Masculine Male Wych
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Cult Name: Cult of the Bloody Kiss
Leader: Lady Lilin Namaak "The Crimson Whip"
Allegiance: Kabal of the Gellid Blade and the coven of the Pierced Eyes
Physical Descript: Tall, very slender but muscular, and graceful with long elegant limbs. Facial features are sharp; high cheekbones, a narrow nose, pointed chin, etc. Eyes are large and heterochromic. Her left eye is black while her right eye is blue. Hair is dyed a light blue-ish grey, and worn in a waist long braid. Her skin is milky white and flawless. Fingernails and toenails are painted crimson.
Personality: Lilin is very distant from her subordinates. She has no bonds and feels no compassion for anyone, including herself. She accepts any challenge presented to her in hopes that she will be killed but is also unwilling to just give up out of fear of death.
History: The elder of the Ranunium twins, Lilin was largely ignored by her affluent family as her younger sister Meridiana showed much more potential to succeed in The Dark City. They claimed she was too soft, so she struck off on her own at a young age and fought her way into a prominent wych cult, The Cult of the Liar’s Blade. She soon became a favored blood bride of the succubus, Renya Namaak. They grew very close, each considered the other a friend and lover, and they enjoyed a fierce rivalry always trying to outdo each other. The two were favorites in the arena. The crowd would loudly cheer whenever Renya would crack her crimson agoniser and they would applaud when Lillin would dance though a hoard of alien gladiators with her twin razor flails only to have her opponents fall apart a moment later. The two became an unbeatable team.
Unbeatable teams however tend to become stale in the arena so it was decided that the two would battle to the death. Before the match began the two vowed to fight to kill.
The two fought and bled to the roar of the crowd. In the end however it was clear that Renya had the advantage. With a sweep of her leg she tripped Lilin and left her vulnerable to a killing blow. She raised her agoniser to finish off her lover. She looked down at the fear in Lilins face as she reached blindly for her fallen weapons.
The finishing blow never came though. Renya just stood there with her weapon raised and smiled but it was not a Dark Eldar smile. It wasn’t cruel and twisted grin like the rest of her dark kin had. There was no joy in it seeing her prey splayed out before her. It was a sentimental smile. The kind of smile you get after you finish a great book, happy to have read it but sad that it’s over.
Blood sprayed from Renya’s neck. Lillin looked up in horror as her face was covered in the red mist. She had found her blade and swung blindly and the woman she had the closest bond with slumped to the ground in front of her, felled by her own hand.
The Archite of the cult strode majestically into the arena to declare the winner and appoint her new Succubus. She grasped the weary and shocked Lilin’s sword bearing arm and hoisted it into the air. The crowd was defining. The world seemed hazy in Lilin’s head as the Archite turned her for all her fans to see.
When she caught a glimpse of her fallen lover the world became perfectly clear again and she smiled. It was not a sentimental smile however. There was much joy in seeing her prey standing vulnerable next to her. It was exactly the cruel and twisted grin of her dark kin.
The segmented blade of her razor flail separated and the dagger studded lash dropped, wrapping itself around her leaders arm. With a quick side step and a flick of her wrist the blade snapped back into shape severing the Archite’s arm in several places. Chunks of Eldar bone and flesh plummeted to the sandy floor. The warrior queen shrieked and tried to flee. Lilin, however, would not allow her to leave the arena this day.
Lilin discarded her weapon. There was not enough left of the Archite to feed to the Beast Master’s kymeras. She walked back to Renya’s body, bloody foot prints in her wake. Kneeling down beside her fallen lover, she lifted her head which was, despite the brutal fight, still flawless and unstained. Hers however was stained red with the blood of her former love. She leaned down and gave Renya a final kiss, leaving a perfect bloody print on her pale lifeless lips.
Under her rule, Lilin Namaak as she now called herself, renamed The Liars Blade the Cult of the Bloody Kiss in memory of Renya and her own rise to power. She remains undefeated in the arena. Every foe she faces inevitably falls to her crimson whip.
Cult breakdown (based on force organization chart)
Unit Name/Syren/Ship Name
The Final Kiss/Lady Raerzana/The Queen Lilin III
The Hydra Brides/Lady Kavara/The Hydra Eye
The Beautiful Death/Lady Amakash/The Narcissistic Mirror
Wyches
Unit Name/Hekatrix/Ship Name
The Exquisite Agonies/Lady Zhela/The Vain Blade
The Alluring /Lady Hellia/The Arrogant Dagger
The Glamorous End/Lady Drexic/The Elegant Egotist
The Deadly Ballet/Lady Sharay/The Center Stage
The Dancing Daggers/Lady Kaylaa/The Dark Pegasus
The Red Blades/Lady Maral/The Bleeding Heart
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Kabal of the Gelid Blade
Name: Lady Meridiana Namaak “The Virulent Whip”
Rank/Occupation: High Archon
Gender: Female
Species: Eladrith Ynneas
Allegiance: Cult of the Bloody Kiss & Kabal of the Gelid Blade & Coven of the Pierced Eyes
The Kabal is formed from an old merchant house, the patriarch of whom saw an opportunity arise when Vect established the new Kabalite order. The merchant house had specialised in exotics of all kinds, materials, drugs, weapons etc., but especially Poison and slaves, with a particular skill at providing for gladiatorial games.
The patriarch decided to expand His sphere of influence, and set about creating a dynasty, he had twins, who were both females. One female was groomed for combat, her name was Lilin Namaak and the other as a leader of warriors her name was Meridiana Namaak. What the patriarch didn't realise however was that his offspring had taken on the treacherous teachings of Vect more completely than he could have ever imagined, and while Lilin progressed to become a syren in the wych cults, Meridiana had been plotting with her to assassinate their father and take control of the Kabal.
Their base of operations is located on the outskirts of Aelindrach and the Bone Middens, and the Daughter (Meridiana) negotiated a price with the Mandrakes that inhabit Aelindrach for the assassination of her father, becoming Archon of the Kabal. The price was for eternal protection of one of the most exposed routes into Aelindrach, and the bargain secured the ongoing support of the Mandrakes during raids by the Kabal. The Mandrakes would gain guardians for their domain, and the Kabal of the Gelid Blade as it became known would gain the assistance of the shadowy assassins.
Meanwhile, Lilin Namaak the eldest of the sisters, abandoned the wych cult she had joined, and with a handful of wyches and the help of her younger sister, established her own wych cult, naming them the Cult of the Bloody Kiss in memory of her deceased Lover. The Kabal provides the Wych cult with sport for their games, and a base of operations, whilst the Wyches brought in riches through the attendance of the Dark Eldar at their gladiatorial exhibitions.
The Kabal of the Gelid blade specialises in the provision of exotic materials and slaves, its Archon yearning for recognition and fear from the larger more established Kabals, but most of all power that comes from the crushing of its enemies via the means of deception and assassination. The Cult of the Bloody Kiss meanwhile has grown in influence due to the unusual and rare nature of the participants within its gladiatorial contests.
Due to the nature of their evolution, the Kabal and Cult are frequently seen taking to the field together, and the wealth amassed by the kabal through their trading activities sees their forces well equipped with men and materiel. The Kabal rarely conducts raids without assistance from their Mandrake allies, and to cross the young Archon often results in death, the ice rimming the corpses of her enemies providing the only evidence as to the nature of the assassin.
The Kabal, though small and relatively recently established, is seen to be in the ascendant, and many young Dark Eldar align themselves to its banner to share in the burgeoning influence of its Archon.
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Name: Traeshia Arathera “The Flawless Beauty”
Rank/Occupation: Personal Haemonculus of Her ladyship Meridiana Namaak
Gender: Female
Species: Eladrith Ynneas
Allegiance: Cult of the Bloody Kiss, Kabal of the Gellid Blade & Coven of the Hellsmask
The Noble house of the Beloved Taken was among the most powerful in Commorragh; its spires reaching far up into the stolen suns since the times of the fall. The supreme Archon Barrox Hekaht ruled over his great empire with an iron fist, sending his subjects to plunder real-space on a daily basis, and obtaining one and a thousand treasures from the lesser races, as well as from those Comorrites who dared oppose him.
As well as the suffering of others, Hekaht had developed a powerful obsession for the carnal pleasures, and kept a great harem of ultimately beautiful men and women of all races at the top of the Kabals tower - directly below his personal chambers, where all manners of depravity took place day and night.
Though all his slaves were of an infinite beauty, one in particular had been his favourite for decades; Traeshia Fleind, a Dark Eldar pure breed, daughter of the Archon of a great Kabal that had fallen to the Beloved Taken. Time and time again Traeshia formed the center of her master’s activities, but this all changed one fateful day, when Metal and fire rained over the skies of high Commorragh.
The Vulcan's Wrath battle barge had brought a fleet of thousands of guns to rescue their brothers trapped in the Forgehammer; a ship captured by Vect and the Cult of the Black Heart. Down they came from the skies above, delivering destruction like Commorragh had never seen before. At the time of the attack, Hekaht was indulged in his obsession alone with his favourite; Traeshia, ignoring any events outside of his chamber, and while he tended to his desires the House ran wild, with thousands of Kabalites rushing towards the site of the battle in search of blood, and the Cruisers and escorts docked in the tower ignored all orders of staying docked until ordered otherwise to hunt down the fools who had ventured into hell. With no-one left to defend the tower, the Drop pods of the Astartes began to plunge through the chambers and halls of the Kabal, tearing it asunder. One pod came to land straight into the chamber of the Archon, releasing a hulking Dreadnought, eager to fight. As soon as his carnival of pleasure was interrupted, Hekaht charged at the battle engine with an un-stoppable fury, caring little about his lack of equipment; for no punishment was high enough for one who dared interrupt him. Locked in an epic duel, the Archon and the Dreadnought fought with great power and skill, slowly tearing apart the body of the other while Traeshia hid to save her beauty - the one last thing she could take pride on. After many blows delivered and deflected, Hekaht punched his fist into the fuel compartment of the machine, and with a flick of his fingers, ignited the substance, destroying both himself and his adversary in a grand explosion that engulfed the room.
After several hours, Traeshia woke in a charred room, with the cold winds of Commorragh whistling through a great hole on the selling. She tried to raise her body, and she began making her way down the ruins of the now empty tower. An object on the corner of her eye caught her attention; a mirror not yet shattered. She limped towards it to try and re-invigorate her spirit by marveling at her own beauty, but no such thing was to happen. Standing in front of the mirror she was certain she was starring at some aberration of the chaos god Nurgle before she realised that she was seeing what had become of her once legendary beauty. Her legs, before a perfect structure with a skin as fair as silk to cover them, had now become twisted and broken. The curve of her hips that had once hypnotized the heart of a high lord of the dark city, was now charred and un-balanced, with no shape to be admired. The thin waist found at the center of her perfect body was now missing the organs that gave it such a lustful shape. Her bosom - a flower abloom and infinitely precious, was now broken and burnt much too hideously to describe. The slender arms that she held so dear were nothing like they once were one of them shattered and without shape, the other no more. And her face - her most lustrous face that once crowned her perfect body was now charred and twisted beyond recognition. The peak of aesthetic achievement; the one thing she had to live for had been torn from her in a most cruel fashion. It is said that the infinite anguish she wept that day could have been enough to satisfy the need of a Haemonculus; a rumor likely to be true.
The aftermath saw Commorragh more dangerous and alive than it had been since the birth of the noble houses and their hunger for absolute control. Freedom broke out once more into the dark city; from the highest spire, fleets fighting day and night, while the streets were swarmed by hellions and Kabalites in horrendous free-for-all carnage, where the only intent was to kill. Reavers and Wyches ran amok along the city, the covens of the Haemonculi released their creations onto the streets for their master's amusement. The city was alive once more. If one died it mattered not, because the infinite agony that lasted so many days saw the bodies of the fallen repaired within weeks, and so eternal carnage roamed every corner of the web-way.
Yet for all the joy shared among the Comorrites, there was one who was still shattered. Traeshia had been left with nothing. No food, no wealth, and worst of all; no beauty. Scared of the possibility that someone might recognize her and see that her figure had been torn to pieces, she ripped a banner from the tower, and tightly wrapped it around every inch of her body, hiding all her hideous details behind a silky flag. There was much torment in her mind, nothing could be done to salve her body, for the damage caused by the utter fuels within the body of the Dreadnought had caused damage that no pain could restore. There was but one option if she was to retain her past self; the skill of the flesh lords of Commorragh; the covens of the Haemonculi.
Traeshia pleaded one and a thousand times for the Haemonculi to repair her lost beauty, but the flesh lords are twisted indeed, and the more she begged, the more they teased her. She offered her soul, her life, and the galaxy itself for them to answer her plea, but after the destruction of her Kabal and the death of her master, she had been left with nothing that would satisfy the greed of the Haemonculi.
Now was her final hour. No hope of gaining her perfect body back, no possibility of getting anywhere when she was not even a slave. She was nothing, and so she decided to end the agony. But as her soul began to part from her body, something saw the trance interrupted. A strange feeling that there was still hope, like the whisper of the wind on the high seas. She knew then and there what she had to do. She would never let go before her beloved self saw her body back to perfection. If the Haemonculi would not answer to her needs, she would find another Haemonculus who would be willing to aid her. Or rather, she would become one...
In the murky depths of the dark city, rumors grew ever larger of a creature with a hide of silk that collected the bodies of the dead, taking them into the darkness for mysterious reasons. Many explored the Depths of Commorragh in search of this creature, for one who had grown to be so well known would surely be a mighty hunt. Yet for all their efforts, no-one ever saw the creature; not once was it sighted, yet the bodies kept disappearing as if the wind had taken them.
In the dungeons of the ruins of the Noble house of the Beloved Taken, Traeshia had scavenged from the destruction enough material to improvise a small laboratory. She gathered books on the subject from the shattered Noble houses, and she was ready to begin her training. Searching every week for the bodies of those fallen in the roaring battles that had engulfed the city, she began to learn the mysteries of the flesh, tearing apart the bodies of her victims, saving the pieces of their bodies, storing them for future experimentation. Eyes, tongues, legs, brains, intestines, blood, and bones began to fill up the dungeons as they grew ever closer to a true Haemonculi laboratory. The years passed, and she scavenged more and more from the ripe fruit that had become the warring city. More beds, more lights, more knifes and buckets, more and more flesh, and eventually, when she had what material she needed, she began her real studies, the studies of crafting beauty. As she kept tearing apart more and more victims, studying every inch of their beings, she began to dedicate some time to the careful selection of the most lustrous of body bits, and began assembling them to create aberrations of perfection. Set on the right path by the knowledge of the tomes she now held so dear, it took not long before she began mass manufacturing of her precious wracks, a helping hand that no doubt changed the tide of her new life. After the wracks, came the grotesques, and after the grotesques came the pain engines, and within fifty years, Traeshia had truly become the master of her own Coven, with hundreds of servants aiding her daily studies of beauty.
It was not long before the word of the new Coven began to run through the ears of low Commorragh; words speaking of a Coven that priced aesthetics above all other things. Before long, the first Wych cults began to seek the surgery offered by the master of the Coven, and fresh bodies offered themselves to be morphed into Scourges more beautiful than any before them. With this increasing demand, Traeshia had less and less time each day to focus on her studies, so she began to mutate her body into that of a true Master of Surgery. She forfeited food, her wracks now constantly feeding her synthetic stomach so that she could not ever run out of energy. She put off sleep, her brain constantly awake thanks to hyper-toxins. She began to grow multiple arms, the better and faster to finish her work. Some might have though that she did this to focus on her experiments. While this is true, another truth is that there was something about this new occupation that had intrigued Traeshia. The sniping of the muscles, the warmth of a person’s innards, the ever-red blood covering her hands, the softness of the skin, and how easily it was slit. Yes, Traeshia was finding a new pleasure in the melding of the flesh.
One thousand years later, Traeshia finished her master project, that she had herself named: The One-thousand-year study of perfection. She began by removing her brain and placing it into her greatest pain engine, and then connecting her own body into a machine to keep the basic systems functional. She then proceeded to face the nightmare she had only dared face once. She removed the silky hide that had covered her being for over a thousand years and saw one more time what had become of her. But this time, she would not simply stare in horror at this monstrosity, and she began the operation that would bring fruition to her project. After one week of relentless work, she placed her brain back into her skull, and felt once more the warmth of her own skin. She rose and walked towards the mirror she had prepared for the occasion. And there it was the same beauty that had been lost so many years ago, was now born anew and wonderful. She stared at her own masterpiece for hours, caressing every inch of her skin the better to understand her long forgotten perfection, and with the re-birth of her pride, Traeshia was finally happy once more.
The very next day, a creature of infinite beauty presented itself before the city of Commorragh, officially declaring the birth of a new Haemonculi coven, one that could achieve ultimate beauty and had it's master to show it: the Coven of the Hell Mask. Traeshia was indeed one of the most precious sights in the dark city, and without hesitation, tens of apprentices began to seek teachings from this most gorgeous Haemonculus, wishing to learn the secrets of the greatest aesthetics. The Coven soon grew big and strong, with now thousands of wracks and dozens of disciples that dug their dungeons deep into the ground; Traeshia at the head of this ever-growing titan.
Life seemed good once more; Traeshia had once more the body of her dreams, and her new life of torture and learning was better than she could have ever dreamed. But this all changed with the rise of Asdrubael Vect; he who would one day become the Supreme Overlord of the dark city.
For many years lasted the supreme chaos that reigned in Commorragh; many years of blood bathed streets, collapsing spires and raw agony, yet there was one who saw to put a halt to all this beauty; Asdrubael Vect, now the Archon of the Black Heart. His was the first and greatest of Kabals to arise from the ashes left behind by the noble houses, and with every day his grip was stronger in the dark city, bringing the city closer every day to what it once was; just another jail for those who searched for the ultimate freedom.
Traeshia knew of first hand how the city functioned under the noble houses; oppression and limitations for all those who could not summon the power, and she also knew how it was after; a paradise for all thing evil, where the essence of suffering was an ever-lasting flower blooming in every shard of the web-way. The very birth of her Coven was a testament to the beauty that the city had become, and so she refused to accept the rule of a man who would see these wonderful days come to an end.
The Coven of the Hell mask was from the very start a major opposition for the Kabal of the Black Heart; many a fight were raged across high Commorragh under the commands of their dark masters, Wracks and Kabalites slaying without mercy. Forever did the war between these two forces last, and no victory seemed to be in sight for the Black Heart, but as is well known for Comorrites, the power of this all-consuming Kabal does not lie in it's military prowess, but in the ever twisted mind of the Archon Vect, who had been long devising a plan to rub the Hell Mask from existence.
Word quickly spread through High Commorragh of Tartarus XF .121 Prime; a world were the Imperial Inquisition, heralded by the Adeptus Astartes had been waging a macabre war against the young empire of the T'au, who saw victory on their side of the conflict with the arrival of not one, nor two, but three Tau Ethereals to oversee the war theater. Yet after this morbidly cruel conflict that had lasted so many years the Tau were weak and vulnerable, and with three of the mysterious Ethereals in their ranks Tartarus Prime had become a juicy fruit ripe for taking. No time was put to waste, and many Kabals sent in their fleets to raid the planet and take their price, yet at this point were the Tau blessed with a curse as beautiful to them as it would prove fatal.
The battle had lasted three weeks straight; three weeks in which the Tau had lost all their newly gained territories to the Comorrites. The Tau forces were weary and thin from the recent conflict, and there was no hope of victory for them. Cornered in the last stronghold they held, and with no means of space-travel, the Tau were doomed to meet a fate worst than death at the hands of these merciless creatures. The raids continued, and Railguns were fired tirelessly into the Shattered skies of the world, were all manner of hovering craft attempted to surpass their defenses, while on the ground, fire warriors grew ever warier of the constant rain of splinters fired by their enemy. But it was then, that much to the surprise of the blue-skins, the Splinter-fire began to thin out. The Tau scanned the battlefield in search of the force that was causing this change, and saw an army of flesh and steel, slowly but relentlessly dealing with every ground-force that sought to destroy the stronghold. And at the head of this army was Traeshia; carelessly floating and parading her beauty before her prey. Before soon, all Comorrites dealing the destruction of the Tau's ground-forces were no more, and with nothing to worry for below the skies, all the war-machine of the fire caste was focused on their air-born targets, which were dealt with in a brink. The unexpected ally stood before the fortress, showing an un-mistakable display of trust by having no bodyguards of any sort placed beside her. The Ethereals, ever grateful for the help given, left the fortress to seek an alliance with their savior in the name of the greater good.
Bows were exchanged as the savior and the saved met in the center between the army of fire and the army of flesh. Just as traeshia had hoped, the Ethereals were truly gorgeous in nature; their faces pale and thin, their bodies stout and tall, well adorned with long robes and smooth armour, with an aura of wisdom about them; they were certainly a worthy price for the Coven of the Hell Mask. Traeshia had little trouble gaining the favor of the Ethereals; after her display of generosity, they felt obliged, if not honored to thank the angel that stood before them; her beauty clouding their implacable judgement. Traeshia and a retinue of her minions were accepted into the Fortress to attend a ceremony of gratefulness. Naive indeed are the Tau, who in their ever-hopeful search for peace find thousands of horrors seeking to destroy them, and clueless of their mistake, accepted Traeshia as a guest of honor until she wished to leave. Her plan was flowing like blood out a slit throat; after gaining the trust of the Tau she would ensnare the Ethereals into a trap that would send them straight into the bowls of her dungeons, yet as ignorant of their doom as were the Tau, more ignorant was Traeshia, who failed to see the obvious trap that had been laid before her - a trap she had willingly strolled into.
Days passed in the now peaceful surface of Tartarus, and all was ready to put the plan in action; The trap was set, the scheme was well laid, and all was now missing were the Ethereals. As Traeshia talked to convince them to follow her into the caves where the trap had been laid, an urgent message came delivered by an air caste messenger.
"They are back!"
the man Screamed frantically;
"They have come back for the planet!"
"Calm yourself child and deliver the message you have been entrusted with."
Calmly answered one of the Ethereals. After taking a deep breath the man regained his strict posture and spoke loud and clear.
"The Imperium has sent a fleet of reinforcements to re-take the planet; after the recent conflict with the dark xenos our planetary defences were down, and we were un-able to spot them before they made planet fall. We estimate a recognition force should arrive within the week, and the main force should take at least a month to arrive."
Traeshia thought nothing of this menace; she had delt with the Imperium before and knew well how to out-smart them.
"How many have been recognised?"
Asked the Ethereal.
"we have identified two regiments of Elysian drop troopers and three armored regiments of the Mordian iron guard. Other than that, we estimate at least five other infantry regiments of the Valhallan ice warriors, and two of the Catachan jungle fighters. They are supported by a dozen of squadrons of various aircraft and a Retribution class battleship from their fleet."
Both Traeshia and the Ethereals were stunned at this grim news. Twelve regiments of the Imperial Guard well supported by both air & spacecraft. After the recent fight with the Comorrites there was no power could be summoned on the surface of Tartarus that could lay any damage on such an army. Traeshia had to act fast if she was to return to Commorragh with her price, and so she urged the Ethereals to follow her into the caves before the enemy arrived. Yet when it is duty that calls, not even the infinite beauty of Traeshia proved enough to part the Ethereals from their convictions; and wasting not a second of precious time, they began to prepare for the conflict ahead. The Imperium had come back, and this time, it would not yield.
Traeshia knew the Tau were doomed to fail in their efforts; the weakened force the Tau had left was no match for the giant that besieged them, and with no spacecraft of any sort, the Tau's only option was death. Yet she was not willing to watch as her objective slipped between her fingers. Trashia sent a letter to Commorragh summoning thousands of her subjects; Wracks, Haemonculi, Pain engines and various of her close allies. The Hell Mask would wage its first large-scale war against the Imperium.
It was much more than her subjects answered the call to war. Weather to impress their peers, to gain souls and slaves, or simply to enjoy combat, several dozens of Kabals, Cults and Covens answered the Haemonculi's plea, and tens of thousands of Comorrites descended upon the surface of Tartarus to fight the Imperium of man. For over 4 months the plains of Tartarus ran red with the blood spilled by Eldar, Tau and Human alike as the Battle for the planet grew ever the more gruesome. The Comorrites came on their thousands each week to take part in the conflict, the Tau struggled to pull a successful defense with their scarce forces, and the Imperium of man showed no mercy as new, fresh Regiments arrived onto the surface of the planet every month. Traeshia was most pleased with the flow of the conflict. The Ethereals were still safe and sound, and the Imperium seemed to be losing ground to the dark raiders. All was going well; as soon as the Tau reinforcement arrived, she would help them be-rid of the other forces fighting in the planet, and once the battle was over, she'd activate the trap to take the Ethereals into Commorragh - this war was a minor delay to her plans.
Yet for the months that the Eldar fought so vigorously, the hammer of the emperor did proud its name. A relentless army, the Imperial Guard kept plunging to the planets surface day after day with millions of men, tanks, and artillery shells. Every day was a defeat for the Imperium’s army, yet the saturated war-machine of the Imperial guard would and could not yield the planet. Before soon, the Comorrites began to wear out from the raging conflict. They were not prepared to suffer such insane conflict, and many Kabals Cults and Covens saw their numbers reduced beyond what they could have imagined. One after the other, the Comorrites began to retreat from the planet, and at this point the Imperial guard launched its retaliation. Within the month, the entire planet had been rid of Comorrites and Tau safe for the one fortress were the Ethereals and Traeshia were still hopelessly commanding their forces. No tactic that the Tau could employ would be enough to bring down such a foe, and no scheme Traeshia could devise would be enough to harm its target. The siege of the fortress did not last a day before the Tau were pushed to mount their lasts stand in the caves deep below the fortress. This was Traeshia last chance to retrieve the Ethereals. She urged them to stand in the circle as the Catachans grew ever closer to the heart of the caves, assuring the Ethereals that the portal would take them somewhere safe. Without a moments hesitation the Tau leaders answered:
"We will not leave our sons to perish without us."
"If it takes our lives, we will defend this planet for the greater good."
"You go, Traeshia."
"Yes, you saved our lives once, it is now the turn to return the favor."
"It was an honor to meet you Traeshia."
"Goodbye."
And with these words the Ethereals pushed Traeshia into the portal, assured that they were saving the life of a friend. They turned back to their children, frightened to die and weary of the conflict, and prepared to sell their lives dearly.
"pleased are you?"
Asked the Officer of the fleet as he watched over the burning planet beside a woman of dark attire.
"Most pleased admiral, my master will certainly cherish the news of the downfall of his adversary."
"What should we do with the Tau?"
"Kill them, they never formed part of our objectives."
"I hope we can strike more deals with your master in the future. I don't think we could have taken the planet so easily if it were not for the raids that weakened the Tau."
"Fear not admiral, I'm sure we will benefit from each other in the future."
"Send my regards to your master..."
"Vect, admiral. Asdrubael Vect."
"Vect then."
After the Fall of the Tau fortress, the Imperium set up a strong defense mechanism before the late arrival of the Tau reinforcements, and the war lasted for another hundred years before the planet was consumed by the powers of chaos, born of the hatred that had been spilled for so long. The Battle of Tartarus is one well-known across the empires of Tau and Man alike, as it saw the passing of so many heroes and the full scale of each others war-machine.
Upon her return to Commorragh, Traeshia Urged her minions to try and re-open the portal, yet the artifact was of singular use, any attempts to re-establish the connection to save the Ethereals was futile. Traeshia had lost her one opportunity to get her hands on a Tau Ethereal, and another would certainly not come any time soon. Yet as despairing as this was, Traeshia soon learned that there were greater concerns now, as the Kabal of the Black Heart launched a full-scale raid of her Coven. Having left hundreds of her subjects to die in Tartarus, the Coven of the Hell Mask was now no match for the Kabal of the Black Heart and its grim allies. The Haemonculi held the dungeons for as long as they could, but their home was the perfect killing ground wyches and mandrakes, and the Wracks soon began to run out.
There was little she could do at this point, her coven was being overrun and her resources were scarce. And so, she decided to save herself at the sacrifice of her Coven. She entrusted one of her students with the artifact known as the Ever Chamber, which conceals the minds, bodies, and souls of those who activate it in a parallel dimension were time stands still. And with this last gift, Traeshia left Commorragh, never to return.
After her parting, the Kabal of the Black heart emptied the dungeons of wracks, grotesques, and all other creations of the Coven, but never did they find any of the Haemonculi or their master Traeshia. Yet it mattered not, since with one of his main opponents defeated, Asdrubael Vect was one step closer to the control of Commorragh.
Near a hundred years passed after the fall of the Hell Mask, and the name of this coven fell out of all tongues in the dark city, yet by no means was it forgotten. Outside the range of the eyes of the Black Heart were forged in secrecy several portals that led directly into an organisation that had passed out of existence near a hundred years ago: The Coven of the Hell-Mask, re-forged and strong once more.
In the first years after her exile of Commorragh, Traeshia had created one wrack; a single and powerful wrack created for a single purpose. This wrack was sent into Commorragh to recover the ever-chamber from the old dungeons of the shattered coven, and when the ones sealed in the chamber were brought back to life, they found themselves in a dark and grim corner of real-space, where subjects could be found in their thousands, and where no eyes of order could ever hope to see. Indeed, this place was much like home; as it were, the dark city of Commorragh had a curious resemblance to the bowels of Imperial hive cities; where the lower levels are filled with gang-fights and disease, and the sudden disappearance of a few hundred people would not even prod the attention of any undesired observers. This dark hole was to become their new home, and within five years, these few Haemonculi had turned the dark sewers of the planet into a grand dungeon were all sorts of horrors were to take place; the Hell mask was borne once more.
Living in such a perfect environment, and with no competition to be spoken of, the coven soon grew and readied to re-establish it's business with the wych-cults and the scourges. They began to open portals into Commorragh; hidden portals that only the great masters of certain cults and Kabals knew were they could be found, and out of the knowledge of it's greater enemies, the Hell Mask began to trade it's depraved skills into the Dark-city, growing ever-stronger in the entrails of it's new home.
Over a thousand years have passed since, and many imperial hive-worlds are now hosts to the many dungeons of the Hell Mask, who eat away the population with a steady hand so as to not awake suspicions, and many cults and Kabals still keep the methods to contact this dark brotherhood. The coven of the Hell Mask is all but extinct.
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Working on names for the kabal and Covens ships and units but other than those do you guys have any thoughts or suggestions?
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