Haemonculi - Theatre of Horrors: Though they forsook realspace many millennia ago, all Haemonculi see the material dimension as theirs to do with as they wish. The realms of Man, Ork, T'au and Necron are treated as little more than a combination of playground, banqueting hall and exhibition space. No Covenite truly believes the empires of the lesser realms to be a threat. Even on those occasions when brutish Orks or foul-smelling Space Marines have crashed through the dimensional veil to invade the Dark City, the Haemonculi have watched with little more than detached interest, idly chatting amongst themselves about the finer points of their uninvited guests' anatomies. In truth, the Haemonculi and their minions are slain by the heroes, monsters and even common soldiers more often than they would like to admit. The sheer variety of deaths the species of the galaxy are able to visit upon their foes is part of their appeal to the Drukhari, for though Commorragh has mastered a million types of murder, it always hungers for more. For a lowly Kabalite Warrior, to be killed in realspace is a calamity. For the elder Covenites of that realm, however, it is a diverting pastime. Unless that Haemonculus' enemies directly conspire to prevent his resurrection, he will be back soon enough to wreak an inventive revenge. In the late 41st Millennium, the Haemonculi are raiding realspace with increasing frequency. They not only seek to line their nests with as many victims as they can catch, but also to paint their own bloody designs across the canvas of the stars.When a Haemonculus coven gathers its might and descends upon the worlds of realspace, it brings with it all the horrors of the dark realms beneath Commorragh. Terrible creations burst out from shimmering Webway portals to slaughter and pillage, claiming their screaming bounty before disappearing as suddenly as they came. Drukhari society is built upon the suffering of others. The survival of this ancient and murderous species requires a regular influx of luckless, screaming captives. Thankfully for the Commorrites, the galaxy has such unwilling prisoners in plentiful supply. It is for this reason that the Drukhari make regular ventures into realspace. Yet it is rare for each Commorrite faction to have the same agenda. The Archons of the Kabals make bold, swift strikes in order to capture vast hosts of slaves and further their power base within Commorragh. The Wych Cults of the arenas launch raids to bring back the elite warriors of the lesser races -- worthy playthings for their nightly bloodsports. But when the covens of the Haemonculi burst out of the Webway, they do so with more monstrous and esoteric goals.The most common objective of the coven raids is to obtain specimens for the purposes of experimentation and nourishment within the Haemonculi's dungeon-lairs. By ensuring that their slabs are never empty, the coven lords not only fulfil their own strange needs, but also supply pain enough to restore their clients in their sarcophagi. Some Haemonculi will be incredibly discerning about what specimens they bring back, selecting their victims based on bizarre criteria such as age, eye colour, pitch of voice, cruelty of spirit, or a myriad other incomprehensible peccadilloes. Others will simply depopulate entire settlements, or even continents, harvesting raw materials to be sorted and categorised properly upon return to their lairs. Perhaps the infected lungs of a Forge World's defenders are a pleasing colour when rendered down, or the gizzards of Greenskins from an ice planet are of the perfect tensile strength for tendon-webbing. The Haemonculus Croniarch Sekh is much envied by his rivals for his artisanal workbenches, which are crafted from the colossal oesophagi of the now-extinct Vengoliath race. Indeed, none can fathom the twisted motives of these ancient deviants, for their whims are beyond the grasp of sane minds.Raids are not always focussed on acts of theft or abduction. Certain Haemonculi, such as the Prophets of Flesh, revel in the creation of meaningful and intricate patterns of corpses to be admired from the depths of space. Excursions from Commorragh may also allow the opportunity for a long-standing grudge to be transformed into a poetic punishment. When Archon Vanxil once made a disparaging comment about the quality of the poisons purchased from Kariok of the Everspiral Coven, the Haemonculus offered to enhance the potency of Vanxil's Splinter Weaponry seven times over by way of recompense. He lived up to his promise. When Vanxil's Kabalites raided the Imperial planet of Fool's Hope, their Splinter Weapons fired toxins so potent they became airborne and turned not only the Imperial defenders to primordial sludge, but Vanxil and his Kabalite raiders too. In comparison to other Drukhari, the Haemonculi take an almost languid approach to waging their campaigns of terror. These dark fiends are unearthly creatures, some a dozen millennia old, and time is of little relevance to them. Masters of aeon-spanning ambition, the Haemonculi plan their realspace raids with the precision of a master surgeon. Specifically equipped Engines of Pain may need to be created for the final denouement, or certain allegiances formed with other factions of the Dark City in order to overcome a planet's specific defences. As the time draws near to step onto the stage of war, there is an air of excited competition within the coven, each of its perverse lords making ready to bring his own dark performance to life.Through hidden Webway portals these ancient beings and their sinewy horrors make their entrance. A planet's boneyards, eerie forests or long-abandoned manufactoria are favoured locales from which to begin their operations. As patient as spiders, the Haemonculi may bid their abominations whittle away at a planet’s defenders little by little, spending solar days or weeks spreading terror and confusion before the main assault. Alternatively, they may make an outrageous spectacle of their arrival, glorying in the bizarre and hideous sight they present to their victims. It is the Wracks and Grotesques that bring the full force of their master’s flair for bloodshed to the front lines. With monstrous surgical implements, these masked horrors rip open torsos and tear through bone or armour, their Liquifier Guns burning through enemy squads with gouts of hyper-distilled vitriol. Engines of Pain hover across the battlefield, sent into the ranks of the foe by the dismissive gestures of their creators. The weapons of these constructs are myriad, from lances of searing energy and webs of barbed chains to boiling ichor, flickering needles and monstrous siphons that drain the life-force from their victims. The spoils of agony they reap are then shared with their depraved creators, who steal the lives of their foes with a gourmet delicacy that is unsettling in itself.Most Haemonculi take great pride in their discernment when it comes to their selection of victims. When they are not gifting an excruciating demise to those who stray into their path, these diabolical figures can be seen prodding the skin of captives or probing the stress points of skulls. Some will taste a dribble of a victim's blood upon the tips of their fingers, working it upon their tongues like true connoisseurs. Others view such direct interaction as sullying themselves, and have their monstrous bodyguards open up innards for scrutiny according to their every whim. Once the battlefield bacchanal has reached its end, the Haemonculi will return to Commorragh with a fresh collection of captives. Even the most nonchalant Haemonculus will be privately exhilarated by the potential of his haul. There is no guessing what the grim gourmands will actually do to their unfortunate trophies. Living victims are forced into the dungeon-lairs, where a new life of anguish will begin. Lesser specimens may be disassembled and, perhaps whilst still breathing, melded as decoration into the walls of a coven's stronghold. Captives may be released through labyrinths so that their hope of freedom spawns more appetizing endorphins, only to be hunted down once more by sinister horror-engines. All captives are seen as mere fodder, be they the mightiest Space Marine or the lowliest Gretchin. After all, there are always more victims to be taken from realspace, more specimens to be examined upon the slab. As long as life abounds in realspace, these dark displays will never cease.