Haemonculi - Role: How the Haemonculi came into existence is uncertain. They are all of incredibly advanced age, and their withered and nightmarish appearance speaks of those Drukhari who have passed well beyond the ability to recapture a youthful physique. It is possible that amongst the elder Haemonculi's number are those who initiated the very first Aeldari cults of pleasure and pain. Yet each Haemonculus has altered himself so drastically that he no longer resembles those he mockingly calls his people, and his secrets are his own to keep.Haemonculi are physically twisted and repulsive. Their sparse alabaster frames have not an ounce of fat upon them, quite unlike those of their wilder creations, and their waspish waists are devoid of internal organs, the better to present a fashionably disturbing appearance. Some Haemonculi harbour their viscera, lungs and heart in a muscled hunk of meat that sprouts from their shoulders -- a rich repository for stimulants and elixirs that often boasts secondary limbs of its own. Others replace their blood so that searing ichor or even acid flows through their modified veins. Their backs sprout antler-like protrusions of bony matter that are often hung with syringes and drug dispensers that channel directly into their spinal sumps. All of this monstrous self-mutilation leaves many Haemonculi unable or unwilling to engage in physically demanding tasks. Indeed, most Haemonculi consider themselves somehow polluted if they are ever forced into a state of exertion. Instead, these megalomaniacal coven-lords surround themselves with supplicants and minions, the greatest of which are the Engines of Pain. The Engines of Pain are amongst the most terrifying creations of the Haemonculi. Drifting into battle on thrumming gravitic emitters, these malevolent machines are flesh fused with metal through dark alchemy to create something monstrous indeed. Superlative terror weapons, the spectacle of an Engine of Pain at its bloody work is often so shocking that foes turn tail and flee rather than face a visceral unmaking at the construct's bladed hands.The Haemonculi are masters of torture, flesh distortion and poisonous malice. They are true connoisseurs of pain, utterly dedicated to their craft. As masters of regenerative techniques, they hold the power of life and death over their Commorrite kin, handing out a sham immortality to those who court their favour. The strange science of the Haemonculi allows them to regenerate a fallen "client" from even the most ruined remains, essentially bringing him back to life in exchange for a portion of his soul. The coven lords are just as happy to dabble in the cosmetic as well as the metaphysical. A Drukhari who seeks their expertise will be slowly and agonisingly reshaped with new appendages or sinister bodily enhancements. Many Haemonculi also brew deadly philtres and poisons for their Commorrite brethren, usually distilled to a truly extreme concentration. The specific request is not always adhered to, for the Lords of Pain believe they always know best, whether within the Dark City or without.The majority of Haemonculi do not exist in isolation, but instead form into like-minded bands known as "covens." Each horror-aesthete revels in expanding his coven's knowledge of pain by perfecting nefarious sciences and mastering the visceral arts. Covens can vary in size, from small, elitist coteries of Haemonculi to huge torture-conclaves that boast several thousand minions at the least. Every Haemonculus considers himself akin to a god, and hence surrounds himself with a retinue of freakish acolytes that obey his every whim without hesitation. Many do not care to debase themselves by touching the ground, let alone sully themselves with physical labour. To this end, they are assisted at all times by esoteric technologies and an entourage of abominations. Megalomaniacs all, their egos require the constant obeisance of subservient beings, most of whom they have fashioned themselves. These servants ensure the coven's captives are hauled about, flayed or dissected according to their master's will.It is amid the stalactite-like citadels deep under Commorragh that the Haemonculi make their lairs. The covens themselves are nigh impossible for the unwelcome to locate, and each is laced from end to end with deadly traps and sanity-blasting sights. In the heart of each coven's underspire, pitch-black oubliettes and vaulted flesh laboratories jostle together in great number. Racks of alchemical vials are held up by webworks of sinew, the vessels upon them shimmering translucent in the gloom or wobbling as their contents shift within. Sinister apparatus loops down upon barbed chains, waiting to activate at its creator's command. At the fringes of these Covenite underspires are the glistening breeding walls where, inside row upon row of amniotic tubes, new Drukhari are incubated and messily birthed. The Aeldari gestation cycle is much longer than that of many of the "lesser races" of the galaxy, and conventionally-born children are rare symbols of status. Artificially grown Drukhari are far more commonplace. Once fertilised, an egg can be implanted into one of the amniotic tubes that honeycomb the breeding-walls of the Haemonculi. Using a repulsive, insectile science developed many millennia ago, an embryo's growth can be hyperaccelerated within these tubes, each newgrown specimen wriggling from its chrysalis-sac in a drizzle of unclean fluids before being taken away by Wrack attendants. These "half-born" are viewed with contempt by Trueborn Drukhari, who believe them inherently inferior. Yet the real triumph of the Haemonculi's science is not the ability to create new life but to deny death. It is this that affords them such power within Commorrite society.Just as the Haemonculi oversee the birth of most Drukhari, they also cater for them after death. The key to this terrible process is, of course, pain. The Drukhari are rejuvenated by witnessing agony, and if saturated with enough of it, they can heal from almost any wound. As such the mortal remains of those delivered to the dubious care of the Haemonculi are installed into crystal-fronted pods arrayed above the pain racks and torture tables. These sarcophagi are arrayed in concentric circles that rise up into the darkness, each holding a semi-cocooned Drukhari warrior in a regenerative state. The patients literally drink in the dark energy of the torturer’s craft as the Haemonculus works upon his victim below, ably assisted by his Wrack servants and the semi-sentient Engines of Pain. As a cacophony of shrieks rises around the chamber, those installed in the cocoons slowly feast upon the negative psychic energies, ever so gradually growing back their bodies -- skeleton first, then muscle and sinew, then alabaster skin until they are whole once more. During times of war, it is common for every one of an oubliette's regeneration pods to be filled with leering, red-raw fiends that shiver and rattle with every fresh scream.Over the millennia, the most ancient Haemonculi have become exceptionally obscure in their perversions. They seek ever more bizarre and exotic ways to draw out the agonies of their victims, for as the aeons slide by, their hunger for anguish becomes increasingly difficult to quench. Some of the most diabolical factions, such as the Altered, may depopulate entire Human colonies in order to produce a toxin of the right consistency. Others, like the Hex, treat their realspace raids as monstrous art exhibitions, thriving on flamboyant displays of carnage. The Haemonculi are always seeking new ways to inflict horror upon the denizens of realspace. Certain covens, such as the Children of Bone, specialise in developing skeletally thin Grotesques to aid them upon the battlefield, while the Coven of the Ebon Sting are famed for their especially venomous Engines of Pain. It is these hideous horrors and monstrous constructs that do the majority of the killing when the coven mounts a raid. Having lived for thousands of Terran years, the Lords of Pain look upon the quotidian, planet-wrecking wars of the "lesser races" with a snickering amusement. Yet as Humanity's 41st Millennium draws to a tumultuous close, the covens of the Haemonculi launch larger raiding parties than ever, revelling in -- and gleefully adding to -- the confusion and carnage of this dark age.