Not entirely sure how I feel about this scene, I may come back to it and redo it.
NOTE: Made some edits.
In the depths of the Raven’s Talon
The inner corridors of the Raven’s Talon were a labyrinth of barely lit obsidian stone and strange, grated walls that reminded Xehia of the Ghost Crypts. Archon Nihlus had built but a fraction of those ruins in the image of his ancient fortress. Lifelike monuments loomed in the hidden crevices of the fortress, Archons and Dracons with their knees bent in silent devotion, their fingers wrapped around the hilt of their blades. Their stoic gazes appeared to pulse with a sickly green light. Xehia swore to herself that she could even hear the statues whisper through the ether.
Sentries marched through the hallowed halls of death with an arrogance that even stoked Xehia’s ire. Kabalite Warriors clasped in the snowy white and vermillion patterned armor held splinter rifles across their chest as they scanned every inch of their patrol routes for danger. They were used to the frantic pitch of their wounded’s screams, entrapped in their regenerative pods. The pods were hung all along the walls, filled with writhing, skinless bodies and of those who had suffered less grievous wounds.
Xehia clucked her tongue sympathetically. There would be no torture or exquisite carnivals of agony that would help these louts along. Their recovery would be arduous and unhurried.
The Dracon of the Blinded Blades glided through the haunted corridors in a multi—layered oceanic dress with an elegant golden jacket. Instead of her usual shock of raven and silver hair, she pinned it into a tall ponytail and long bangs. She could not remember the last time she had ever strode through a palace, let alone taken off her armor. Why not savor the moment? After all, she may be dead tomorrow.
Soft sighs and moans greeted Xehia as she neared the entrance of Imerlith’s throne room. Beneath the small archway that led inside stood two Incubi clasped in armor the color of Raven’s feathers, their lenses pulsing with a violet light. Imerlith must have warned them that she was due to arrive, since they unlocked their klaives that barred entry and stepped aside. Xehia raised her head proudly as she strode into the throne room.
Lining the path to Imerlith’s throne were slaves, Xehia immediately felt their psychic presence and recoiled. Each of them were on their knees, Craftworlders with their eyes and tongues removed, their sockets and lips tightly sown into a mass of wire. Flanking them were two raised pulpits where Imerlith’s courtiers and courtesans would seat themselves. The actual throne that the Archon of the Siren Ghost was perched upon was a thing created from milky white wraithbone, a rare material in the dark city, and cloaked in a banner bearing the Siren Ghost sigil. Based around his throne were chained courtesans, naked and in ecstasy from chemical drugs.
“Xehia!” The courtesans craned their heads in her direction at Imerlith’s boisterous call. “At last the traitresse arrives. Do not mind the slaves, they are about as mindless as you see them now.”
“Dread Archon.” Xehia announced as she approached the throne. To the courtesans’ displeasure, she remained a respectful distance from them, a sneer on her lips. She fell onto one knee. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Imerlith clapped his hands and suddenly the chains holding the courtesans snapped. They quickly left the room alongside the slaves, as did the Archon’s Incubi bodyguard. He waited until there was no one within earshot. “Tell me, do you believe in prophecy, Xehia?”
The Dracon snorted a derisive laugh. “Of course not, my archon. Only our desperate cousins would bother with such foolishness.”
Imerlith sneered deeply. “Reading the skein is no game for fools. After all, it was prophecy that told me of your Kabal’s arrival.”
Xehia cocked a brow. “My Archon, I do not understand. Pyskers are outlawed in the Dark City. To keep one…” She gestured to the eldar slaves. “It is only a matter of time…”
“Calm your nerves, Xehia.” Imerlith smirked wickedly. “You see, I have another guest that I have been entertaining for some time now. In fact, she has been asking for you personally. Far before your pathetic raid on my fortress had even begun. She claims that you two are acquaintances?” The Archon stared pointedly into a corner painted in shadow. “Come out and introduce yourself.”
A slender female figure emerged from the darkness, dressed in wine red robes inscribed with infernal markings along the hem of her garments, edges of her wrists, and flattened portions of her clothing. As the figure revealed that it was a long raven—haired eldar female, Xehia also saw the same markings carved around her face and small, jade colored eyes. Her ears were pointed like sharp knives, extended to nearly twice the length of the average eldar.
Mirathir smirked. “Greetings, Xehia. Fate has crossed our paths once again.”
Xehia took several steps back, her hands flew toward a blade that was not there. “Mirathir!? What is the meaning of this?”
Imerlith edged his voice with steel. “Stay your hand, Dracon. Hear the witch out, at least. I command it.”
Xehia appeared horrified by the revelation. “So you decided to take this witch under your protection? How long before the Black Heart Kabal storm Raven’s Talon? One or two weeks, perhaps?”
“Relax.” Mirathir sighed. “I am being hunted, so I must make our meeting brief. They shall never find any trace of me within these walls.” She paused to take a quick breath. “I arrived in the Dark City to warn our Archon here of the danger posed by the Blinded Blades. I nearly suffered a slave’s fate. Yet I was able to prove my prophecy by showing him a vision of his own destruction. Having rescued Imerlith, I am allowed to garner a favor with him. Now that you have arrived, Xehia, I can request that favor.”
Imerlith nodded imperceptibly . “As long as it is within reason.”
The Raven Prophet folded her arms under her chest and looked pointedly in Xehia’s direction. “I desire to hire a real space raid against the Hellas Sector, one with Xehia as a prominent commander.”
Xehia’s lips curled into a vicious smile. “You are already groveling for aid? I suppose your invasion of Tyrannus has left much to be desired?”
Mirathir scoffed. “Tyrannus is of no concern of mine for the moment. I have a handful of planets under my command that you could find useful. Their populations lie in the millions. Take whatever slaves you wish, their souls are yours. Pillage and destroy if that is your whim, I can always rebuild.”
“Tempting,” Xehia hissed, skeptical. “Who would you desire we fight in your stead?”
Mirathir calmly approached Xehia until they were face to face. “Who ever said you would fight in our stead? The mon—keigh and your craftworld cousins are now at each other’s throats. Now is the perfect time to strike and claim a large foothold for our empire. I would see the Imperium of mankind in the Hellas Sector devastated. And the Eldar, I will have to wait and observe their strategy.”
Xehia shook her head grimly. “Has my Archon made his decision?”
Imerlith grinned sharply. “Indeed I have. Xehia, I gift you with the Kabal of the Silent Veil. Make preparations for departure to the Hellas Sector and come back with bountiful spoils. I shall send you a list of enlisted allies soon. Dismissed.”