Drukhari - Drukhari Culture: Fiercely intelligent and devious to a fault, Drukhari revel in pain, feeding upon the suffering and anguish of others. In them, the boundless and brilliant potential of their kind is given terrible purpose, and because their lives span Terran millennia, the Drukhari have all the time they need to perfect their stygian arts.These blackhearted pirates are the dark mirror of their craftworld kin, for whom they know nothing but contempt. Indeed, the Drukhari see themselves as the true inheritors of the ancient Aeldari Empire, and look down upon everyone else as cowards or dim-witted prey.Meanwhile, to the Asuryani Aeldari of the craftworlds the Commorrites are a reviled reminder of a shameful past they would rather escape, the walkers of what they known as the "Path of Damnation." This state of mutual antipathy is near-constant, set aside only occasionally in the face of a sufficiently deadly mutual foe.The warriors of the Drukhari are tall and lithe without exception. Their alabaster skin is corpse-like in its pallor, for there is no true sunlight within their shadowy realm. The Drukhari prize martial prowess above all other fields of achievement, excepting perhaps duplicity.Their athletic physiques are lined with whipcord muscle, honed and enhanced until they are superior even to those of their craftworld cousins. They stride through the fires of battle with the surety and poise of demigods, but their magnificence is only skin deep.Viewed with the witch-sight of a psyker, Drukhari are repugnant monsters. The flesh of their soul-selves is gnarled and cadaverous, while their eyes glow with an icy and maleficent hatred for all living things.The Drukhari quickly learn to fight with every weapon at their disposal, and to kill without mercy or hesitation. To do any less would lead them to a swift death, for amongst the entire Drukhari people there is not a single shred of compassion or mercy. Such traits are worthless upon the night-black streets of Commorragh, and are best discarded in favour of a surfeit of cruelty, arrogance, and merciless ambition.Little distinction is drawn between the sexes, for an individual's skill and intellect are far more important than traits such as raw strength or gender. Drukhari senses are keen to the point of paranoia, their shadowed eyes and tapered ears alert to the slightest disturbance. It is said they can see in complete darkness, that they can taste fear upon the air, and that they can hear the beat of a terrified heart through a solid bulkhead door.All Drukhari exhibit a predatory instinct that is otherworldly in its intensity, and utterly necessary to their continued survival. In the Dark City, the incautious soon fall prey to their lethal peers.Countless generations of physical conflict have ensured that the Drukhari are natural -- even instinctive -- warriors, this natural talent magnified by their cruelty. However, the innate psychic abilities of their forebears have atrophied.To channel the energies of Chaos within Commorragh would be to invite disaster, for such psychic pyrotechnics could draw the gaze of She Who Thirsts, the nemesis of the entire Aeldari race. As such, the use of psychic powers is one of the few things forbidden within the Dark City.This is not to say, of course, that it has never been attempted. Rather, the punishments for those caught dabbling with the powers of the Warp are so incredibly gruesome and drawn out that few indeed dare take the risk. Fewer still survive to make a second attempt.In matters of war the Drukhari are artisans supreme, their technology refined to such a point that it may as well be magical. Their endless imagination and skill has led them down a sinister path; their favourite tools of war include splinter weapons that can set every nerve aflame with pain, beams of darklight, whips that bleed acidic ichor, and eldritch soul traps.The Drukhari are so focused on the agony of others that their lightweight bodysuits incorporate bladed plates not only for protection, but also to give them yet another weapon to use upon their prey. Collectively, the warriors of Commorragh know all the ways there are to kill the other denizens of the galaxy, and delight in perfecting as many as they can.Though they turned their backs upon the material dimension long ago, when the Drukhari emerge from their twilight realm they revel in their ability to outclass their enemies. They rarely sully their tongues with the grunting languages of the lesser races, using translator technology on the occasions that communication is unavoidable.The warrior Kabals strike swiftly and without warning from portals opened within the Labyrinth Dimension of the Webway, only to disappear like ghosts when enemy resistance becomes too severe.Their piratical raids attack from above, whole armies screaming into the midst of the foe aboard baroque grav-craft before leaping down to experience the slaughter first hand. Sprays of arterial blood and explosively dismembered corpses mark their passage, the laughter of these merciless warriors the last thing their victims will hear.To the Drukhari, the sweet fruit of horror is as pleasing as the caress of a razored blade across soft flesh. They relish breaking the bodies of their captives, but prize even more highly the crushing of their spirit, for nothing is more gratifying to a Drukhari than securing utter dominion over one who has resisted them. They drink in every nuance of woe until their captives gibber and plead for death –- a mercy the Drukhari are famously slow to grant.Even this is not a release for some, for the foul Drukhari Haemonculi hold the power of life and death in their claws. Many captives, when too broken to provide further sport, will be rent and reshaped into undying trophies or even grotesque items of jewellery or furniture –- more than one Haemonculi's lair has sported a moaning, twitching throne fashioned from the remains of his favourite victims.Other unfortunates are rendered down, their final fate to be imbibed as an elixir or narcotic by the monstrous beings who stole their lives.The strike forces of the Drukhari, despite their own treacherous natures, are well-honed machines in combat. Raids are planned meticulously by the archons and Succubi that lead them and hidden routes through the Webway are opened in readiness for the attack.Only the most capable Drukhari warriors are recruited for each incursion into realspace, for to fail in such an invasion is to bring one's own entire Kabal that much closer to annihilation in the byzantine politics of Commorragh. Working together ensures that not only is the greatest amount of suffering inflicted upon the forces of realspace but also that the greatest number of victims can be taken back to the Dark City.Personal vendettas are engaged once more only after all of the captives have been divided, for over all other things, the Drukhari must have fresh souls to keep themselves from the clutches of She Who Thirsts. The Kabals regularly launch fresh piratical raids into realspace and there is much to be gained for an individual Drukhari for being part of such an effort -- the thrill of hunting the lesser mortals of the universe, the chance to personally capture new slaves which adds to their personal wealth and the joy of unbridled destruction for its own sake.Upon the Kabal's triumphant return to Commorragh, thousands of the captives will be traded as currency, put to work in the infernal depths of the weapon shops, rendered down in flesh-troughs or tormented until their deaths, that happy release drawn out for as long as possible so that the Drukhari can draw even more psychic sustenance from their suffering.To the Drukhari, the sweet nectar of other thinking beings' horror and suffering is as pleasing as the act of murder itself. They relish breaking the bodies of their slaves, but prize even more the process of crushing the mind and the spirit, for nothing is more gratifying to a Drukhari than securing true and willing dominion over an individual who formerly resisted them.They drink in every nuance and every inflection of pain until their captives gibber and plead remorselessly for death -- a mercy that the Drukhari rarely grant easily or quickly.Over time, the Drukhari begin to suffer more and more from "the Thirst." They develop an all-consuming and ever-increasing need to drink the psychic emanations of anguish and horror emitted by the souls of other beings. It is postulated that the cause of this is the Chaos God Slaanesh, the Great Enemy of the Aeldari, who leeches the soul-essence of the Drukhari while they still live because of their pursuit of the hedonistic and sadistic activities that strengthen the power of the Dark Prince.Drukhari "drink" the dark emotions released by the souls of other sentient beings to stave off this leeching -- perhaps by sating the thirst of Slaanesh, or perhaps by replenishing the essence of their own souls with that of the consumed one. Slaanesh will also consume the souls of Drukhari whole should they die.Drukhari are long-lived but not immortal; drinking souls has a rejuvenating effect that reverses aging, thus Drukhari need not fear falling into the clutches of Slaanesh due to death from old age, if they have a constant supply of souls. The usual source of these souls are those of the many captives taken as slaves during Drukhari raids.