The Fall and Rise of Archon Malverian Drakkarth (The Kabal of the Sabres of Paradise)

Evening all,

I've been lurking for a while but finally decided to get out of my Raider and be a bit more involved . I've mainly played Blood Angels for the most of my 40k "career", but for a long while I've been looking for a tasty evil race to collect, paint and have fun with. As soon as I saw the new Dark Eldar range I was sold!

Quite soon after the 'dex dropped I snapped up a load of the kits and such but only recently put paint to brush (I'll get a log going shortly), but what I did do quite early on was indulge my literary ineptitude, and come up with some fluff for my own Kabal. I'm no Graham McNeil by a long shot, and I did get a bit carried away, so if you have the resilience and enough tea and snacks to plow on to the end, then I hope you like it. I would have preferred to expand the character of my Archon a lot more, but that would have meant writing even more chapters than what I've completed so far. It's really a series of chronological events that eventually justifies the theme of the actual army in terms of paint scheme and conversion attempts.

Anyway, for anyone who gets to the end, thanks for indulging me; and I'll happily take comments and feedback.

The Fall and Rise of Archon Malverian Drakkarth
(Kabal of the Sabres of Paradise)

Malverian Drakkarth

“Birthed” into the Kabal of the Black Heart as a Trueborn, Malverian Drakkarth epitomised the common traits of the majority of those dwellers of Commorragh who were not “manufactured” in an amniotic device of some kind. Devious and bloody, naturally, but with a pervasive sense of his own importance and standing, he utilised his skills very quickly to become a notable member of Vect’s Kabal, often through a combination of deception, trickery and bloodletting. Rising through the ranks early on, he secured a regular position within a multitude of Realspace raids against a variety of races, demonstrating exceptional abilities in causing pain and death, but also securing numerous objectives and slaves for his Overlord.

Subservience, however, is not a characteristic to be found amongst the Dark Eldar, and with his successes mounting it wasn’t long before true envy became apparent in the mind of Drakkarth. Quickly developing into a consummate killer and bringer of suffering, coupled with having an exceptional mind for undermining both his own enemies and those of his Kabal, Drakkarth knew his abilities were being wasted. He furthermore believed that those surrounding him were weak by comparison – that they were but a mere shadow of his capabilities and ambitions. While the raids against the lesser races offered a short-term surge in his powers, and a welcome invigoration of his mind and body, he soon tired of the limiting nature of such forays. The challenge was soon lost on Drakkarth who craved ever greater achievements to quench both his desire for bloodletting, and personal advancement and prestige. With the growing rumour around Commorragh that Vect’s iron rule, for whatever reason, was growing weaker after the long millennia in power, a plan began to formulate to seize the ultimate prize – the Dark City itself!

Countless numbers have tried, and failed, to “remove” Asdrubel Vect from his high seat in the uppermost spire of Commorragh; their names and actions forever lost to the void of defeat. For this scheme to bare fruit, Drakkarth realised it would take all of his guile and cunning to get close enough, at the right time, to bring about a new order and his elevation to supreme ruler. Just the merest thoughts of what an undertaking this would be to achieve sent his mind racing, but the haughty arrogance and superiority he felt over his lesser brethren ensured that his belief in it’s success was certain. In no small measure, this plan would also take time, but for someone who had eternity before him, patience was something he could live with… for now.

A Tapestry of Cunning

With success and prestige come followers and wealth for the ascendants of Commorragh, and Drakkarth set about establishing a powerbase of “allies”, if such a thing could be described for the most evil and avaricious of races. This was easy to achieve given his litany of accomplishments, and there was no shortage of followers and sycophants wishing to join him, if only to further their own nefarious plans and schemes.

He was careful not to overstep himself too soon in terms of open displays of his new established standing within the hierarchy of the Black Heart, and such is the nature of Dark Eldar society that a situation like this does not come without a notable degree of bloodshed and political “manoeuvring”. Even within his current modest position in the greater scheme of things, he was forced to employ subtle ways of removing those that brought too much attention to him and his plans, or who openly sought to usurp his gradual rise. Some just disappeared, never to be seen again, whilst others found the fall down the ladder of advancement a terminal experience. Those who fell, and survived, would forever lose the chance to enact any semblance of revenge against Drakkarth, such was his skill at scheming and undermining any potential rivals. However, none of these acts of retribution found their way back directly to Drakkarth, thereby ensuring his “reach” expanded little by little, free from interference.

It was not long after that an unknown “patron” began to take note of the aspiring Drakkarth, fascinated by his relentless rise, and of his recurring achievements in Realspace and his ability to simply survive as long as he had done, wrapped in the coat of his glories. For someone who had seen many come and go as they tried to climb the edifice of success, many of whom had to be “disposed of” personally for aiming that little bit too high, perhaps this pretender would offer some modicum of amusement in a life that was growing evermore tedious, and who increasingly found the “joys” of something new and intriguing that much more difficult to come by.

Within Drakkarth’s hidden entourage, word of this potential patronage became known. Believing this to be an opportunity to take another step closer to entry into Vect’s inner court, and with it the chance to take control, his scheme entered a new phase and with it the possibility to elevate himself to a higher rank within the Black Heart.

Dark Star Rising

Through this newly established private “relationship”, Drakkarth sought to undertake the most important of tasks for the Kabal, whether it were part of a grandiose raid into Realspace, the removal of prominent enemies closer to home, or indeed anything that would firmly establish him as an indispensable tool of note. His ever-increasing tally of high profile captives and assassinations earned him numerous monikers within Commorragh, and he inwardly basked in the dark glow of his ever-unfolding genius.

By now he was a high-ranking Dracon already leading a sizeable group of Kabalite Trueborn in conflicts against the lesser races, whilst also nurturing ties with various other Cults and Kabals - for when it was time to instigate the final act to his grand opera, it would take more than just his razor-sharp mind and rapier-like combat skills to administer the final cut. Through numerous raiding actions, as well as militaristic activities within the borders of the Dark Realm, he covertly bought the services of several Wych Cults, Incubi Orders and members of the Haemonculi, as well as lesser bodies within the heirarchy. Much was through a simple trade or offering of slaves and sacrifices, but others required more complex means of “payment”. It was here again that Drakkarth was able to exercise his exceptional abilities at scheming and conspiracy.

He believed that much of his successes at this stage where through his own machinations, which to a notable extent was indeed true. However, with each step closer to his goal, his self-assurance and arrogance began to grow even further, and with it also the impatience that he sought to control for so long. His skill at being seen as nothing more than a sword of his lord and ruler were being pushed to their limits.

No Apex in Sight

By this stage of Drakkarth’s rise most of the notable figures within Commorragh knew of him and his exploits. His deeds and victories were well-documented and often spoken of within the highest circles; although at best with a seething jealousy, and at worst with a boiling contempt and hatred. The level of envious prestige was now at such a height that it was next to impossible for him to act as the shadow puppeteer he had been up until this point. Despite this, it was now time to throw off the shackles of his previous existence and embrace the mantle that would lead him to success… but a suitable event was needed to enact such a change. Unbeknownst to Drakkarth, his patron, whom he had even now yet to discover the identity of, delivered a request that would help with the next cog in the wheel.

This hidden benefactor perturbed him at times for their anonymity, and all his efforts to unmask the individual were met with half-truth or misdirection. Some searching implied that it was a high-ranking courtier of the Poisoned Tongue aligned to the infamous Lady Malys, whilst other information alluded to it being a more than disgruntled Archon from a rival Kabal. Whoever it was, it could have been any number of notaries with more than a desire to promote and expand their realms, and themselves – such was the constant web of intrigue and self-aggrandisement within the Dark City.

Whilst he or she was no doubt forthcoming with many of Drakkarth’s desires: whether they were altruistic, such as the choicest concubines or the finest wargear; or indeed more straight-forward wants, he reaffirmed the need to unmask this benefactor as soon as possible. They were the one weak link, in an otherwise fool-proof plan, and he admonished himself for allowing a chink to appear and go unresolved. This he committed to do once his next task was complete… and what a task this would be.

Patience Expired

The undertaking now presented to Drakkarth would be his most prominent yet, and would see him advance to within the merest touching distance of his ultimate goal, at least by the facets of his grand design. It appeared that a long-standing conflict between the patron and a rival Kabal, The Crimson Sabre, had once again spilled over into violence and bloodshed. Such an age-old enmity, supposedly now stretching back several millennia, had ebbed and flowed in its open ferocity and hidden subterfuge, as inevitably all confrontations do for the Dark Eldar. Now, however, his benefactor grew finally bored of the constant harrying and attempts to undermine and usurp, and it was time to put an end to this annoyance permanently. Drakkarth’s goal was as simple as his prize was illustrious – lead a precision raid in force against this opponent, kill him, and take control of the Kabal itself!

The Kabal of the Crimson Sabre would be his to command as its new Archon. All wealth and trappings currently accrued would be added to the coffers and slave compounds of the newly acquired faction, and he would be free to control a vastly superior host than he had yet to experience. Once in command, with the current Archon (Baron Moravis Vorlanth) eradicated, he had but two constraints placed upon him. The first, that any who did not swear “allegiance” to the new reign (again, a euphemistic term at best for those who would do anything to outwit and undermine those around them, through whatever means necessary) were to be killed outright; the second, that he bring the still beating heart of Vorlanth to an appointed location where it was to be collected by agents of his patron.

To Drakkarth, this opportunity seemed too good to be true, as much as being one of ridiculous simplicity. He cared little if his benefactor called upon his services from time to time, once the deed was done – such requests would be of little hindrance and the specifics of which all the more beneficial. He did however make one demand himself; that he finally be told who his guardian had been all this time – to which the reply came that all would be revealed soon enough. His own instruments still continued to manoeuvre and investigate with silvered-tongue and bloodied-blade, and in-roads were being made as to the exact identity of this individual. One way or another he would soon know, and then he would be in a position to assess whether such a relationship would continue to be valuable or of use. Measures would have to be put in place, naturally, to ensure that at the hour of his triumph no unforeseen circumstances robbed him of all that he had achieved. There was still time for his fullest attention to be directed to this strand of his reality however.

What mattered more at this point would be his final rise to the rank of Archon, with everything that such a title could offer; coupled with the effect such success would have within the corridors of the Black Heart. To take control of an entire rival Kabal and bring with it a further reinforcement of the powerbase, in tandem with the added assets that would entail – a task having only ever been achieved by a mere handful – something of this magnitude would not go unnoticed. He believed that such an endeavour would finally bring him close enough to Vect and his one true prize. Whilst the act itself would put him on the threshold of triumph, it wasn’t enough to just clumsily wade into his task as a lesser slave might fight within the arenas of the Wych Cults. No – the more elaborate, extravagant and clinically superior the dissection of the prey, the larger the ripples would be felt against those that mattered.

With the utmost precision and intricacy, all facets of his being, along with all the accoutrements of his rank and standing, were directed to the full and unequivocal dismemberment of The Crimson Sabre and the opposition it presented. Such a target would have expected nothing less had they known of their own role within the invisible maze that was slowly unravelling throughout Commorragh. It was Drakkarth’s most stylish and seemingly effortless coup de grace in a long and illustrious existence, culminating in a somewhat theatrical but no less physically stunning display of combat prowess against Archon Vorlanth, amongst the uppermost spires of The Crimson Sabre’s realm. With his followers literally squeezing the life out of all hardened resistance around them, Drakkarth’s final swing of his exquisitely crafted Demiklaives severed the head of his opponent, and he watched with a wry and covetous smile as it tumbled into the inky, cold darkness below.

The aftermath of such a bloody, albeit extremely expeditious, engagement was the swift incorporation of The Crimson Sabre into the dominion of The Black Heart – under the command of Archon Malverian Drakkarth. All opposition elements under the new hierarchy were dealt with in all manner of amusing and protracted ways… amusing certainly for those on the victorious side of the battle. Drakkarth retrieved both his benefactor’s prize of choice, and the head of Vorlanth, which he displayed on the prow of his newly acquired command Raider – as a testimony to his unyielding success, and as a stark warning to those within his own personal domain, and those without.

…but most of all, Drakkarth’s conviction became as solid as the foundations of Commorragh itself. As too did his voracious greed in attaining the highest of treasures, and he could almost savour the succulent and sweet taste of the ultimate success. True to his machinations and complex designs, it was not too long before he was summoned for an audience, not with the Supreme Overlord, but with senior representatives of his court. The final act was about to begin…

A Step as Wide as an Ocean

What followed, for a relatively short period of time, was a series of undertakings designed to show Drakkarth’s true worth and loyalty to both Vect and the Kabal. Inwardly incensed that he was being forced to do nothing more than what he had systematically achieved time and time again, Malverian Drakkarth nevertheless acquiesced to the demands placed upon him; the need to “stay the course” being paramount. However, the proximity to his crowning achievement after long years of planning and enactment, coupled with the barely contained conceit at his undoubted superiority above all others, started to make ripples of a different nature.

Whilst he would never openly decry Vect’s reign by name, and certainly nothing would be mentioned within ear-shot of anyone directly related to him, he began to voice his “concerns” as to the state of the Dark Realm to those within his own inner council. If anything, such loose talk was sparked by his growing impatience at being but a single step from victory, only for his plan to be repeatedly stalled by petty and irrelevant distractions, all of which were now disdainfully beneath him. Many within his own court began to reinforce such talk, and the members of his own Kabal began to believe that a time of significant change was both warranted and necessary. There is no doubt all desired such for their own selfish aspirations, but the prospect of an internecine war would bring with it boundless opportunity for the victors, and a near limitless gorging of the fruits of decadence hitherto unseen.

It was at this point that Drakkarth received a visitor. Unbidden to his court, none other than Vect’s personal emissary made an appearance. Known only as Malus, Malverian was more than a little surprised at his arrival, but his ever-turning mind immediately began to play out the myriad paths that could lead from such an encounter; the prospect of loose-ends being tied or blocked paths finally being opened proving quite enticing.

The meeting was brief and very much to the point, for Malus was not known for wasted pretence. The crux of the discussion centred on how Vect was prepared to receive Drakkarth into his presence to discuss matters of “mutual benefit”, if he was prepared to complete one final and vital task. Naturally, this was delivered in such a way as to ensure no misunderstanding as to Drakkarth’s position in this regard - lap dog to the Overlord of the Dark City, and as such a refusal being the equivalent of death by your own hand, the manner of your demise however not being a choice you were permitted to make. Through much effort, Drakkarth received the missive with barely contained rage and notional platitudes of obedience, whilst privately swearing to take his time bleeding the life from Asdrubel Vect when his supremacy lay in tatters – much to the amusement of Malus.

Despite the sheer loathing Drakkarth felt at having to submit to the “request”, such emotion mattered not now that he had his hand tantalisingly close to that which he coveted most. What piqued Drakkarth’s interest quite unexpectedly in spite of this, during the somewhat one-sided discussion, were some of the tones and intonations that Malus used to deliver Vect’s demand. Whilst being the most efficient of the Overlord’s servants, there must have been no one in the history of the Dark Kin who keenly felt the disgrace of being second best as much as he. Certainly, his facilitation to the Dark Throne spanned a millennia or more of service and, more importantly, servitude, but that was nevertheless an exceptional period of time for any to remain within the constant shadow of your supposed better.

Through careful probing, at least as much as Drakkarth could utilise without blatantly playing his hand too soon, he tried to establish anything that could link Malus to his veiled benefactor, believing there could be none better placed to match the profile. Who else could there be to “champion” an instrument of death and undoing such as him, and provide all the unique accoutrements (and benefits) needed to lay Vect low? Matchless weaponry and irreplaceable wargear, information and knowledge, and more besides were the gifts of this allusive sponsor. It would make perfect sense for Malus to use someone else to achieve something that was beyond possible within the confines of Vect’s court, and whilst he never received anything that could remotely be described as a confirmation or denial either way, a sardonic smile was the last thing Malus gave before he left.

Whether Malus was indeed the provider of repeated support ultimately mattered not, for when the time came to seize power, none of Vect’s cohort could be permitted to live. It appeared that all loose ends would indeed be tied up in one single act…

The Raid on Valorian Prime

The details of the mission given by Malus were these. Drakkarth was to lead a sizeable amount of his newly acquired Kabal in a mass raid against the Dark Mechanicus stronghold of Valorian Prime, with a number of strategic and paramount goals needed to be made. The foremost of all was the capture of not only the High Magos of the installation itself, but also the acquisition of a significant number of alleged Archeotech devices, stolen many years ago, and stored within the boundaries of the fortress. This specific element of the attack would be lead by Drakkarth himself, but the nature of such devices was unsurprisingly withheld from him. It was implied, however, that the rewards for success in this enterprise would far outshine any curiosity he may feel, and that it was perhaps wise to ensure such inquisitiveness be kept in check, and that the artefacts be returned un-tampered with and intact. Secretly baulking at the repeated verbal barbs and vain superiority thrown at him, he nevertheless remained focused, each new affront being added to the long list of personal reprisals soon to come.

The Kabal was a hive of activity in preparation for the coming assault. Weapons, wargear and craft were checked and double checked, as nothing could be allowed to go wrong. Auguries were made and as much intelligence gathered to ensure that the Kabal knew as much as it could about the target, thereby maximising their success and ensuring Drakkarth’s renowned career remained as unblemished as his alabaster skin. This was an element that Malverian enforced himself; his malicious egotism outstripping anything else previously experienced, particularly with the end now in sight.

At the same time, his personal spies continued to make their investigations through various means, their goal to still discover the true identity of his benefactor. After his meeting with Malus, the efforts and energy divested in this enterprise were redoubled, if anything to confirm his growing suspicions, and also so that he may start to concoct a suitable resolution to that thread. Whether by chance, by design, or through some other channel out of their control, his agents finally happened across some information that proved startling and shocking, and they immediately tried to make contact with Drakkarth. Finding all communication channels strangely blocked, they made with all speed to the docks in order to relay their findings in person – Drakkarth had to be told!

With everything prepared and set, the vast armada of assault craft left their births from the sky-port docks that ringed the Kabal towers, and proceeded to make their way to the Webway jump off point to await the final co-ordinates for the strike. Like a cloud of sinister black, the fleet meandered and flowed through the towers of Commorragh – a sight of such strength seldom pictured, save for when Vect himself, or a small number of high-ranking Dark Eldar, went to war. As they made their way through the heights of the city, Drakkarth made sure that they flew below the spires of The Black Heart, as a final act of forced deference to the ruler of the Dark Realm. Turning his back on the jagged towers that seemingly clawed at the sky above, he surveyed the vista below him with a craven grin behind his battle mask. Upon his return, he thought, all that was arrayed before him would soon be his to control.

Reaching their destination, Malverian sent the confirmation cipher indicating all was ready. After a brief pause, a burst transmission was received bearing the personal signature of Malus, and the final co-ordinates were locked. A growing sphere of black and green appeared before them, crackling with malignant energy, as the Webway opened and the fleet began its advance into the labyrinth beyond.

Finding their Archon already gone, Drakkarth’s agents boarded a Venom assault craft that was idling in one of the docking bays, and flew with all haste to the departure point, desperate to reach him before it was too late. Their communications were still scrambled as they rounded the final corner only to see the flotilla practically gone and the portal almost closed. Only one vessel remained and it was the last to enter the Webway. Gunning the engines beyond safe limits, the Venom screamed towards the portal anxious to reach Drakkarth’s Raider before the gateway was sealed for good.

Out of nowhere, a target lock warning appeared on the screen in front of the pilot, taking him completely by surprise. Before he could fully register the reality of the situation, three beams of voluminous purple seared out of the darkness below them, and in an instant the Venom was torn apart in a fireball that consumed the craft utterly, it’s wreckage making a slow decent into the blackness of the underworld below. The explosion registered briefly through the sensor arrays aboard Drakkarth’s command boat, but a second later his vessel was through and the portal closed….

The Oldest of Serpents

The sight that befell Drakkarth’s fleet upon exiting the Webway was not what he was expecting. Where there should have been manufactorum structures and hab-blocks, factory towers belching forth gritty smoke and fire, all surrounded by gun emplacements and defences to rival most Imperial Hive Cities, there was something altogether different. There was nothing. No buildings, no fortifications and no sign of anything to indicate that where they had arrived had ever experienced the hand of humanity. Instead, the armada found itself in a massive bowl-shaped depression, surrounded on all sides by treacherous though passable rock faces and scree slopes. The sky above was a roiling current of thunderclouds and sheet lightning, emblazoned in a rainbow of dark colour that swirled and buffeted itself with a worrying force.

Drakkarth ordered the codes to be checked and re-checked, but the results indicated that they were where the co-ordinates had sent them… just not where they were meant to be. Anger started to flow through Drakkarth’s mind, and a trepidation that maybe he had missed something began to take hold. Ordering all crews to combat readiness he checked the codes again himself. It was at that point that the communication hologram burst into life, and a face appeared before him that turned his inner anger into barely repressed fury… the face of The Supreme Overlord of Commorragh.

“My dear Malverian… my, you have been very busy, haven’t you?”

Drakkarth’s command Raider fell silent, the maelstrom raging in the skies above the only sound that could be heard. Pausing for typical dramatic effect, Asdrubel Vect felt comfortable that he had everyone’s undivided attention. His void black eyes were piercing and contemptuous, but his voice was strangely calm and measured, and with it the slightest upturned curl to corners of his lips as he continued.

“I’ve no doubt you are wondering exactly where you and your little host have ended up Malverian, but for now we should have a little time at least before we get to that.” Another brief glint flashed across Vect’s face, indicating he was enjoying every moment in front of his frozen audience.

“Firstly, I must commend the little rats you sent to uncover my involvement in your not-so-inconsiderable rise to power. It took a surprising amount of effort to waylay and divert their insidious attention, and in that regard I have to say I failed…” Vect smiled once more, but the shadow behind the smirk implied that it was purely for effect and nothing else. “That’s right, your little spies eventually uncovered the truth… that it has been I all along who has, from time-to-time, considered you worthy enough for some special attention… and you would have discovered this for yourself had they not been gently removed from the great game we’ve been playing, literally moments before your arrival to where you now find yourself”

Drakkarth said nothing, the image of the Venom bearing the flag of his Kabal, before it exploded and fell, still imprinted on his mind. The rictus leer of his helmet was all that indicated any open defiance to the face that spoke before him now.

“You see, I have known you, and of you, for far longer than you can probably imagine. I have encountered your kind so many times before that it becomes almost second nature to be able to scrutinise your intent and the path you will inevitably take with your existence. When your name first reached my ears, I thought of you as nothing, much like I have considered countless others. Only through closer investigation did I discover that you were different though Malverian, and there is much in you that was once in me all those millennia ago when I took Commorragh for myself. Maybe that’s why I chose to involve myself in your petty, little world. I saw in you some unique amusement that I have not experienced in quite some time, and it would be wrong of me to not recognise the significant skills and abilities you possess that has marked you out above nearly all others.” Again, Vect’s tone took on a mocking quality that Drakkarth was hard-pressed not to lash out against, but he mustered his self-control and remained stoically silent and still as the invective continued.

“Much of what you have achieved has indeed been through your own labours, and those talents have proved an ever so useful tool to the continuation of my dominance. Like a scalpel you have removed innumerable threats, and secured countless riches, and it was only right and proper that you should have been rewarded for such… loyalty”. The last word Vect spat out with scorn. “You see, I had rather hoped you would have been content with the position I engineered for you – your own little Kabal, your own little nest of followers, flatterers and idolaters. All the trappings and wealth would have been yours time without end, if only you had been satisfied to continue as my instrument of retribution and governance. But as I said before, I have known of you long before we reached this moment.”

“I knew that even those gifts I bestowed were never going to be enough, and that you would eventually seek to take what so many have craved. It was entertaining to see whether I would have been proved wrong, even though the outcome was as assured as my continued reign over the Dark City”. Vect leaned closer to the screen and his voice took on a more menacing tone.

“Do you really think you could have killed me and taken what I have claimed and owned for centuries? Make no mistake Malverian as to the threat you truly posed to me. I have allowed you to reach this point, often ignoring you completely only to return my gaze upon your ascendancy to see how much further you have come, or to confirm whether you had finally perished. Thousands have tried to usurp me and all are but grains of sand in a bottomless hourglass… and now it is your turn to fall through the hole into the abyss below!”

“It is your hubris above all else that has brought you to this moment. For the duration of your existence you have matched measure with counter-measure, complexity with intricacy, and all the while you have laid fabric over fabric to contrive your success, only to lose sight of the simplest of things. Your obsession with the elaborate and multifarious has simply blinded you to the obvious and straightforward. So know that I have brought you low by a rather minimal and effortless enticement – a simple task that to you would have granted access to me and the chance of the kill… that last step.”

Vect leaned back and breathed an exaggerated sigh.

“And so we arrive at this moment – the manner of your fall. For one so highly skilled in the arts of war and intrigue, what shape shall your demise take I wonder? I have consigned a multitude to a simple death, as befitted their weak and amateurish efforts, but for you Malverian… there shall be no such quick ending. On the contrary, for one so accomplished as you are, I have to admit there were times when you even managed to keep me guessing. Not often, however, and the outcome of your scheme was simply inescapable. So, for one who craved an eternity of success, you shall have an eternity with which to experience your utter failure…”

It was at that point that a noise was heard from the rim of the depression. A small collection of rocks, disturbed by something unseen, tumbled and clattered down the side of the valley.

“I have prepared a special ending for you, and one that will give me an inner chuckle for many years to come. This place, as I’m sure you realise, is not Valorian Prime - far from it in fact. This planet used to be a lesser known orb under the control of some warring Ork faction centuries ago… before it was consumed by the warp. It is now an ever-changing planet of terror and despair, particularly for our kind I should add, and the previous landlords have long since disappeared.” Another scornful chuckle left Vect’s lips.

“Before your new hosts inevitably arrive however, there is one last thing to be done. To add to the entertainment of what follows, some of the poison needs to be taken out of your sting I feel…. Farewell Malverian Drakkarth… and know from this point onwards - I still endure….!”

With that, the image on the holo-comm disappeared, and Drakkarth was left to understand the gravity of his undoing. Within moments of Vect’s last words, reports started to filter through of problems with the fleet. Systematically, and like a gentle concertina, all power to drive controls and weapon systems aboard all of the vessels in Drakkarth’s armada mysteriously started to fail. Raiders, Ravagers, Venoms and countless other craft powered down of their own accord, the vehicles coming to a gentle rest on the rocky ground below. No amount of effort could find the source of the problem, or restore flight… The fleet was now very much immobile!

Drakkarth’s rage finally broke like a tidal wave, and quick as lightning he smashed the communications console to pieces with fury-laden strikes of his Demiklaives. Wheeling around on his court he vented his energy on the nearest lackey within reach, the victim’s body falling lifeless to the ground, and in several pieces, before anyone could blink. Before he could follow through and eviscerate his entire entourage a shout went up, and all eyes turned to the lip of the depression. There, on the very edge, stood a humanoid figure that all immediately recognised… Malverian’s hosts had arrived!

Dead in the Water

It didn’t take a genius to realise that the co-ordinates sent by Malus had a two-fold purpose. The first, obviously, was to send Drakkarth’s fleet to this very spot where they now sat. The second was not as readily obvious until now. The co-ordinates must have contained a virus code that, at an appointed time, rendered all craft dormant; the electronic link between his Raider and the vehicles around him being the perfect conduit to affect such an outcome. That, however, was the least of their worries.

Where one lone figure had stood at the crest of the depression, several more had now gathered. Sporadically, similar groups began to appear at varying points around the circumference, as well as other easily identifiable creatures. Eldar of all descriptions seldom truly experience the emotion of fear, but such a sensation began to manifest itself in no uncertain terms amongst Drakkarth’s followers.

The humanoids that had first arrived were coloured in hues of pale pinks, purples and whites, their bodies strikingly agile and elegant in a most disturbing kind of way. Where feet should have been, three-pronged claws scratched and scrabbled at the surface beneath them; and in place of hands, huge pincer-like claws of varying sizes and serration clicked and snapped with eagerness. Heads that sat atop slender shoulders sported huge dark discs for eyes, as black and capacious as the deepest of nights. Tongues flicked at the air through serrated maws, seemingly tasting the very dread that hung like a pal over the armour-clad warriors arrayed before them. The minions of Slaanesh, servants of She Who Thirsts, had come to feed!

Daemonettes in their thousands stood in deep ranks completely surrounding Drakkarth’s force. Aquiline Seekers bearing similar riders darted around the periphery, impatiently awaiting any form of command to be unleashed. Numerous other beasts and creatures of various sizes and creations stood like islands above the multitude around them, claws, tentacles and teeth being a recurring theme in their unnatural design. As one, they waited excitedly for any sign to advance, and the Dark Eldar knew that the next few moments would be more than just a fight for survival… it would be a battle for their very souls.

For whereas most of their opponents in their long history have granted them the simplicity of death - pure and uncomplicated; the minions of Slaanesh present an altogether more horrific departure, and one that doesn’t end at the breaking of flesh and bone. Slaanesh, birthed by the very same race that stood before her servants now, consumes the very essence of their being to be held in an eternity of despair. The Dark Eldar thrive on all forms of sensual and emotive excess, and at best need the very energies derived from such actions to reinvigorate themselves, thereby staving off the slow wasting away of their existence. If one can imagine the eternal nothingness of consciousness and little else, an unending perception that craves any form of the slightest experience, only to have such notions completely denied, then one can grasp a slender understanding of what it means for the Dark Kin to fall at her hand.

A number of Daemonettes parted ranks, bowing low as they did so. Stepping into the space they created stood the Lord of this unholy assembly.

Defiance Undone

The creature that strode forward to the head of the demonic throng stood fully twelve feet tall, a lithe yet muscular entity with a skin that flowed through subtle tints and hues, mimicking the lesser servants that stood around it. Its legs, ending in cloven hooves, were animal-like with several joints that gave it a graceful gait, but one that belied its inhuman agility. Four arms extended from its torso, two ending in clawed hands that held a viciously jagged sword, the other a double-headed polearm topped with a combined blade and spike. Of the other two, powerfully built upper arms morphed into two vicious looking claws of considerable size, each of them grating against each other as the creature tensed and flexed with each step.

Its head was that of a bull, its crown adorned with two huge horns, and bottomless black eyes viewed the Eldar with an eternal hunger. A two-pronged tongue, like that of a Terran lizard of old, flicked out at the air as if harbouring some sentience of its own. The demon was adorned in a garb of black leather accoutrements: studded thigh high boots, tabard, as well as an array of golden chains, and numerous icons indicating its allegiance. It stood at the crest of the rise and stared…

…time seemed to freeze…

Cocking its head back to the tumultuous sky above, it gave out a bellowing roar and, as one, the demonic host leapt from the lip of the depression and charged headlong towards Drakkarth’s waiting army - a wave of fangs, teeth and claws. The champion of Slaanesh, however, stood and watched as its minions dashed down the slopes.

Grim-faced, Drakkarth immediately began to bark out orders across the comms. Despite their inherent desire to undermine, demoralise, and out-do each other on the simplest of whims, the Dark Eldar way of waging war suffers from no such weaknesses, and what followed for the briefest of instances was a military order that the highest ranking generals of the Imperial Guard would blush at. Massed echelons of Warriors formed into serried ranks that ringed the collection of downed craft in the centre of the valley. Within moments, they fired as one at the oncoming horde, cutting down demons by the numbers with controlled bursts of Splinter fire and with what Heavy Weapons remained operable.

Poised behind this wall of shrapnel, the members of the Wych Cults waited, joined by the slavering beast packs, gunboat crews, maniacal Hellion gangers and staunch-faced bikers, now that their airborne steeds were rendered useless. When the enemy came within striking range, for even the weight of fire brought against them was not enough to truly stop the sheer numbers that advanced, they leapt over their brethren and began a whirlwind of close combat skill that for a time seemed to blunt the headlong rush. But even that proved not enough.

Descending into a mass of hand-to-hand violence and grim bloodshed, Drakkarth committed the last of his unengaged force to throng. Here, the “heavy-weights” leant their considerable skills to the battle, with the Incubi, the twisted forms of Wracks and Grotesques, and the bulbous, jagged silhouettes of the Kabal’s Pain Engines cutting a bloody swathe through the seemingly endless numbers pitted against them.

Consigning himself to whatever fate he now awaited, Drakkarth too joined the battle at the head of his bodyguard of elite Trueborn. His fury now unbound, and as with so many times before this, Malverian Drakkarth was a hurricane of pure death. With a speed and grace that more than matched his nimble and dextrous assailants, every slash and swipe of his Klaives tore an enemy to shreds. With every blow, he and his cadre edged further and further into the mass of hellish fiends intent on his destruction. With one eye on the lone Daemon, the enemy’s figurehead, standing atop of the battle, Drakkarth’s anger edged him closer and closer… for if he was to die here and now, and be consigned to the most horrific of ends, he would take succour and nourishment from the still-twitching form of one last, great adversary.

The Eternal Fall

The Daemon Lord surveyed the battlefield in front of it, taking in each thrust and parry, each close range burst, each scream and cry, irrespective of which side was which. Its forked tongue savoured the air with rapid darts of movement, and it somehow managed a look of intense pleasure as the ring around the enemy contracted smaller and smaller, inch by bloody inch. It closed its eyes, and a new vision of the combat opened up before it.

Where it had viewed the melee with a “human-like” sight, it now gazed upon a maelstrom of tumultuous colour, devoid of any material definition as before. In its place was a seething mass of light and dark, each bright tone and shadowy tinge a wraithlike representation of the pure and unfettered emotion that now emanated from the swarm of bodies below. The minions of Slaanesh were very similar to the Dark Kin in terms of how they gorged themselves on raw sensation, the most obvious likeness being through the physical and the mental. In spite of this, the additional plane they possessed above their quarry was that of the ethereal, and it was this dimension that was both the richest and most rewarding.

Pockets of fury dotted the landscape like ruddy blotches; desperation created a lattice-work of shades that rippled like water, and a myriad other feelings added their tints to the kaleidoscope it now saw…. but, like a million other forays into the worlds of mortals, the eternal pervasive sensation was that of fear! It was always the same when its kind came face to face with the earthly races – the lush, deep black of unbridled terror, and it drank deeply on its flow. It continued to scan the battlefield and suddenly it paused, reacting in a way that could loosely be described as surprise.

The canvas-like symphony before it was interrupted by a glowing sphere that jinked and moved with great precision and subtlety. As it glided slowly closer and closer, it grew into an orb of pure light. Neither the intensity of white, nor the depth of black, it was the colour of voluminous nothingness, an altogether different sensation indeed…. HATRED!

A Hidden Path

Focusing in on this unanticipated arrival, the Daemon Lord scrutinised the make up of this
new consciousness, for hatred can still take on many forms and subtleties. It saw hatred for its servants as they were torn apart by its inexorable advance; it even saw hatred for itself, but there was something else that was the predominant motivation for its existence. Blocking out all the other sensations swirling around it, the demon began to intricately analyse every strand of this entity on a completely emotive level; for though emotion is often manifested in the present, its source is nearly always rooted in the past.

Unbeknownst to Drakkarth, as he unleashed his martial prowess on the enemy before him, the Daemon Lord began to dissect every filament of his former life, and unravel every fibre of the web of his emotional history. Practically every path within him bore the imprint of another, and one that the demon recognised from countless emotional traces across the millennia. With a low hiss, it uttered the name that silently screamed at it across the void,

“Veeeecccccttttttt…..”

With a wave of a clawed hand, the Daemon host below immediately ceased its unrestrained hostility, to the total surprise of the Dark Eldar. Still hissing and spitting, and never unlocking eye contact from them, the demons very slowly began to step back, until there was an obvious area of open ground between the protagonists. Weapons remained raised, and new targets were acquired, but Drakkarth’s followers did not engage, glad of the reprieve. Clutching wounds and all panting for air from the sheer exhaustion of such a protracted engagement, the Dark Eldar remained poised, uncertain as to what to expect next.

The Daemon Lord strode down the slope, heading straight for the source of his curiosity, and stopping a few feet before him. Its eyes bored into it for a moment as its sight returned to the material realm, and as it spoke, its voice was heavy and intoxicating,

“You are quite the oddity Malverian Drakkarth…”

“How do you know of me demon?!” spat Drakkarth in return, suspicious of this new turn of events. Amused by the vehement retort it nevertheless continued, its silken voice seeming soporiphic and invigorating at the same time,

“Our paths have never physically crossed, but through the likes of one such as I, my Mistress tastes and experiences all she touches. You have “met” her several times before, in one form or another, so I know of you only too well. Similarly, I have never met the cause of your burning hatred, and I must confess I’m a little disheartened it is not I that you dislike so much.” The creature feigned disappointment but it was delivered in a very obvious fashion. It continued,

“I am the Daemon Lord, Sssthiissthonak, Chosen of the Shameless Host… and you and I have a similar desire, do we not…?”

Growing rapidly tired of such riddling, Malverian’s response was equally intense,

“I have nothing remotely in common with you, or your kind! What is it you want, for you would not have ceased this conflict without a reason? Unless it is to purely mock, in which case you are done with your ridicule, and we have something of an unfinished nature to conclude.” Drakkarth raised his weapons and assumed a coiled battle posture, believing the creature would not miss the rhetorical taunt.

Sssthiissthonak remained calm and relaxed, if something were so easy to apply to a being more bestial than not. He did not rise to the obvious bait, knowing full well that if such an outcome was to transpire, it would do so after he offered Drakkarth that which had been turning in its mind upon indirect recollection of his identity. He also inwardly laughed at such sheer conceit, even in the face of near certain death, and he quietly drank in the ire and fury that positively flowed from Malverian’s essence.

“If only that were so, and you may yet have the chance to vent your final energies against me… but not before you ponder this.”

“You and I are very much alike in that which we crave the most; for both of us share the same object of that desire I spoke of. Since our inception, to which we must thank you,” Sssthiissthonak purred to the collective ensemble of Eldar still primed for battle, “there have been many that have come and gone, and who have been the most mouth-watering of treats most sought after by my Master. Some have been consumed like the richest of morsels, and some have just passed from this world, tantalisingly out of reach… and then there have been those who have persisted…” The Daemon Lord paused once more, allowing the thread of his inkling to settle in the mind of Drakkarth; and he saw, almost imperceptible to any save for he alone, that Malverian had tentatively latched on to the strand of his meaning.

“For over ten thousand years, two paths have meandered and intermingled together; crossing on occasion but never tarrying, forever remaining enticingly within reach of each other… It does not take much to know of whom I speak but soon after the beginning, and with each passage of time certainly that you would understand, the desire for that most elusive of souls grows ever more acute”.

Malverian lowered his blades slightly, still prepared for any hidden gesture or movement, for the denizens of the Warp were well known for their trickery and subterfuge, albeit in a short-lived fashion! However, he began to see a slither of hope, of not only redemption, but of unpolluted revenge. Sssthiissthonak stood and stared, offering no further word but knowing that his silence spoke volumes.

A moment passed, before Drakkarth’s tension lessened. He rose to his full height, still ensuring the grasp of his weapons, and the position of his blades allowed him the subtlest of battle-ready postures, should the need arise. Looking Sssthiissthonak squarely in the eye, he spoke softly, but with determination,

“…You have my attention…”

An Opening Door

“It remains obvious to all but the most blinded, that you and your brethren have been played,” Sssthiissthonak spoke in a rasping, matter-of-fact manner. Drakkarth bristled at the palpable analysis, if only out of stubbornness, but even he could see that the current situation was unevenly balanced.

The demon continued, “The circumstances of your fall… and you have fallen Malverian, are wrapped in a myriad of reasons and causes. Some are external and beyond your ultimate control, whilst others are very much by your own design… whether you realise it or not.”

“Right now, your domain is no doubt being ravaged and torn apart, the few remaining of your warriors left behind are being slaughtered… or worse. The rush of air that accompanies your rapid descent is joined by another sound… that of laughter and amusement. Asdrubel Vect, in his limitless endurance, is a cauldron of boiling emotions, all of them fighting for dominance, but none ever attaining a constant supremacy over the others…” Sssthiissthonak’s gaze became distant and hungry for a moment, before his inner reverie stopped once more.

“Over the years, however, there is one emotion that rises to the top more often than any of the others… even those of lust, anger, jealousy, and rage…. It is the same emotion that ushered in your own downfall Drakkarth… confidence! Several hundred lifetimes of success has bread in Vect a supreme over-confidence and an unmatched belief in his ability, even by your lofty standards and achievements. True enough, he has had very little cause to expect any other outcome to his schemes and conspiracies, the last time he experienced true failure having been lost to the past, centuries ago. Isn’t it high time he were reminded of such a feeling..?” The question hung in the air for a moment, until Malverian answered simply,

“I’m still listening…”

“I offer you a pact Drakkarth… a mutual enterprise, the ultimate goal of which will be shared by you and I, albeit for very different reasons. You require Vect in order to realise your aspiration of replacing him as the head of your Twilight Realm, something I have little interest in; I require him…. as a gift for my Master… and that is something that concerns me greatly! I offer you a doorway back to the path you trod only a short while ago which, at the same time, will cause Asdrubel the most intense of unexpected reactions, and one that we can both derive some exquisite amusement from… Being the victim of unforeseen revenge is a most delicious of delicacies…” The demon paused again, allowing the strands of its scheme to take root…

“What does your pact entail, for nothing is as simple as you present it”, Malverian asked with an obvious sense of challenging mistrust. Inwardly, he relaxed that little bit more, seeing the chance of undoing Vect’s own plan as an alluring temptation and one that was tempering his previous fury and hatred. Still, his guard remained up, many long years of plotting having created in him a nigh-unbreakable counter-measure approach to scheming. The demon paused once more before elaborating.

The Offer and the Price

“The boon I present to you will have many facets, the most obvious of which are these. I will allow you safe passage from this place and back to a domain that you will feel, shall we say, more comfortable with. From this point onwards, every aspect of your being must be bent towards the completion of your original intent… the fall of the Supreme Overlord,” Sssthiissthonak stressed the words of Vect’s title on purpose, to better assist Malverian’s mind to focus once more on the source of his indignation.

“Where, historically, you have made sorties into what your race calls Realspace, now you shall turn those assaults in on themselves. Your focus therefore will be to make your incursions into the Labyrinth Space where you originated from… I want you to rebel against your own..! You see, for my kind, the lesser races of the material realm all provide us with succour of a sort. Some of it is rich and potent, while others less so… but nothing tastes quite like the soul of your kin Malverian,” and with that, the demon’s forked tongue flicked and brushed the air in anticipation.

“Each little stab of the blade, or bite of the flesh you instigate against Vect’s realm, will be a step closer to that ultimate prize you crave. How you choose to achieve this shall be yours to decide, and you have already proven yourself quite creative and cunning have you not? This will be no mean or swift task to achieve however, as you have discovered, but I will assist you by gifting you and your warriors with a measure of my Master’s power. I will imbue you with strength and speed that will eclipse the numberless masses arrayed against you, and the sensations you garner from each victory will stimulate and revitalise more than you have experienced thus far. I will offer you a measure of sensual pleasure and bliss, something we both know you all crave, far beyond what your simple flesh and bone can comprehend.”

“All of this I will give you to destroy the sovereign of Commorragh…” Again, the demon lord fell silent, awaiting Drakkarth’s response. Drakkarth contemplated things for a moment before throwing another challenge before Sssthiissthonak,

“You offer up much demon, but I assume none of this generosity comes free,” he said somewhat contemptuously. “What is it you want in return for such bounty?”

With a conspiratorial gleam in his eye, the Demon Lord responded in a seductive tone, “I’m so glad you asked, because I would hate for a lack of understanding to come between us.”

“The raids you undertake back into the Dark Realm will prove plentiful, and of course you will need to maintain that level of sustenance in order to reach a positive conclusion… for the both of us. From the tally of captives you steal away you will offer them a choice; those that do not join you to swell and replenish your ranks will be turned over to me as a tithe for my ongoing support. Your losses here today, on this field, shall be a first “payment” for the blessing you have yet to receive. Like a rapier dagger you will cut and slice at the belly of Vect, all the while increasing his anger and taking away his focus… but the ultimate charge I place on you is quite simple. Whatever else you capture or take is yours, along with the throne of Commorragh. Apart from the levy for my assistance, I just require the essence of Vect at the end of our union…”

“You will have your dominion Drakkarth, and She will have his soul!”

First and Last

Drakkarth, turning to face the warriors under his command, saw mixed emotion in their faces - not that he cared in the slightest as to what they all felt or thought. The decision would be his and his alone to make, and whilst the temptation was certainly there, he hadn’t reached such a position without weighing the possibilities to their fullest degree. His Kabal had taken a hefty toll on the daemon host before them, the ground carpeted with the corpses of countless minions and the flow of black ichor pooling around the feet of his followers. Such a count had not come without its own cost however. His force was still immobile and surrounded, and whilst a sizeable chunk had been taken from their enemies, the ring of defenders was smaller now than at the start… and there was no obvious route of escape.

Drakkarth’s inner creativity, greed, arrogance, anger and spite all intermingled with themselves as he framed his next question carefully,

“What is the alternative..?”

The demon did not answer, but instead gave him an inquisitive look and one that was more than a little bemused. Before any could react, he leapt past Drakkarth into the nearest throng of warriors, a small group of Wyches mauled in the earlier combat but with fight still left in them. Snatching up the nearest unfortunate before she and her sisters could blink, he lifted her up in one muscular hand, and a huge maw began to appear in the centre of his chest. The Wych was powerless to break free from his grasp, and all around were frozen by the spectacle that now transpired.

Holding her close to the concentric rings of serrated teeth that opened in the demon’s breast, a ghostly image began to appear where the Wych was held. What followed sent a resurgence of fear throughout Drakkarth’s ranks as the Wych’s soul was simply sucked from her material form, and consumed hungrily by the “mouth” before his chest re-knitted itself. Sssthiissthonak took two bloodied mouthfuls from the dormant form of the Dark Eldar before discarding the lifeless remains haphazardly to the ground. All that could be heard was the echoing scream of the Wych’s soul as it experienced its first few moments of eternal damnation.

Turning back to Drakkarth, the demon Lord finally spoke,

“The alternative is as I have just illustrated, and for you now it is the most open of choices that will later befall your captives… my levy. There is no misinterpretation between us Malverian, no hidden meaning or false implication… but for those that follow behind you from now onwards, well… there is no need to be quite so open with the choice you present to them, is there?” Casting his arms around the battlefield in an expansive manner he answered unequivocally,

“We are many… you and yours, are less…” Pausing once more, before focusing completely on Drakkarth, “…take your chances if you wish… You have lost much already, and not just on this dead planet where you now stand. I give you a chance Malverian to regain what you have lost… and more besides…” his voice tailed off with a pervasive sense of magnetism and allure.

The temptation proved too great to resist, the chance to be born again and deliver a slap to Asdrubel Vect for his own folly and over-confidence attesting to his ever-increasing desire for revenge. His craving to usurp and take Commorragh for himself had not diminished throughout the various motions of his supposed downfall, and whilst immediate bloodlust and the gratification of war was still a cloying rush coursing through his veins, the short-term gain from continuing an admittedly hopeless cause was far outweighed by the stay of execution, and a chance for so much more. Turning to the Demon Lord again, a dry smile behind his battle helm the only indication of his continued calculating and plotting, Drakkarth delivered his answer,

“You have your covenant…”

With that, Sssthiissthonak beamed his pleasure and the battle-ready stance of his minions turned to one more relaxed and non-confrontational. Without a word being uttered, the Demon Lord’s host began to retreat up the rise and back to the edge of the depression. His voice seemingly less enticing but still with a beguiling air, Sssthiissthonak spoke,

“Excellent Malverian, and a wise choice wouldn’t you say? Let me therefore honour my side of the bargain seeing as you have already given of yours.” With the demons practically departed, the Dark Eldar could better see their own cost of their defiance as a multitude of bodies lay strewn and scattered around the depression, all of them in various states of mutilation and death.

Planting his polearm into the ground in front of him, Sssthiissthonak began a quiet, sibilant, whispering, starting a sort of incantation that none could properly make out.

“Malverian, you shall be both the first and last of this contract, as is only fitting,” and with that a jet of purple fire leapt from the Demon Lord’s fingers and completely overwhelmed Drakkarth.

Where those around him immediately thought this a trick, and that he would be consumed and fall, the flames just danced around his body until finally they dissipated, leaving but a small writhing mark on his face. Drakkarth let out a long, deep breath, and a most despicable smile broke out across his face. He felt energised and strong, the previous fatigue of battle all but bled away in an instant. He felt more than that, however – every sense within his body felt on fire in a tantalising and heightened way. Every movement and every thought he made sent his senses into an invigorating pulse. The Demon Lord merely smiled…

Gazing upon the rest of Drakkarth’s forces, Sssthiissthonak raised his hands and the same purple fire poured forth and flowed over them like a living wave. Immediately wounds were healed and corporeal exhaustion was washed away, replaced by a physical euphoria hitherto never before experienced. At the end, all of Drakkarth’s followers were similarly marked as he. The very same fire engulfed the downed Raiders and other airborne craft rendered useless by Vect’s virus code, and within an instant they took on an energy of their own, gracefully rising up with their capacity for flight restored… but not by any physical means.

“It is done, and our bond is set Malverian,” purred Sssthiissthonak with a far from reserved sense of satisfaction. “At the rising of a black sun, know that I shall call upon you, when payment is due, but in the meantime do as you wish to… amuse yourselves.” With that, the Demon Lord turned and climbed the valley to where his minions now stood and waited. With his passing, the clouds above that forever buffeted each other throughout this unusual of gatherings, now parted and a portal of black opened up, bathed in crackling forks of energy arrayed in tones of purple and blue. Gathering his remaining strength, the army of Malverian Drakkarth boarded their craft and vanished into the voluminous black, a new path now set before them.

Drakkarth’s Raider was the last to pass through, and already his mind turned to the task that had temporarily been taken from him. He would succeed where others had failed… he would take control of the Dark Realm… and he would watch Vect bleed, ever so slowly, as his ascendancy reached its zenith…

The Here and Now

To call the mortal races of the 41st Millennium “enemies” of the Dark Eldar would be an incorrect term, for that would imply that such a malicious and cruel collective actually cares enough to consider them so. The truth is that any and all of them are thought of as nothing but cattle, there to be slaughtered. Conversely, there is but one adversary that very much is considered an enemy, the one and only true enemy... and so it was that Malverian Drakkarth aligned with Slaanesh, the most unholy of alliances even by the standards of such a devious species.

With his new found power, and a purpose re-forged, Drakkarth has set about his rebellious raids into the realms of Commorragh. His initial assaults have been more of a test of his Kabal’s capabilities following the pact with Sssthiissthonak, and as such he has intermittently assaulted the fringes of Vect’s realm, focusing on the outlying dominions and territories. True to the demon’s words, the harvest has been bountiful, and he has already replaced the losses suffered before the covenant was made, as well as offering a sizeable sacrifice to his new patron.

With confidence growing, and the extremes and speed with which he and his host are able to rejuvenate, thanks to the personal gifts they all now bear, his incursions are growing ever more ambitious and the focus edges closer to the Dark City with every turn. In honour of his new found power and resurrection, he has renamed his Kabal to something that echoes the heights of pleasure and excess they are now able to experience – they are now known as The Kabal of the Sabres of Paradise.

Word of these unexpected attacks have finally reached Vect who initially paid them no heed, as the reports implied that it was nothing more than a splinter Kabal of no import, or a fragment of Duke Sliscus’s Sky Serpents making their occasional forays back into the Twilight Realm. But Vect has since learnt that it is an old adversary who now nips at his heels, and that it is none other than Malverian Drakkarth who not only cheated death, but who now comes to claim the title of Supreme Overlord from his very grasp, with a power that not even he can match. Rumours abounded that Vect’s rage was incandescent upon hearing the true identity of the assailant.

To Drakkarth, everything appeared extremely fortuitous but, even a pact with the dark powers often comes with a hidden cost known of only too late. For a while, his Kabal have enjoyed nothing but the benefits of Sssthiissthonak’s gift, revelling in their new found abilities and strength. Ever so slowly, however, some of their numbers are beginning to change. Mutation is starting to appear within the ranks, and very obvious ones at that. The same appearance seen within the minions of the Demon Lord are starting to manifest themselves amongst Drakkarth’s very own: vicious crab-like claws and pincers, multi-jointed limbs, tentacles and more besides are surfacing, as if his warriors are changing into the very monstrosities they fought with in that barren valley. The greater the rewards and bounty derived from his Labyrinth Raids, the more prevalent these changes become.

So far, Drakkarth himself and his elite cadre of Trueborn bodyguards have yet to suffer the ill effects of this “arrangement”, but with such markings Drakkarth now sees something more in the words that dripped from Sssthiissthonak’s lips. “Malverian, you shall be both the first and last of this contract, as is only fitting,” was the commencement of the bond. He now believes that should he be the one remaining member of the pact with Slaanesh, then all manner of transformations will befall him, and with it the final chance to claim his prize. Whether this is indeed true, or merely the unconfirmed suspicion of one whose life of plotting is maybe turning him into a paranoid madman, is unclear. What is apparent, though, is that a fine balance now exists within the Kabal, with Malverian at its epicentre.

His raids, though growing in strength and brazenness, are still measured and calculating, so as to ensure the losses accrued do not impact greatly on his ability to wage his rebellion. Should he and his Kabal ever suffer such that the losses begin an inexorable decline of his capabilities, he dreads even more the suffering he may be forced to personally endure. Only by delivering on his end of the bargain does Drakkarth believe he will be free of this apparent curse; and so it is that Drakkarth plots day and night, ad infinitum, to bring Vect to his knees, claim the Dark Throne, and to offer the final sacrifice to Sssthiissthonak and his deity…

Amazing! You have really captured the essence of betrayal, and humanized ( or should I say Eldar-ized) Vect. Litttle is known of the myth that is Vect and I think this is an excellent snapshot into what he is like. Really well done.