ideon shivered uncontrollably with fear as he sat huddled in the corner of the cell, listening to the anguished screams that the walls failed to totally muffle. A high-pitched squeal broke the air and then a silence fell, broken occasionally by the rattle of chains and the moans of the still-living. Gideon heard footsteps approaching along the corridor, the heels of a pair of armoured boots making a clicking noise on the hard stone-like substance of the floor. The footfalls stopped outside the door and Gideon drew in a long, shuddering breath and waited, his heart slamming against his ribs with terror. With a hiss, the door opened and harsh light flared in, blinding the prisoner. As his eyes gradually adjusted, he could make out the silhouette of his tormentor – a thin, withered figure with a slightly hunched back. Chains spiked with barbs and hooks hung from its belt, blades that dripped with unidentifiable fluids adorned the jailer's arms and legs. From its hand dangled a long whip, studded with tiny rasps that glimmered in the light. As the creature stepped forward, Gideon could see that it was female, although barely recognisable as such. It lifted a strange device to its lips and spoke in its own outlandish language; a moment later the archaic machine spat out the translation in clipped, ancient Imperial Gothic.

"Thy time cometh, prey-thing. Master awaits thee." The thing grated, beckoning with a finger tipped with a metal claw.

Gideon struggled to his feet, wrapping around him the few tattered rags that remained of his uniform in a vain effort to recover some dignity. As he hobbled down the corridor, his feet blistered and cracked from previous tortures, Gideon tried desperately to recall how he had fallen into the clutches of the depraved Eldar pirates. However, recurring agony and alien elixirs had wiped all memory of the incident from his mind, except for a vague knowledge that he had not always been here, that he had lived a different life at some point, though how long ago he could not tell – in the City of Darkness there was no passing of day and night to mark the time.

As he limped into the familiar gloom of the torture chamber, Gideon looked around. The walls were lined with various implements of pain, some simply blades curved in bizarre shapes, others were more technical and directly stimulated and amplified nerve-endings and the brain's pain receptors. Without any instruction, Gideon shuffled over to the bloodstained slab that served as the Haemonculus's operating table and laid face down upon it. It was then that something different caught his eye. There was someone else in the room, other than himself and the Haemonculus. Rolling over, Gideon sat up and looked at the shadowy figure.

"Who are you?" Gideon asked, his voice barely more than a croak.

"No questions!" the Haemonculus's translator barked and the she-thing slashed a blade across Gideon's chest, slicing a perfect, shallow cut from his throat to his abdomen.

As Gideon winced with pain, he saw the stranger step from the shadows into the red light cast from the lantern-stone hanging above the torture slab. The Dark Eldar was dressed in long, flowing robes, ornately embroidered in silver thread with scenes of torture and debauchery. His face was pale and gaunt, framed by the high collar of his robe. His hair was jet black, shaved in a long scalplock and his eyes were almost black in their darkness. A cruel smile was fixed upon his lips and his dark gaze looked at Gideon intently.

"You interest me, plaything," the Eldar said in perfect Gothic, waving a slender, long-nailed hand to dismiss the Haemonculi.

"Who are you?" Gideon asked again, sliding his legs over the side of the slab so that he could sit more comfortably.

"I am the master," the figure replied with a devilish grin. "I am the one who controls this place, and much of the city around it. I am the one that all bow to and call Lord. I am the vanquisher of worlds, the destroyer of dreams, the creator of nightmares. I am the pirate king, the renegade prince. I am all these things and more, for I am Asdrubael Vect and all the warriors of the Black Heart are mine to command."

Gideon closed his eyes, trying to understand this news. Vect was indeed the sole ruler of the Kabal of the Black Heart, his name was spoken with awe and terror across the city. Before he had been brought to these palaces, Gideon had been imprisoned by another Kabal. The rumour had been that the mere possibility of displeasing Vect had prompted the overlord of the other Kabal to hand over a considerable number of slaves, including Gideon, just to appease this merciless killer.

"Why do you do this?" Gideon asked hesitantly, unsure how long he would enjoy the overlord's rare benevolence.

"Do what, precisely?" Vect replied, brow creased in a frown. The Lord raised his wrist to his mouth and spoke something in his own language. A few moments later a lackey rushed in carrying two slender-legged chairs with arching backs. Vect sat himself down, his cold eyes never leaving Gideon. The lackey brought a crystal jug of liquid and a glass, and set them beside Gideon before hurrying out again, never once meeting either Gideon's or Vect's eyes.

"The torture. The terror. The raiding, the killing, maiming, stealing. Everything. Why?" Gideon answered, dipping his finger in the blood trickling from the cut on his chest and holding it up to illustrate his point.

"Why should I not?" the Lord replied, looking genuinely perplexed. "You are of no consequence. If you had not been captured by my servants and did not fall foul of some illness or mishap, you would still die within another twenty of your planet's short years. Why should I not use such a pointless creature for my amusement and sustenance? You are prey-species, nothing more."

"Your people are twisted, perverted. A whole populace that thrives on murder and fear is unnatural. How could such a people exist?" Gideon asked quietly, pouring himself a drink and taking a careful sip.

"As I said, you interest me, so I will indulge your curiosity," Vect replied, his voice quiet yet authoritative. He gestured to the unoccupied chair with a slight nod of his head. Gideon slipped down from the slab and sat down, grateful to rest the muscles and bones of his twisted back.

"I shall tell you the tale of a great Lord of our peoples, for his tale is the tale of the founding of Commorragh, the tale of our people," Vect said, turning an almost fatherly gaze on Gideon, which was even more frightening than his earlier cruel glances. "Much of it you will not understand, some of it you may not believe. Your species knows little of us, of the Eldar kindreds. That is good, for knowledge is power and we do not wish you to know too much."

"A long, long time ago, over a thousand of your generations ago in fact, our people ruled across the heavens. Few races could oppose our might, and of those most ancient and malignant powers that could, all were dormant at that time and we were wise enough to let them slumber. Unlike your own folk, I might add, who could well bring about the doom of us all with their blundering around. Be that as it may, there were none who could defy our will. We spread across the glittering stars bringing glory and beauty to countless worlds, much as you humans bring pollution and ugliness to the stars with your presence now. There was nothing we could not achieve, for our minds and our technology were perfectly wedded together. A mere thought could be captured and harnessed by our wonderful machines, so that we ourselves did not have to sully ourselves with physical labour. We constructed artificial creatures to farm for us, fight for us, explore for us."

"As you might understand, we did not sit idly by while our creations conquered the galaxy in our name. Of course not! We dedicated ourselves to much higher pursuits: the perfection of literature, of art, of dance, of sport and of acting. Our striving for the perfect aesthetic became enshrined within our culture, our religion and our politics. You clumsy humans think that you know sadness and joy, yet your emotions are mere whims and passing phases to the feelings of our people. You cannot know such happiness as we know, nor the dark depths of our anger and rage. We are a passionate kin and our quest for achievement became greater and greater. There was nothing to fear, we were kings of the stars, why should we not find every pleasure that the universe has to offer? That became the guiding principle of my peoples, that of self-gratification. Why should we not find what sensations we can, for life, all life, is ultimately transitory and ends. There is no need to worry about the future, no need to regret the past, for such things are foolishness. No, far better to enjoy the moment and not consider the consequences."

"You became a society of hedonists?' Gideon asked as Vect's attention seemed to waver, lost in thought elsewhere.

"Hmm? Yes, hedonists is the word you would use," Vect agreed, focusing back on Gideon. "As you might expect, there were some opposed to this. Dull traditionalists, short-sighted fools who didn't have the vision to share in the ecstatic society that we would create. They spoke out against the pleasure cults, yet in turn many of them were to see the benefits of utter self-fulfilment. Others, unfortunately, failed to see the wisdom of such enlightened behaviour and continued to speak out. Some of them fell under the blades themselves, while many of them opted to flee, fearing that some cataclysm would befall our people, as if we were committing some great sin and that a thunderbolt from the gods would strike us down. They renounced all pleasures of the flesh and mind and fled to the furthest worlds; primeval wastelands where our seeding had only just begun. It was good that they left, for there were no more doubters. The cults vied with each other to attract followers, each trying to outdo the last with its extravagances. Oh, such times will never come again." Vect closed his eyes, visibly shuddering with the thought.

Next: Part 2