Drea var Shklyaret

Asdrubael Vect may be the most prominant and powerfull of all Dark Eldar, even he has bastards of his own. One of them, Drea, of whom noone knows, where she came from, due to her fathers great secrecy on the matter of children. For to date, noone knows of one, not even Drea knows the horrible secret. As a youngling, she alwayse used her mind to best others, due to her lack of physical strength, that was lower than the average of her kind. Beside her intellect, her other virtues were speed, almost as if she had combat narchotics in her, and her appearence: her pail skin, silvery hair and warm, blood-red eyes and her noble facial features were exotic to all but the most highest ranking members of a kabal.
As she grew, her lack of stenght still posed a problem in joining the wych cult she wanted to be a part of. Her dream is still to join their ranks, or maybe lead them...or the whole cult. Only time will tel. For now, she is a promising member of a kabal as a warrior. It is sayd, she rairly misses her targets, and those who would doubt her aim, usually end up dead with a hole in both eyes pupils.

Wargear - the beginnings:
Modified Kabalite Armor - no right arm armor and lightened left arm armor for better shooting. Contains meny pockest for scavenging intel mechanisms.
Splinter Pistol, Splinter Rifle with enhanced neural implant - aid in targeting - Carved Wraithbone knife - stolen from the remainders of a wraithguards head.
Hook with chain around the waist/hip for snatching opponents...weapons mainly, a crude whip.

It was in the Dark City that they mustered for war. Hundreds of bladed ships lined the docking rings, flanks bristling with Phantom Lance and their sterns glowing with the energising Screaming Jets.

They floated, suspended by arcane energies, like cruel bladed butterflies, bringing the bright colours of anguish and discontent to the jagged twilight skyline of Commorragh.

Eternal pathways streaked with a fluid ease through the Shivering Heights port, constantly swinging and intertwining to grant access the swarm of ships docked there. Each ship vied for attention, attempting to be bigger and more deadly than the last. The Severed Hand Kabal cared little for such acts of extravagancy. All they wanted was more suffering to sustain their insatiable hunger.

From staggered parapets thousands watched the Kabal march to their ships. Bounty Hunters, fugitives, mercenaries and renegades of all sorts frequented the Pleasure Houses and Drug Dens of the Heights, searching for work, and while they all loathed the Kabalite reign they couldn’t help but feel respect for the power they could muster.

The Procession marched out onto the expansive platform, their sheer numbers dwarfed by the size of the Archon’s flagship. Eighteen battalions stood in waiting, lined up perfectly in silence, their Splinter Rifles resting upon their shoulders, bayonets waving high.

It was only the dark grey of their armour and the symbols tattooed upon the Kabalite’s faces that prevent the howling Hellions from swooping past to pick off the weakest, that and the potential weight of fire.
Finally, they fell silent as the Archon stepped out onto the balcony to inspect them. His Clonefield prevented any assassination attempt, and the Incubi that stood scattered on the platforms down below spread enough fear to eradicate any such thoughts.

Slowly, Archon Fernix Rellios’yth’Klutish nodded and curled his lips into a wiry, disconcerting smile. With a mighty shout that was drastically different to his physical stature, his Warriors raised heir weapons in salute and cheered, firing off a storm of needles into the sky.


They had all seen Imperial worlds like this before. A poor, neglected Agri-world that warranted no attention from Imperial authorities.

Surely it would be ripe for the harvest.

Few large cities peppered it’s surface, and no defence present on the planet would be able to keep the Severed Hand at bay.

As the Fires of the portals tore open the sky above the pitiful midnight the sleeping humans knew not to hide the wanders their world held…


Here's the intro. I didn't want to include too much detail, and if you don't like it then

The realspace raids were no stranger to Drea, as she took part in a few already, knowing that this was the only way to sustan her life, expanding it over the lifespan of lesser races. This was the only way, to make those wrinkles disappear, that most of her fellow kin started to show. She alwayse brought upon the actual locals great torment, even greater then would probably needed to great the great thirst for blood with an unending stream of pain and anguish. She knew where to cut to make the subject scream, but also stay awake and aware. This was a virtue she prized above most of her kin. Kin she hated, once for being what they all are: Dark Eldar. She cant remember a time, when one would care about a nother. But above this, there was a greater hate. The hate for males, but she had to hide this emotion, only able to blow of the steam on these raids.
Wearing her modifide armor, she could move her rifle faster and more accurately, and the neural implants made targeting more easy. As the ships slipped stealthily out of the portals, the level of adrenaline in her blood jumped to three times the normal, thirsty for the kill, the torture, the anguish and te suffering they are about to bring on the inhabitants of the planet. And as the ships roared nearer to the surface, she was already lining up shots in to the windows, releasing a shot of poisonous pain at anyone that was ignorant enough to stare out. No matter, they will feal pain soon enough, but having a litle head start on the Dark Eldars twisted joy can't be bought. Her muscles stiffened every time she shot, and reluctantly gave movement to her rifle after hearing screams of pain.
In a matter of seconds, the streets were full of screams. Bloodthirsty and joyful from her kin, hopeless from the people they were about to kill, torture, murder, slaughter, or otherwise render helpless through poisons, cuts, limb removals. The raider arrived at an open area, and the Sybarite shouted.
- Move to kill! Leave none alive! - and so they did. Each member of the squad disembarked the raider, only to be past above by others. Reavers zipped above a few seconds laiter, filling the night with mad laughs as they cut the denizens of the city to peaces with their bikes. Drea's squad immediately spotted a group of people fleeing on the street. They opened fire on them, quickly giving the folk the idea, that the way the are headed is not safe...only to turn back and be massacred by hellions happening to pass by.
As she was a better shooter then fighter, she alwayse stayed behind; sometimes, that wasn't the best idea, for she could be attacked more easy, away flom the flock. This was the case at this raid as well. While the others ran forward to join the slaughter of the lambs, a few locals ran out with table and chair legs, bent on killing one of the attackers. That one happened to be the closest, and Drea at the same time. She, on the other hand got use to these "surprise" counterattacks. She lined up two shots, before resorting to her melee weapons.
Her rifle got stabbed in to the grass, that was about to drink the blood of those people responsible for its so-called tidiness, and the whip and wraithbone dagger took its place. One of her shots missed, so she was enraged, and a nother citisen got vaporised by the raider's darklight weapon, on which they arrived on.
She started to give velocity to the whip, spinning it once in the air, then smacking down at the nearest attacker. She hit his face, halting his assault, but Drea needed to deal with the others as well. There were five left charging at her, so the second was rendered helpless with a spin and a nother attack of the whip, this time strapping around the womens neck, she then avided an attack with a duck and moved forward with a horizontal flip, pared with kicks. One of these kicks broke the nose of another, her heals remaining in the skull of the now corpse moving on the arc of trajectory layedout by the Dark Eldar females move.
At the same time, the whip tripped a nother attacker, thanks to the movement combo, and that the other end of it was fixed at the neck of the falling human neighbour. The one that got smacked in the face now received a puncture to his head from the wraithbone dagger, coming low and piercing the top of his head with the blades tip. At the same time, one of the locals was heading to her splinter rifle. Wouldn't be able to use it, but she just felt guilty if wouldn't stop him. The female was about to fall unconscious, so two quick wristmoves were done, one breaking her neck, the other letting the line of the whip release her.
Drea pulled the dagger from the dying mans skull, turned once, evaiding a probably lethal smash to her beautiful head, and with the exact same move, she hit the forehand of the man en rout to her ridle so bad the skin cracked open, probably broke a few bones, her dagger then piercing the flesh of the previous attacker between his neck and left shoulder. It will not kill him, but will render him combat ineffective.
The furry of combat and her lust for blood increased Drea's speed, the sweet scent of blood revitalised her ever more. She released her dagger and spinned her grapling chain off her hips, and with a gracious kick, let it fly in to the throat of the man wounded on his hand. The stabbed was in the way, she kicked the back of his knee, flipped over his back, rendering the last attacker helpless with two kicks of steel heals in his chin, and arriving on the ground, cracking the skull of the one she had tripped with the help of his female neighbour with the same weapon she delivered the killing blow to her previous foe.
The one that was left was paralysed by the wraithbone and the pain. Drea rewrapped her chain around her hip, put the whip back on her side then picked up the plinter rifle. The man on his knees before her had horror in his eyes, disbelief upon his face and pain in his voice.
- Please! Let me live! I...I'll tell you where the other hid, just please spare me.
Drea listened to the man carefully, as she did now show willingness to let him live. After she had learned of the place where about thirty of the locals were hiding, she nodded.
- Your help is appreciated - then kicked the lowlife in the shoulder where her dagger was. The man fell to his back, screaming in pain, even so after she stood with one heel on that same spot as she had hit him only a few seconds ago. She put all her wight in to this effort, which wasn't much, but considering the amount of pain the human was having, was sufficient enough. She then removed the dagger from her victim plunged her rifle in his chest and pulled the trigger.

<<To be continued, i need a smoke>>