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Hello there, and thanks for taking the time to click on this thread. I've always had a passion for writing, and am currently studying for my English creative writing degree, and so thought I might give Warhammer 40,000 fan fiction a go. The lore is really fascinating, and rather inspiring really.

As such, this thread will not be simply a one post story - more a continual account tale of one individual within the Dark City of Commoragh.

Again, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it. Critic and suggestions are, of course, welcome.

Catalyst.

From far below came the sound of thronging masses; screaming slaves, cackling wyches and assorted scum noisily making their way through the clogged arteries and veins of Commoragh. Above this sick anatomy careered the mocking hellions. Borne aloft on skyboards – more weapon than vehicle – they screeched threats and disgusting insults at those below, all whilst parrying and dodging misguided blows and missiles These gangs themselves, however, were host and prey to the reavers above them; rich and daring souls who yearned for nothing more than speed and death.

From this altitude, however, the barbaric screams of such groups and individuals merged into background static, as miles of air and unnatural wind peeled away the harsh tang of the screams and cries. It was here, between the spires and turrets of the mightier kabals, that the flock screamed through the sky – an inky etching on a black canvas. As one they flowed between the towers, following the iron scent of blood that drifted on the false winds. As the smell grew in intensity so did the speed of the flock, and the sound of their blade-like wings cutting the air slowly drowned out the screams of that which they hunted.

The owners of these soon to be erased screams and cries could see the flock approaching from some distance; hung as they were from barbed spikes from one of the most detached of the spires. Among their number were several orks, who seemed invigorated by their approaching death and were swinging themselves painfully on their snares in order to reach one another and the other bait, sparring for a fight. A female Eldar was chained up not a long way from them, and slowly sobbed and clutched on to the pendant of her dead god that hung loosely on her lacerated and tender chest. Further on were a group of humans; two males – one of which bled down onto the city below from a precise wound on his shoulder that had removed the aquila that had adorned it; and three females – one of which had almost perished, in spite of the nerve-searing adrenaline concoction that coursed through her veins, and now hung limply from the twin hooks embedded in her shoulders with a mix of blood and vomit adorning her chest.

It was this woman the flock was drawn to first, disassembling her in a bloody explosion. The other prisoners screamed, one of the Tau even attempting to swing closer to another of his kind that they might strangle one another into unconsciousness before the flock descended upon them. The Eldar glanced up from her pendant to see the dripping hooks and fragments of flesh that remained where the mon'keigh had hung, before continuing her prayer.

The scene continued in this barbaric manner for several minutes, with the flock choosing its victims seemingly at random – tearing them into a red mist in a flurry of sharp beaks and knife-feathered wings.

Suddenly, another sounds pierced the gloom – one of less harsh note and low in octave. The flock, frenzied by the blood and smell of death in the air ignored this noise and turned back towards the tower, aiming for the Eldar who hung attenuated on her snare. In an instant, one of the birds was swatted from the sky by a small, light-removing ball. As the body began its fall to the denizens of the city below, a sickly wall of light arced from the ball and enveloped the cloud of shrieking birds. The Eldar looked up at the swarm, which hung suspended like the trinket around her neck in a bewildered flurry. Another ball, light enough this time to be noted as it careered through the sky towards the bubble, impacted a bird and released a cloud of milky gas into the flock – whose screaming ended instantly. The gas resolved itself quickly, displaying a blot of stunned birds at the base of the orb – which slowly changed in hue until it reached a black so dark it pained her eyes to look at it. From above her came the sound of wings once more as a winged figure leapt from the precipice above her. It observed the ball for a short moment, before placing a small device on its surface. The eye-searing ball then slowly began to move towards the spire as the figure followed.

The Eldar female clutched her amulet still, so hard that the edges dug into her soft skin and blood seeped from between her fingers. From behind her, one of the orks shouted abuse at the flying figure, spoiling for a fight. The scourge stopped and cocked his head. She stared up at him, his sex apparent now that he was softly illuminated by the lights beneath the precipice, with an etching of fear in her eyes. The figure removed an object from its holster about his waist and flew in closer to the ork, the displaced air causing the Eldar to sway on her chains, the hooks digging further into her shoulders. From behind her the ork continued to shout abuse at the scourge and a gentle hum could be heard. Instantly the air exploded with the sound of a thousand monofilaments as they expanded from the scourges shredder into the green-skin's flesh. The ork shrieked with terror that betrayed his species as the microscopic netting dug into his skin and rended his flesh as he struggled. Slowly the screaming became a sickening gurgle.

As the invisible net rendered the ork into small pieces, which slid sickeningly from the snares, his kinsman took up his insults and abuse and began to swing towards the scourge – or at least the creaking of his chains would imply so. A soft hum began to build once more, and another shrieking explosion rocked the air behind her as the scourge flayed the insolent creature.

The Eldar was whimpering uncontrollably now as the wings of her dark kin brought him close to her. The blood trickling from her hand coated the talisman she clung to, and she prayed in panicked tones to Isha. A gauntlet reached round her naked body, the scourges forearm brushing her flank in with a delicate motion she had all but forgotten in her three years of torture. The hand of her captor closed around hers, peeling it open. The amulet slipped from her bloody hand and fell softly through the sky. The dark Eldar behind her pressed something else into her hand, a small, tactile stone which glowed softly under the no-light of a stolen sun.

“So that you might not feed She who thirsts.”

The Eldar shuddered slightly and held the spirit stone tight in her hand, before the icy-cold barrel of the scourge's weapon graced the back of her head and a soft hum began to build behind her.

For some reason I've never really liked the Dark Eldar or any stories about them, but DAYUM was that grimdark...

That was entertaining, good work...

Ooohhh yeah now that is a DE story. I like how it doesn't focus on the Kabals or Cults but rather a more hidden part of the fluff. I also like how you can see a relation to the eldar as a species as a whole. Very Nice!

Thank you both, I really wanted to emphasize just how sick and unremorseful Dark Eldar can be, but also show that they aren't just 2D evil. I'm glad you liked it, and hope you'll enjoy what I have planned for our Dark Eldar.

Part 2

Atticus forced his way through the crowds of people in arena's circuit. The air smelt damply of sweat, and the sounds of the roaring crowd nearly blotted out the beggars and sellers lining the walls, shouting aloud their offers of immortality poultices and elixirs of soul essence. Other, more exotic stalls, made offerings of sacrifice and torture – with species from various stars and moons strapped to a lattice work of metallic mesh, and patrons paying absurd money for their chance to slice and sculpt the flesh of these wailing prisoners. Spectators cried and shrieked around these stands, shouting for death and mocking the victims as shards of metal dug through unimportant organs, and the smell of burning flesh accompanied a thick black fog that festered over the spectators heads.

The teeming corridors soon splintered off into arenas of various sizes – one host to a stage-group of Harlequins re-enacting bloody battles, another filled with brawling spectators after a wager had devolved into butchery. These minor arenas were, however, merely sideshow attractions for the day's main event – a hunt – for which a group of prisoners were being dragged screaming through the corridor below – visible through the ornate grid-work of the floor. From the upper corridor, spectators spat down on the victims, and smashed crystalline glasses into the mesh to litter them with broken shards. Further on, the crowds became more viscous as the single corridor divided in two directions to encompass the arena. A male dressed in furs and bizarre bones shouted the odds, and further along a group of undressed wyches offered and performed 'services' before a crowd of shouting faces.

It was however, slightly beyond these carnal displays that Atticus divulged from the torrent of spectators and entered the stalls. A pair of incubi guarded a narrow door, their armour as bestial as the creatures the crowd screamed to see – their blades parting on Atticus's arrival before closing again like scything gates on the surge of scum and villainy who attempted to follow suit. The scourge took his seat beside a tall, lithe female.

'Atticus, I was beginning to think you would miss the fight', the hekatrix stated, gesturing towards the group of pathetic looking prisoners making their way to the center of the sandy arena.

The crowd in the common stands roared.

'Only if I could help it, sister of mine', he replied, furling his wings awkwardly against the back of the silken seat.

'Ah, still so contemptuous of the arena my brother?'

He looked for a moment around the arena – distastefully observing the shrieking patrons and absurd figures who screamed and fought in a whirlwind of hedonistic debauchery. In the Trueborn stand beside theirs the three wyches from before attended a dracon and his confidants.

'I have no issue with the arena, Fereleth. If you don't remember I once too trod its sand as you did', he stated, his words drowned out by the crowd as a beastmaster and an assortment of inconceivable creatures spewed out from the far end of the coliseum. 'But do we have to share it with these pathetic half-kin and vatborns?'

Fereleth cackled. 'Seems even the common need entertainment, brother!'

Upon the sand, the prisoners had begun to scatter in all directions. It was always the same; some would try to run, others fight and the rest would try to hide or simply cower and crumple under the mere thought of the fate that encroached on them. In a burst of speed, one of the khymera sprinted towards a Tau female, its incorporeal body flickering in and out of existence. The grey-skin tried to run, but the writhing tentacles and barbed tongue of the creature drove through her flesh in a messy explosion, before rending her in two.

'I see the victims are no more intelligent here than in real-space?'

'Ha! No, but then what do you expect of the lesser races', giggled Fereleth as a pair of orks attempted to fight a clawed fiend. One was crushed between the creature's claws, and the other swatted unceremoniously into the crowds. The stall in which the ork landed instantly descended into a frenzy of scything blades and teeth - the difference between the beasts in the arena and those in the stands dissolving in an instant. 'Maybe you should enter some day, brother. I dare-say you and that khymera of yours could put on quite a display.'

'Yes, but I don't think these scum are particularly worthy of viewing that', Atticus responded, laughing. 'Barrok is improving, however, even if his quarry isn't', he stated, gesturing towards the beastmaster, who paraded a screaming human guardsman above his khymera, before dropping him into the frenzy of teeth, claws and tentacles.

'If you see him after the hunt, sister, tell him I have the delivery of Razorwings he wanted.'

'I'll send him straight to you, brother.'

Atticus lingered for a moment more, watching the triumphant beastmaster, before kissing Fereleth on the cheek and motioning for a pair of newly arrived incubi to follow as he departed.

Again really really good. I love how you can almost feel the arogance of Atticus and how he loathes the "lower" Dark Eldar.
Just to keep this from being another "that is awesome" or "I love this" post just one critique. I didn't think that there was anything seperating the arena floor and the spectatorts. Not that I mind it being there, but I think I remember reading a story in the codex about blood splattering the faces of those who were on the first level of seats in the arena.

Thank you very much. I wasn't sure about including that part. It's mainly in there due to the presence of beasts, which are obviously only barely under the control of a Beastmaster at the best of times. I may edit it so that the ork is simply thrown into the crowd and ripped apart in a frenzy. Come to think of it, that sounds far better and more 'Dark Eldar' than a flicker-field.

*Rushes off to edit*

To be honest I liked it...Just because the arena I mentioned didn't have one doesn't mean that yours doesn't have to have one either.
New way looks good too. It adds to the sense of craze that the DE get into when blood is spilt and their souls are being rejuvinated.

This is pretty cool I'm glad to see I'm not the only one writing stories about DE though in my work I've tried to cast them in the light of Michael Moorcock's Dancers At The End of Time series

Not bad, DE and specifically Commorragh always have a lot of untapped potential due to the sheer debauchery and relatively unknown setting of the place.

Perhaps trying a little too hard in places to work the descriptions and metaphors, just be careful not to overdo things

Liked the ending though, didnt see it coming.