Intrigues of the Soul Hunters – Chapter 1: War Room

Chapter Summary: Introduction to the Soul Hunters Kabal, led by an Archon who may seem familiar to some. We get to see the interesting chemistry between our main characters.

Author: Khodexus

Rated T: For graphic concepts and suggestive dialogue. No Adult situations, no cussing, no violence.

Disclaimer: I do not own any rights for the worlds or characters in Warhammer 40,000. Those rights are owned by Games Workshop. I do own the rights to my original characters depicted here, in as far as they differ from the worlds created by Games Workshop.

Warning! This fic is MUCH darker and more graphic than my Harry Potter fic. Not suitable for children.

Life was good, for the Soul Hunters Kabal, secure in their fortress deep within the shadowed city of Commorragh, enjoying the spoils of victory from recent battles. But Khirareq, high archon, and supreme ruler of the Kabal, had plans for them, which would unfortunately necessitate cutting this time short.

Her armoured footfalls echoed hollowly through the dim hallways in the upper echelons of her Kabal fortress within the dark city. Her cloak billowed around her measuring the space of her route, the chill breeze of her passage marking an invisible line along the dim corridors none of the other Dark Eldar dared to cross. Her retinue of loyal incubi marched silently behind her, watching with unseen eyes all that they passed. The crackling blades on her bodyguard's punisher klaives would systematically cut down any who came close enough to touch her cape, and those who did not bow when she passed would likewise be dispatched, none were so foolish on this particular day as to earn the guardians' wrath, no doubt sensing the excited tension of their mistress, a sure sign that some new scheme was on her mind.

At the end of the gloomy hallway stood the grand doors to her war room, etched with a fantastic mural depicting her first victory as leader of the Soul Hunters Kabal. They opened quickly on powerful motors as she approached so that she did not have to break stride to enter the room. This room was always musty; the oval chamber had no windows, only murals in the alcoves along the walls depicting battles and victories of the Kabal. Her incubi bodyguards fanned out around her moving without a sound in their heavy powered armour as the assembled leaders of her Kabal stood at her entrance, an honor they paid her out of fear more than true loyalty. Only the Incubi who guarded her every moment gave her loyalty, none of the other Dark Eldar, who referred to themselves as the True Kin, were capable of such a thing. The only light in the room came from the crystalline surface of the table they stood around, its warm surface displaying a hovering three dimensional image of the star system they'd recently departed from after winning many victories against the galactic Imperium of Man.

As Khirareq sat she observed her generals, most of whom gave her looks of varying degrees of hate, except for her daughter the Syren Shiroq. They despised her, yet feared her; as was common for leaders and their followers amongst the True Kin. They quickly took their assigned seats around the star map once Khirareq herself was seated, their armor shifting audibly along with the soft rustle of padding, capes, and other adornments. No one would show up to a semi-public meeting such as this without protection. Each throne was a twisted work of art reflecting the tastes and status of its bearer, rare metals, and intricate runes adorned each one, along with symbolic representations of their greatest achievements; lesser versions of the murals and mosaics adorning the rest of the room depicting Khirareq's own victories. She was known as the Battle Mistress, or the Queen of War. For her passion was combat, not like the Wyches who fought in the arenas, mere gladiators who made an art of slaughter. She was an artist of a different sort; a master of strategy.

She crossed her legs, encased in black and night blue mesh armor, and laid her hands in her lap, idly stroking her right hand with her gauntleted left. A habit she'd picked up many years ago when her turquoise wraithbone hand had first been constructed for her after she'd lost her original hand during a failed assassination attempt of her former master. Thinking of that time always made her angry, and so she put those thoughts aside as she faced her generals around the table, their faces cast into eerie shadow by the lights of their map table.

There were five generals seated in the room with her, two on each side of the elongated glowing table, and one on the far end, facing Khirareq through the translucent screen of the holographic star system. To her left sat the Dracon Vallus, who aspired to be her second in command. A well built but not overly large Eldar with straight black hair and equally dark eyes, he carried with him the lingering metallic scent of blood spilt in close proximity. He was known as the Dueling Lord, in recognition of his fierce skills combating enemy generals and heroes toe to toe.

To his left sat Khirareq's own daughter Shiroq, known to the Kabal as the Daughter of Victory. She'd been conceived the night Khirareq first claimed the command of her own Kabal and became a High Archon, supreme ruler of the Kabal of the Soul Hunters, wresting power from the previous weak High Archon. They looked virtually identical, with the same raven hair, and deep purple eyes, the irises nearly blending with their black orbs in the dim light, though Shiroq's face was perhaps slightly more youthful. Khirareq appeared very young herself, especially compared to one of the Mon Keigh, or humans, of the Imperium, she'd lived for over a thousand years and looked no older than a human woman of 30. However in personality, mother and daughter could not have been more different, Khirareq valued cunning and logic, where as Shiroq valued little more than ferocity and creativity, she was a dancer, a very deadly dancer, but still a performer, in her way.

Her Haemonculus master Threchul sat opposite her, regarding her as always with that slightly insane half smile of amusement, as if he watched a secret drama unfolding in his head at all times, and regarded it as exceptionally entertaining. He was unnaturally cold to stand near, and smelled consistently of exotic drugs and chemicals. He was also brilliant, if not quite accomplished enough to be considered a Master of his craft, and not quite old enough to be considered an Ancient along with many of his immortal kin, he had still proven himself time and again to Khirareq's mind, and was master over her scientific and torturer staff, even if he did not bear the more official title.

To Khirareq's immediate right was Dracon Gnarsyl. His nicknames were many, but mostly unflattering. He was known as the Devious One, or sometimes the Great Widower; both fairly apt descriptions in Khirareq's opinion. His tactics in battle tended to favor long range assaults, and while usually effective, led some to question his courage. He was pale, even for an Eldar, and appeared fragile, though he'd killed his share of upstarts who mistook his appearance for actual weakness. Khirareq attributed his appearance primarily to his obsession with cleanliness. He thoroughly enjoyed cleaning himself, or having himself cleaned by a shapely slave, one could usually detect the hint of his slave's perfumes on him, except when he was called on official business as he was now; he did not wish to irritate his Lord with an unappealing scent afterall.

Lastly, Dracon Lethis, sat between Gnarsyl and Threchul. She liked to call herself Death's Shadow. Her personal exploits were few, despite her flawless record, most of her victories Khirareq could attribute to the skill and ingenuity of her elite troops. With her startling sky blue eyes, and dark reddish hair, she appeared younger than she was, though her age was not yet great. She preferred to keep her hair long, wearing half helms in battle which let it blow free in the wind, and it generally trailed down behind her legs when she was standing.

Each of her generals held great potential for her Kabal, and her leadership, though whether that would be turned for or against her interests remained to be seen. However, Khirareq's primary concern was generally her daughter, she could never seem to predict how the girl would react to things. They seemed to have a silent agreement not to treat each other any differently than if they had not been family, but merely normal unrelated members of the same Kabal. Her Dracons watched them both for signs of weakness. And, affection, even maternal affection, could be seen as favoritism, definitely a trait a strong ruler wished to avoid.

"I have chosen our next target." She said, her voice soft but commanding, carrying throughout the room, they could all see her clearly enough to read her dark stained lips if they chose, for the Dark Eldar were gifted with extremely acute night vision. She knew her news would upset some of them, as it had only been a few days since their last raid and they had not been given much time to enjoy their 'spoils'; the numerous slaves and other resources they had brought back with them. But, it couldn't be helped; she'd discovered an invaluable opportunity which could not be passed by. She was pleased to note however, that none of her generals showed any outward signs of their displeasure, not even her eccentric Haemonculus master.

"Who do we get to slaughter this time?" The speaker was, of course, Khirareq's daughter Shiroq. The girl had shown a lot of promise in her early years, and still did; however, her exuberant bloodlust was generally a source of irritation for her coldly calculating mother.

"Syren Shiroq, the question is not who, but what." Khirareq's statement elicited a few raised eyebrows, but for the most part her Dracons merely looked bored. "Who here has heard of the alien scourge known as the Tyranids?" She asked, noting that her daughter and her Haemonculus were the only ones who showed any visible interest in the subject. Even so, it was one of her Dracons who answered.

"A race of mutants whose weapons are all organic in nature; they have power certainly, but no technology, at least not in any form we recognize. Some of them are intelligent and even potent psykers, but most are little more than especially deadly animals. They travel through space in giant behemoths resembling monstrous living spacecraft, and devour the life and resources of entire worlds in their wake. They are like a plague, destroying all they touch, though the Imperium has seemed to have some success against them with their vaunted 'Space Marines' I believe the Tau Empire also has evaded annihilation by this cunning threat so far." Vallus, the Dueling Lord was less than impassioned in his speech, leaning forwards with his arms braced on the table, clasped in a gesture which may have been feigned intensity, but Khirareq had to give him marks for his knowledge of the subject.

"We're going to capture some bugs?" Shiroq asked before the High Archon could continue, brightening visibly as she contemplated the news. Her vicious smile would have chilled most Mon Keigh had they seen her, her tongue running silently along her teeth as if she were savoring the taste of slaughter already. She possessed the immensely irritating trait of being able to get excited about anything on extremely short notice, and seemed to wear her energetic emotions on her face at all times, her mother doubted she even knew what the word subtlety meant.

Khirareq drew in a soft breath through her nose, letting the metallic scent of the room cool her emotions before she replied. "We are going into battle against the Tyranids, yes." She stated flatly attempting to keep her expression passive for the sake of her other generals. She let her gaze travel back around the table so she wouldn't be overly irritated by Shiroq's unquenchable mirth. "Since this is our first engagement against the species we will be testing the waters, and not fully committing our forces. My scouts have located a small splinter hive, and I wish to launch our assault before the Imperials on the planet become aware of their new guests. With luck we can capture a few of the creatures and leave without anyone knowing we were there, I'm going to…"

"We're not going to leave any trophies or talismans behind?" Shiroq protested, her voice rising in pitch to an ear scratching whine. She seemed to live for the infliction of fear, admiration, or awe. She was very much a showman, but showmanship had little place in the Archon's plans. Khirareq suppressed a longsuffering sigh, her eyes narrowing as a subtle warning to the Daughter of Victory to remember her place before she turned her attention back to the assembled generals as a group.

"That would defeat the purpose of concealing our presence now wouldn't it, Syren?" She made the title into an insult, allowing some of her irritation to pass from her into the stinging retort. It wasn't hard really; she was the only Syren, or Wych Lord, in Khirareq's employ. She'd found the Wych Cults to be a little too unreliable to employ long term in her Kabal, most of them were not interested in her style of calculated warfare, preferring gruesome displays of prowess over precise tactical strikes. That had of course changed when Shiroq had joined the Cult ranks, and become a Hekatrix, a lesser leader among the gladiators. She'd eventually returned to her mother's Kabal with an entire squad of Wyches behind her, and had earned a place for herself at her mother's side, attracting more squads of the gladiator melee specialists as the years passed and her rank grew from Hekatrix to Syren. The girl was annoying yes, and Khirareq disapproved of many of the decisions she'd made over the years, however she had brought strategically valuable troops to her army, and continued to keep them in line, something Khirareq herself had been unable to do with the Wyches. This was the official reason she was allowed in the Kabal, both of them liked to pretend it was the only reason.

"Well the bugs will at least know we were there. Unless we have some way to neutralize their hive mind communications…" Shiroq mused aloud, tapping one finger thoughtfully against her sculpted chin, referring of course to the psychic communication link all the Tyranid leaders shared, communicating across the void between stars in a manner unparalleled by Imperial technology, though the Eldar had far superior communications through their Webway.

Khirareq almost smiled, but managed to suppress the undesirable expression, leaning back in her throne and placing her hands on the arms of her chair in a controlled posture. "For once, Shiroq has managed to bring up a pertinent precedent." She began, startling her daughter into the same expression she herself had just resisted, those pretty stained lips parting ever so slightly as she grinned, "I have already spoken with Master Threchul; he will explain the apparatus he has invented for just this occasion." She gestured with her artificial hand to the Haemonculus who stood with a flourish and a bow. The Haemonculi were a useful tool, though many were almost as unreliable as the Wyches. They cared not for politics and intrigues, but only their arts, and their inventions. Khirareq's Haemonculi were chosen for their interest in more martial sciences, and she provided them with whatever resources they needed to conduct their experiments, provided they continued to create new technologies useful for war. Threchul, however, was guardian to many much more priceless things than a talent for torture and sciences.

"Many thanks, your worship," The twisted man began, his voice a little strange; augmented as it was by some cybernetic enhancement he'd implanted in himself years ago. His expression seemed permanently etched into that bemused smile, his typically black eyes glittering from deep in his skull beneath the layers of surgically grafted implants and organic treatments which made up his face, and gave off a most unappealing odor he could never seem to get rid of. As he spoke he gestured enthusiastically with his similarly gruesome and enhanced hands, capturing Shiroq's avid attention, though the Dracons each schooled their countenances to disinterest; Khirareq did not encourage emotional displays among her followers. "You all know the basic concept behind what we call a Malediction Crucible, we trap the tortured souls of powerful psykers in these portable devices in order to release them in battle. The insane spirits project their insanity psychically which is potentially debilitating to receptive psykers if they do not properly defend themselves. I have been preparing a few 'choice' souls for insertion into such a device for some time, and at our Cruel Mistress' suggestion I calculated some new techniques for torturing the individuals in question. I have manipulated them in such a way that in addition to projecting their insanity into receptive vessels, they will also temporarily sever long range mental telepathy of any such vessels they encounter. In theory this effect should be enough to temporarily block the hive mind communications of a Tyranid synapse creature (one of their leaders), long enough for them to be captured, or silenced. Once inside the webway, beyond the boundaries of normal space, any synapse creature we may capture will be unable to reestablish its link. I can only imagine what that sort of forced separation would do to such a mind. It makes me shiver just thinking of the exquisite…"

"That will be sufficient." Khirareq interrupted with a curt nod and a dismissive gesture before the Haemonculus could further elaborate, leaning forwards once more to rest her hands on the table, resuming her idle tracing of patterns on her artificial hand with her remaining organic one. While she certainly enjoyed the satisfaction of consuming countless souls in agony, she found the intricacies of the torture arts tedious, in conversation.

"We're really going to catch some bugs then!" Shiroq proclaimed loudly, rubbing her pale hands together eagerly in a near imitation to her mother's habitual gesture, "This will be worth leaving the Imperials in ignorance. Perhaps we can find a way to tame them, the Cult of the Seventh Woe has let loose some tantalizing rumors on their techniques for capturing…"

"That… will also be sufficient, Shiroq." Khirareq reiterated, frowning ever so slightly, her thin eyebrows drawing together in a barely perceptible sign of her growing temper. She wished the younger woman would take something seriously for once. She noted Gnarsyl, the Widower nodding perceptibly, likely sharing her sentiment towards the overly enthusiastic Syren. For some reason this sign of disapproval of her daughter's actions from one of her Dracons annoyed her, and she made a mental note to keep an eye on Gnarsyl. "I have no intention of losing any more of our forces than absolutely necessary, so I have decided to attempt to capture a simple brood warrior; the weakest of their synapse creatures. I do not want anyone attempting to incapacitate any of the larger Tyranids we may encounter. Anything heavier than forty circs is to be destroyed at range, is that understood?" Her penetrating glare swept the assemblage, and encountered no unexpected resistance to the idea. Shiroq's resistance was, unfortunately, expected, and her mother was not disappointed.

Shiroq frowned petulantly as she drew in a deep breath readying for a prolonged argument, "But a Tyrant, mother, if we…"

"Do not call me that, Syren!" Khirareq's furious outburst silenced the room, so that they could all hear her shout echoing back at them from the ribbed walls of the elliptical chamber. She realized she was standing, her form rigid with outrage, and forcibly calmed herself as she sat back down slowly with as much dignity and grace as she could muster; her wraithbone claws leaving shallow grooves in the table where she'd gripped it as she'd risen. "A Tyrant is out of the question. Perhaps if we are successful in this raid I will authorize the hunting of larger specimen in the future. But there will be no argument on the matter, Syren…"

No one else spoke, not even Shiroq. She knew how far she could push her mother and escape punishment, and she'd just reached her limit. "Now, I was going to ask for a volunteer to lead this assault force, but since Shiroq seems so interested in the 'bugs' I can only assume she'd be delighted to." Khirareq continued in a cold voice, turning her daughter's infuriating ineloquence to her hopeful advantage after a moment of contemplation.

They all knew it was a punishment of sorts, even though Shiroq was most certainly relieved. It could have been much worse; she could have been forbidden to go, something she wasn't sure she'd be able to stand. This way she'd have a chance to redeem herself from her mistake, and she'd still get to be involved in the coming battle. She spoke softly, still nervous about her blatant breach of their unspoken etiquette, "I'll prepare my Hekatrixes right away and…"

"I'll be assigning you two squads of warriors, Shiroq." The Syren's head snapped up, her lavender eyes searching her mother's identical orbs for any hint of mockery or sarcasm, and found none. She'd never led Kabal warriors into combat before, only her personal Wyches and Hekatrixes. She wouldn't know the Sybarites who led the squads of warriors either, though she would have to learn quickly if she were to succeed.

Shiroq's normal enthusiasm was completely subdued beneath the weight of her uncertainty and vulnerability. She lowered her eyes not looking at her mother directly, knowing she'd be unable to keep her emotions from showing in her expression, and so instead studied the table in front of her as her mind raced. "But, Archon… My wyches…" She began, uncertain what she would do without the familiarity of her own troops under her leadership.

"…Will not be accompanying you. It's time you learned something about command. We shall see how well you handle yourself amongst unfamiliar troops. Besides, I have already said I wish to handle this with a minimum of casualties. That means tackling the monsters at range. Your wyches would only be slaughtered in melee, and while you may consider that an unavoidable outcome, I consider it an unnecessary expenditure of resources. Do I make myself clear?" Khirareq was pleased with her own foresight and quick thinking, but still irritated enough that her scowl merely softened, growing less intense as she glared at her daughter.

Shiroq bowed her head in subservience, already thinking about her strategy, and how she could use this to her advantage. "As an infinity circuit." She intoned, quoting the ancient Eldar phrase with grave formality.

There were a few more details to work out, but the strategy meeting was mostly finished. When Khirareq finally left, her bodyguards closing ranks behind her once again, she felt a momentary thrill. This would be something new, and entertaining. She hadn't realized it until now, but she'd been growing bored of her victories. She was becoming too skilled, and there was no longer much challenge in fighting the Imperium. Against a new enemy with new tactics and weapons, it would force her to adapt her own strategies. It would also be very interesting to see how Shiroq handled herself. She was no longer angry, but rather pleased at the outcome. She'd managed to turn her emotional outburst into something which could very well prove advantageous. And that of course, was what she lived for. Victory would come, one way or another, and Khirareq would bask in the pleasurable warmth of that achievement. That would satisfy her, for a time at least.

Author's Comments: This is the first in what will hopefully be a series of short stories following the exploits of my Dark Eldar army list, the characters were interesting enough in my mind that I thought a little dramatization was in order, and I hope people enjoy it, whether or not they are familiar with Dark Eldar, or even with the worlds of Warhammer 40,000. Please inform me if you enjoyed reading this, and feel free to critique if you like.

Once again the copyrights for the Warhammer 40,000 worlds belongs to Games Workshop. All characters depicted in this story are copyrighted by me. The exception is the name of my main character (Khirareq) which I did not invent.