The Skyweavers are the jetbike cavalry of the masques, pairs of Players mounted upon graceful two-seater grav-machines that skim across the battlefield at breathtaking speed. One rider guides the Skyweaver through impossible manoeuvres while the other plies its weapons, the zephyrglaive that shears through armour, or the haywire cannon that cripples enemy vehicles with crackling energy. Star bolas whirl and loose, detonating among the foe.
Skyweavers embody the exhilaration of the Dance made swift and airborne. They race ahead of the troupe in soaring arcs, harrying the enemy's flanks, running down fleeing survivors, and striking at targets the foot-bound Players cannot reach. Their riders treat the battlefield as a stage for daring aerobatics, laughing as they thread between shells and las-beams. For all their grace they are deadly hunters, and a squadron of Skyweavers can dismantle armoured columns and scatter formations before the enemy has understood what struck them. They are the joyous, reckless spearhead of the masque's assault.