Dark Eldar in combat

I have just started collecting Drukhari and have been thinking about what it is like for these strange creatures to fight. Below is a first sketch of a confrontation between a kabalite and an incubus. If you have any ideas for different encounters like this (what would scourge vs. mandrake or wrack vs. ork be like?) let me know.


Dravyn moved into the corridor of the upper spire, performing a sickening stepping down with a practised stride. The corridor actually forming a shaft connecting the different floors of the spire. The hexagonal shaft plunged downward to the hangar.
On the gang-way above Dravyn’s head, twenty paces away, stood a figure in the antique armour of the incubi. The fihirin-sight, an aftereffect of the the drugs tainting his perception lent the pitch-black armour a strange radiance, the slightest tremor in the incubus’ muscles echoed visually as a witch-light that appeared to coruscate over the surface of the plate mail. Even with Dravyn’s eyes adapted to the darkness of the spire, without the drug, the figure would have been completely invisible. The warrior appeared to hang like a scourge from the roof, the artificial gravity in the spire allowing any drukhari to access the archways punctuating the hallway from all six of the walls.
Despite the weight of the plate-armour and the oil slick metal of the gangway the incubi’s immediate rush forward made no sound. Dravyn was expecting an ambush, but not before he reached Ynnealidh. The incubi movement began before Dravyn reached for his pistol, the shardcarbine hanging from a sling around his torso would take too long to raise. The incubus’ klaive, which would hum to human ears sounded like individual bursts of power as the generator in its hilt alternated several dozen times a second to the drukhari.
Dravyn had miscalculated, thinking about his mission in the lower city, without paying attention to his path to the hanger might now lead to his death. Such was the attention required to survive in the upper circles of the dark city. Dravyn’s fired off two shots with his splinter-pistol, both of which ricocheted off the incubus’ helm, slightly above the eye slit, the only shot that would permit the splinter to injure such a heavily armoured warrior. The sound of the pistol firing was slight but the greenish light filled the space with the silhouette of the incubus as it closed the distance in a blur of black metal and shadow. Dravyn had already dropped the pistol, he at least had calculated the speed of the incubi closely enough, faster than an guardsman could follow, Dravyn had drawn his mono-knife against the vain hope that his pistol shots would land. The incubus’ man-sized sword was held in a two-handed grip, a strike that would cleave Dravyn’s armour open and kill him when it landed.
Whether or not he would die in this second depended entirely on how fast he had been. In this augmented state his body seemed to move much more slowly than his thoughts. It was a doubly strange experience, he had willed himself to move, and now he was forced to watch as his body moved through space. He stepped back as the incubi swung, intended to leap past the warrior, making use of the gravity in the tunnel. The strike missed his chest but struck through and shattered his knife. Pain coursed through his army as the bones of his hand shattered. The massive strike was a mistake, in Commorragh, you must kill your opponent without delay. Injuring a drukhari was often a fatal error. The feeling of excruciating pain acted like a dose of adrenalight on Dravyn’s alien physiology. The kabalite leapt away even as the incubus used its momentum to turn on the spot and intercept Dravyn with the same crazed swing. Anticipating this had been easier, Dravyn had already leaned forward as he leapt up the wall. His detached perception gave him a moment to wonder whether this truly was a member of an incubi shrine. Their reputation seemed more fierce than this warrior’s performance, who had squandered the element of surprise. He should be dead, but the drukhari had nothing to thank for his luck, perhaps the dark muses had been smiling on him, he thought with a sneer.
Dravyn calculated that he would be faster, given the warrior’s platemail, and had decided to end the engagement. His mission was too important. He sprinted down into the depths, away from the assassin.