Urien Rakarth - Carnivals of Pain: When a horde of Rakarth's creations descends upon their chosen target, the main attractions travel in specially modified Raiders, chained down with heavy manacles or trapped inside barbed cages. They will attack in the dead of night, or from the midst of some spectacular natural phenomenon -- whatever Urien judges will lend his show the most gravitas and display his exhibits in their best light.His audience skim low amid the slaughter, watching with ghoulish avidity from the decks of sleek pleasure-skiffs as truly appalling torments are inflicted on the chosen prey.To view such high art is a rare privilege for any Commorrite, and even those Archons who have gone beyond the hope of rejuvenation will leave the carnival of pain with the healthy sheen of one centuries younger. Indeed, among those who consider Rakarth to be a deity-in-waiting -- perhaps even one of the Dark Muses reborn -- the apparently miraculous properties of his displays only serve to provide more proof.Yet in the Dark City, nothing comes for free. Though the Master Haemonculus has no interest in such tawdry concepts as fiscal remuneration, the Drukhari who attend his displays must pay a price nonetheless.From some, Rakarth will ask a simple favour, a marker to be called in at some point in the future when it suits him best. These individuals are held to their bargain by the secret implantation of parasitic slit-worms. These vile little horrors lay dormant in the host until such time as the Master Haemonculus comes to collect.Should the indebted attempt to wriggle out of their deal, the last thing they will ever feel is a sudden, peristaltic surge of motion throughout their body. Seconds later, the slit worms burst from every pore, exsanguinating their victim before expiring themselves amid a cacophony of horrific squeals.From others, the price for attending the carnival of pain is more straightforward, if no less unpleasant. Perhaps they will be asked to donate a patch of their own skin, or a portion of their memories.Perhaps more will be required, an eye, perhaps a limb, even a name. The least fortunate may be taken altogether, their destiny to be transformed into the next exhibit that Rakarth wishes to display.Yet even the threat of so terrible a fate does nothing to dissuade Rakarth's audiences, for this thrill of personal danger does more to entice than it does to dissuade.Whatever the eventual fate of those who attend a carnival of pain, the spectacle they will first enjoy justifies almost any price. As Rakarth's horrors burst from their restraints, a waking nightmare descends upon the foe. Local defenders and panicked citizens are torn limb from limb, messily devoured, or dragged from their hiding places to take unwilling roles in the madman's pageant that has engulfed their homes.As the pace of the carnage increases, rolling tidal waves of terror and agony engulf coven forces and onlookers alike, sending the Drukhari into ecstasies so potent that their effect surpasses even the gladiatorial displays of the Wych Cults.While these horrifying spectacles are undeniably impressive, there are those who theorise that Rakarth's blood-soaked exhibitions are but a means to an end. Rumours in the Dark City persist of his vast riches being put to strange, clandestine uses, and of shield-shrouded Venoms despatched on secret missions while his audience's eyes are fixed elsewhere.Indeed, if the Master Haemonculus is in fact working toward some greater end than art for its own sake, he has so far kept the secret well.