The rise of the Soul Tearers part 1

The wind in Tariel’s hair, the orders bellowed by the sybarites to each lesser warrior and the keen sound of the powering up klaives of his incubi bodyguards; the steady gliding of the raiders around him, the impossible sounds of their aethersails capturing ethereal winds and the sour smell of the huskblade in his right hand; the sweat gliding down the hesitant farseer’s face, the hunger of the ever-hungry soul-trap in his right hand and the unholy light glowing from this arcane artefact. All of these sensations were exploding in the archon’s mind with an impossible strength that only a true eldar could withstand and Tariel was no mere eldar, but the archon of the kabal of the soul tearers and, with his senses keened up to astonishing levels through the ages, the pleasure he took from this encounter in realspace was barely sustainable. He hoped to leap in the fray soon, but he could not at this very moment.

The plan was still too clear in his head to let it all fall apart now. He had himself repeated it again and again to his fellow warriors a dozen times over and he knew that every single one of them will obey it at the letter. For, if eldars fought each other endlessly for power in the dark city, in battle they knew that the success of the operation and so doing their loot in prisoners and riches was primordial.

The raid had started well, plenty of slaves coming in until the space marines came, most powerful of their feeble race. With their primitive weaponry they menaced his men’s soft flesh. He noticed that part of those ugly warriors were chaos space marines, most of them sworn to a chaos god, but still none of them affiliated with Slaanesh. Instantly, he recognized his mistake, such name was not to speak in the mundane realm.

In a split-second, his mind opened up to the warp, The Great Enemy, having heard his soul utter his name, found his way up to him and plunged his mind in impossible pain.
He dropped to his knees as She Who Thirst started to drain his essence. With his last splinter of conscience, before being lost in endless agony, he activated his shadow field.

It instantly manifested and The Great Ennemy was fast shoved away by the protective shadows of a realm that only the ethereal mandrakes really understood.
His vision sharpened and he stepped up, none of his incubi bodyguards seeming to notice anything. He knew that they saw and understood everything, but the only thing that stirred up such eldars was the occasion to kill an enemy. He was lucky to have such incorruptible warrior by his side, most of his trueborns, especially Hamlet, would have taken this as an occasion and butchered him without a thought.

He turned his eyes back to the fire front; the space marines, whatever their allegiance, were starting to take back control of the city. The fact that such slugs could beat him, whose family once ruled the star themselves, made him furious, but this was not the time. Then, he had an idea.
He ordered to his men to fall back and, laughing hysterically, he turned to his pet, the feeble-kin eldar that called himself a farseer. The irony being that he did not see Terial coming. His pet suffered the attention of his personal haemonculus and it was a resilient feeble-kin. It took weeks, and some organ grafting, for him to finally break, but now he was obedient as a dog.

It him a minute to stop his hilarity, but he finally calmed himself and took a deep breath. He glared in his pet’s eyes and ordered with a brutal authority;
-Call your ugly craftworld and tell them that you saw they had to fight at our side to stop certain genocide.

His laugh started anew and did not diminish until the once-proud farseer collapsed on the ground, his mind exhausted to transmit a message through the chaotic warp.
Two days later... an ancient webway gate two miles from the dark eldar position came flickering to life...