Somewhere, Somewhen

Presenting a Teaser for Saeva Abyssi

Commarrgh city of eternity, Commarragh the infinite, Commarragh city of pain. The home of the Dark Eldar was made up of jagged towers, insane arches covered in spiked hooks and dangling chains that held corpses in various states of decay. The city extended not only horizontally but also vertically, diagonally and in certain directions that could not exist within real space. Black pleasure yachts moved over these cityscapes on billowing black sails as they took in the various sights of torment and agony played out in great arenas, while on the hidden street acts of pain and pleasure played out often simultaneously. Commarragh was more than a dwelling place, it was the last nightmare of a dying race and the play gardens of the damned.

Beneath a black sun there rose a decadent plantation, a pain garden made up of metallic trees. Each one was hollow and inside their swollen trunks were a collection of sentient beings held in torment. These trees were their cages and each one was cunningly wrought to provide a unique and agonising torture, some were lined inside with poisons or long spikes, some alternated between burning hot and freezing cold and one even resonated in the wind creating a tuneless cacophony that would drive any man mad. There were not just Mon-Keighs trapped within either, for many trees held other races too; Tau, Demiurg, Tarellians, Scythians, Psybrids, Jokero, Rak'Gol not to mention a few Dark Eldar themselves who had fallen foul of Commarragh's endless intrigues.

Amid the roots of the trees two Eldar were taking a pleasant stroll in the pain gardens, sampling each torment in turn like connoisseurs walking along the rows of a vineyard. One of them was Athra J'rect, lord of the Impaled Heart Kabal. His robes were jet black inlaid with embroidery, in colours that were well outside the range of merely human eyesight. He walked with a dignified air and did not deign to notice any servants or slaves he passed. His lordly air was ruined though by the red mass flesh below his right elbow, the work of Commarragh's fleshsmiths who had induced his body to grow a new limb, yet it would be months before it resembled a true arm and until then he lived in constant pain. The injury to his flesh was not debilitating, in fact Athra found it slightly titillating, but the affront to his pride was insurmountable. To think that a mere Mon-Keigh Gene-Bulk had taken a pound of his flesh was an outrage he intended to address. To distract himself he had taken this tour of his pain gardens so that the bounty of suffering would suffuse his spirit and restore his physical being.

As he walked Athra glanced over at his companion, this Eldar was clad head to toe in dark form fitting armour and he carried a large two handed Klaive in his hands. The fact that he was permitted to bear a blade so close to the Archon spoke volumes as to his identity for this was the head of Athra's Incubus bodyguards and his name was Dramaq. Dramaq had come to into the service of the Impaled Heart Kabal at exorbitant cost, but he had been worth every slave the Archon had been forced to donate. Like all Incubus Dramaq was strictly neutral in the power plays of Commarragh, which made his order completely unique. Incubi could not be bribed, swayed or threatened to break their contracts which made them invaluable as bodyguards and enforcers, loyalty was a rare and precious thing among the Dark Eldar and it was worth any price to acquire.

As they walked Athra paused to sniff a delicate poisoned bloom hanging from a tree and asked, "Is it done?"

Dramaq's voice resonated from within his helm, "All those who accompanied your raid have had their heads struck off and put on spikes, lest their tongues wag."

Athra smiled, "Good, we cannot have word of this humiliation spreading, if the other Kabals heard of this they would scent weakness and strike."

"I should have been there," stated Dramaq, it was not a statement of pride or protectiveness but simple fact for they both knew the Incubus' presence would have changed everything.

Athra said childishly, "It was just a simple slave-raid, one more pleasant little outing, but those brutish Mon-Keigh spoiled everything!"

"What of the Wych-cult?" asked Dramaq bringing the conversation back on track.

Athra scowled for like Dramaq the Wyches belonged to an institution outside his purview and killing them would make him far too many powerful enemies, "Purchasing their silence was costly but ultimately less dear than the alternative. We shall have to mount more raids soon, or their favour will wane."

The pair paused before a single metal tree which was being tended to by a stooped figure. Within the device a Mon-Keigh was imprisoned by large inwards pointing spikes that tore his flesh. Hanging just outside the cage was a large key on a string and if the Mon-Keigh pressed itself hard enough against the against the spikes to draw blood then it could just brush the key with its fingertips, but the angle was perfectly calculated so that no matter how hard it tried the animal could never grasp it.

Athra supped deeply of the beast's despair and declared, "Crisp and tart, with just hint of bitterness and an astringent aftertaste."

The stooped figure stood up and said, "The secret is to lace the repast with a sprig of hope, it adds a delightful relish when it is dashed."

Athra looked upon the bent and warped figure and saw that he had three arms and his back was festooned with vials of various hues. The Archon made the third ritual gesture of salutation, implying a social superior meeting a lesser but not one he intended to offend as he said, "Vl'hyas isn't this beneath a Haemonculi?"

Vl'hyas presented the fourth stance of greeting, which was used for social equals, saying, "My experiments had reached a lull and these amateurs you employ were making a hash of the crops, I left few of them choking on their own bile to set an example."

Athra was about to enquire further but Dramaq interrupted, "Archon, your visitors have arrived."

Athra scowled and looked over to see that his warriors were escorting a pair of bulky intruders towards him. He grimaced to himself in disgust, for they were massively thick beings in heavy ceramite armour and the distinctive gene-bulking of the Mon-Keigh warrior caste, but these were no corpse worshippers: they were Chaos Marines. Athra was insulted by their presence, typical Mon-Keigh at least could plea ignorance to excuse their barbarity but these ones had willingly thrown in with the abominations of the Warp. Sadly so low had Athra's fortunes waned that he was forced to entertain such debased creatures. One of the brutes walking towards him had a ridiculously crude axe stowed in its belt and he was dragging a covered cart behind it that spoiled the beauty of Athra's grounds with its primitive tracks. The other one bore a staff with a three headed snake and reeked of soured psychic potential, like spoiled milk on a hot day.

The intruders pulled up before the Archon and the tainted psyker made a pathetic attempt to enact the second ritual gesture of supplication, completely mangling the subtle cues to indicate the superior position of the Archon. The other one however merely crossed his arms and glared at Dramaq as if wishing to make a challenge. Athra sighed at having to deal with such crude beasts and said in tones that to any other Eldar would have conveyed his great generosity showing patience to such rude guests, "You made quite an effort to obtain an audience in my presence, so you had better get on with it."

The psyker bowed again and said in a mashed Eldar dialect, "Hail Athra J'rect, me is Beta and come tidings and missives to your ears."

Athra cut him off with a raised hand, offended by such garbled language and he said in the Mon-Keigh's coarse High Gothic, "First tell me what tribute you brought."

"As you wish," Beta replied also in High Gothic and glanced to the side saying, "Gamma, show the Archon our gift."

The other brute dragged forth the cart and swept back the tarpaulin to reveal a strange mismatched creature, it was perhaps arachnid or crustacean in origin and it had a curious lack of symmetry to its form. Athra breathed in wonder, "A Saruthi, I thought they were extinct."

Vl'hyas stepped forwards and said ravenously, "Already tainted in spirit and lacking eyes or ears… A challenge at last."

Athra was somewhat impressed by such a rare prize and said, "You have my attention."

Beta nodded and said, "We have learnt your recent clash with the Imperial lapdogs and know that you thirst for vengeance."

Dramaq started forwards and spat, "How do you know about that?!"

"We have our ways," said Beta with a chuckle, "There are resources and forces that can aid you in your struggle against the Storm Heralds Chapter."

Athra sneered and said, "You propose an alliance, you think I will debase myself to such a level?"

Beta didn't seem offended and replied, "Less of an alliance and more of an alignment of forces, we have no more wish to work with you than you do with us."

Athra was not pleased by this but decided to be practical, he had not risen to the position of Archon by failing to exploit every advantage, and said, "Then perhaps I may consider your proposal, what forces do you bid towards our mutual goal?"

Beta chuckled now and said, "It seems I was not clear; we do not come as representatives of our own Legion but of another party. She desires to talk with you but could never set foot within your fair city under any circumstances. Think of us as intermediaries, a bridge between the pair of you so that you can converse with her safely."

Athra was confused by this and said, "And who is this mysterious 'She'?"

Beta answered by holding up a hand and nestled within his gauntlet was a small hololithic projector, typically Mon-Keigh in its squat functionality, yet the image it shone was anything but. A lithe female with graceful armour and clean swept limbs. Athra's gaze hungrily devoured the sight and he leant into examine the armour's fluted crests and graceful sweeping curves that were distinctive to an Eldar of the Craftworld Aeldari. He took in the runes on her robes and the thin staff she bore and realised that this was not just any craftworld Eldar: this was a Farseer. Athra felt his jaded heart stir at the sight, the suffering of lesser races was insignificant compared to the anguish an Eldar's soul could feel and Farseer even more so. Their psychic might was a banquet just waiting to be gorged upon. From the first look Athra was yearning to bring her into his pain gardens and he ached to think of the possibilities, he didn't just want her, he needed her.

The recorded image bowed low and Athra raised an eyebrow for she was making an ancient variation of the sixth stance of salutation, used for meeting a lord from a different order but one of higher social rank. The image began to speak and the words made him smile as the recording declared, "Warmest greetings great Archon of the Impaled Heart Kabal. I am Farseer T'selia and I wish to meet with you, there are matter of terrible import afoot and only you can change the skein: there is a Mon-Keigh out in the galaxy who must be removed at all costs. "The one who cut you, it is essential for the sake of all Eldar everywhere that we kill him before he can enact his destiny."