Eplasseal stepped with lithe strides—with silent tact—moving to the accordance of a hunting predator. He was within a spined suit of white power armour. A crimson tunic hung from the front of his belt, while a draping cloth hung from the back. Yet he moved slightly, bent forward, his tall, corded form, making ease across the coral-strewn incline that he climbed – the planet once belonging to shallow seas, mostly drained, made for a unique hunting ground for the true-blooded kabalite warrior like himself.

His prey is a predator of a woman, a true warrior in her own right, a Ynnari howling banshee on the trail of the hunt as well. Revenge was a very real inclination to a Drukhari on a daily basis. Thus, Eplasseal wished not for revenge this day but for something else entirely. Yet, as he climbed, he imagined every sadistic way he would maim and mutilate the Ynnari warrioress. He was a Drukhari, after all.

Before he crested the hill, he heard the unmistakable sound of a power sword biting into flesh–once, twice, thrice! Hearing the synergy and power behind it.

He sped up his course to the pinnacle of the crimson coral before the scene, forty meters below, unfolded before him. Three slaaneshi daemonettes fell to the ground in several degrees of death. Seeing this carnage, Eplasseal’s interest was peaked as he forgot about the death of his warriors, and as he did, half a dozen daemonettes moved in for the kill–and with a raised brow, he meant to watch the Ynnari’s gruesome death to fulfil the sadist within him, but something compelled him forward towards the howling banshee decked in crimson wraith plating.

Was it simply bloodlust, the thrill of the fight, or was it something more? He was uncertain as he began to slide down the sandy incline, and as the half-naked daemonettes of excess began to turn towards the commotion upon the incline, Eplasseal closed the ground and leapt for the closest slaaneshi daemonette. While in midair, he drew his bone-like husk blade and drove it through the face of the daemonette, killing her instantly. As her body crashed to her knees, he brandished his blade from the neverborn’s skull and readied himself for two more approaching daemonettes.

By the time Eplasseal entered combat, the banshee whirled and twisted into a tense bout of combat–two curved blades in hand, white blurs, sliced, diced, and parried back and forth. Large claws missing her by the minimalist of breadth. 

The Drukhari charged the first daemonette, leaning to the side to avoid a big, meaty claw as he continued forward towards the second neverborn. Eplasseal sliced downward with his husk blade, only for it to be knocked to the side. By this time, the daemonette he bypassed was upon him once again as the heavy pincher swooped for his head, in which he ducked and, with a quick double slice of his blade, spilt the entrails of the woman-thing, where she fell to her knees all while in an attempt to keep her intestines within.

That was when the second slaaneshi daemonette charged him from behind. In a quick turn-step, Eplasseal was leaning beneath the claw before trading back and forth for several moments with the neverborn. That was until his superior speed and litheness took the advantage. Bypassing the claw in a snap of a vertical hack, the Drukhari planted his husk blade into the daemonette’s skull–killing her instantly. In grace, Eplasseal pulled his sword free; pure black smoke pulled at the soulless form as she hit the ground, having no reward for its master’s kill. No soul for supper.

At the same time as he turned to check on the howling banshee to ensure she did not perish in her own fight, the Drukhari found two bloodied blades against his throat and a screaming helmet staring at him in eerie silence. Though in the back of his mind, he knew he was one warcry away from a gruesome death.

‘Is this the thanks I get for aiding a dear cousin?’ Eplasseal said with a smug grin, sadism bleeding through his voice.

The Ynnari only pressed her gore-coated blades to his throat harder, saying nothing.

‘That is no way to treat a guest, now is it?’ he emulated in the same tone as before.

Finally, the silent woman backed away, swooping her blades into their sheathes at her hips, before glancing back to the half a dozen dead daemonettes littering the sand in several degrees of mutilation, then spoke, ‘Perhaps not, but one can never be so sure of your kind.’

Eplasseal’s grin only grew tenfold as he sank his husk blade above the left breast of the daemonette, piercing the heart, but once again, his blade went hungry. He finally sheathed his blade at his hip before glancing towards the mysterious woman, saying, ‘Whatever do you mean, my dear?’ he mocked.

The mysterious woman advanced on him and spat her words, ‘Grotesque sadist from the prison city! I fight to sweep your kin clean from the Galaxy. You’re a stain that spreads and seeps like an inky abyss.’

Eplasseal feigned pain before taking a cautious step back from the other warrior, ‘Then, it is true, you know my hunt was for you–’

In an instant her twin blades were drawn, pressed to his neck, yet he showed no fear and even nudged one blade aside as he spoke again, ‘-but not for the reason you may think.’ his grin returned as the wires connected in her head.

‘You wish to join the Ynnari?’ she whirled her blades away once more, ‘but how do I know this is not simple trickery?’

Eplasseal removed his right gauntlet and upon the pale skin was the symbol of the Ynnari, or the rune of the ‘Reborn’, in the wake of summoning Ynnead to bring about salvation for all Aeldari kind.