part of a color scheme.
It’s part of the story.
Which seems appropriate.
Because more and more, that’s what I want this hobby to become.
Not the perfect army.
Not the optimal army.
An army with stories attached to it.
My Aeldari are just getting started.
And apparently they’re going to need a lot more pink.
