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Birth of a Dark Elf 
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Joined: Sat Mar 19, 2011 2:28 am
Posts: 1733
Location: California
OK, I want you guys to act like a manticore and do not stop ripping this thing apart until it is covering the country side.

Also, its long so you've been warned



Chapter One: Of One’s Fortunes.

“Get me that infernal sextant, so we can figure out where the Abyss we’re going!” yelled the captain impatiently. He was an older man, well worn with the hardships of the sea and by nonstop conflict. But like most of his people, he aged with much grace.

He picked up a half emptied bottle of wine and finished its contents. It was an inadequate grade, but it was still had a decent texture to it. If anything else, it motivated him to move his Black Ark faster. These flying fortress made in the image of those used to save the dark elf people millennia ago from a vicious tidal wave that washed their kingdom away. Like them they could carry whole armies. Also like them, they were not made for speed.
The raiding season was almost over, and supplies were low. If he stayed any longer he would have to drink more of this watered down spirits. This was no fate for someone such as he. The captain’s well attuned elvin ears picked up his commander’s footsteps. “So, how did the raid go, Mill’Scion?”

The commander, still in his battle armor, sighed heavily. “It is Druchii protocol that all captains join their crew during a raid; lest the crew see him as a weakling. Thus this eliminates the chance of a rival to try and take his place. As a captain of a Black Ark, a key part of breaking the Asur defenses, much less the fact I was in the same group as yourself, you should know the answer of your own question.” Mill’Scion said in a detached manner. This emotionless tone, which irritated the captain to no end, was part of every facet of this elf’s life. The running rumor amongst the crew was only his dead wife could make him smile, and only his young son could make him laugh. He looked towards the Dark Elf commanding the helm.

“I sense we are heading straight into a storm. Turn north to avoid it.” The giant floating fortress shifted as the corsair obeyed his superior.

“I know the expedition went well enough. If not, then I would have killed a few more of those seamen. By the Dragons of the Deep, would it have been too much to ask to make sure at least one of our navigators made it back on board, much less in one piece? As it is, you have a rare eye for detail; a gift much of this crew lacks.” As the captain finished off that last remark, a deck hand gave the sextant to him, and then went back to his post. “So quit annoying me; tell me how high my prophets were going to be; and for all that is Druchii, get a personality!”

“In that case, we chose a good spot. Apparently that was the largest port city of our Asur cousins, or at least it was until we razzed it.” His pale lips curved into a cruel smile. It was the first the captain had seen in long time. “Strangely enough, the rest of the world went there to trade. Humans from the Empire of Sigmar, as well as the Britonians, Estillans, Cathaians, Indians, Nipponeis, Tillaians, and even some of the Southern Landers and Arabians living there or resupplying before they go on to sell their trade or seek adventure elsewhere. We also counted Dwarves, Halflings, Ogres, and even a few green skins here and there.” He paused, waiting till his commander ordered him to continue. “Had it not been for the fact we had set up our scouts and our dark riders to cut off their escape routes on the land, and our wave dancing vassals over the ocean, they would have most likely escaped. Fortunately enough, none did so until we made landfall.

“That is when we could get through their defenses. Our early efforts to get through were met with stone thrower fire, and eventually that of the bolt throwers and black powder weapons. After a certain point, bowmen and gunners of every kind lined up against the walls to take us on, while their flying units met ours in combat. Even our very own Dragon Sorceress joined in with our Hell drake riders to defeat the would-be defenders. Her mount supped well that afternoon.

“The defenders didn’t last long. We took over their war machines, and used it upon their own citizens. By the end of the night we had captured six hundred slaves, most of which were either human or Goblin workers, with a few Dwarves here and there, and at least two hundred and sixty five high elves. We had only sixty escaped alive. While it’s hard to say how many of our fellow corsairs we lost in the initial strike to take the port due to the high number of sunken vassals filled with drugged up slaves, but once we got off our ships we only lost two hundred corsairs, twenty dark riders, two highborns, a half dozen shades, and one assassin of the Temple of Khaine.”

“What?” While casualties were expected in a raid, especially of one of this size, the fact that an assassin, an elite killing machine of the dark elf race, died at the hands of dock hands and barley seasoned mercenaries. Moreover the assassins hired for this cruse were not simple cutthroats but the chosen sons of Khaine spared on the dreaded “Death Night” when the maidens of the Temple Khaine, the God of war, death, and most importantly: murder, came a killed all they came across. Each of these acolytes took upon them an aspect of their war god, and perfected it till the day they are killed for it is a rare thing for a Druchii to die peacefully in bed, even rarer for these maniacs.

“Which assassin?” demanded the captain.

“Apprentice Sua Gard’Stem. This would be his third raid, and fifth major battle. I know what you are thinking: he may be new, but this is such a low blow for someone like that to die here.

“Who killed him? What kind of monster could have done this?”

“A hundred and ten year old youth that had never received any official military training, sir.”

“Mill’Scion, how much have you been drinking?”

“Not enough. The child has had some training in our fighting style. Sua’s master was watching the fight, and reported to me what he had seen. The way he walks, holds a blade, uses his shield as both defense an offence, and even glairs at his foes is all very Druchii. He had to have been taught by one of our ilk, a deserter most likely. But whoever taught him was master of war.

“By the time the assassin popped out of his hiding place, the kid had already killed nineteen of our corsairs using the swordplay of a nobleman of Naggrond. When the assassin reviled himself the child threw his shield and sword into the crowed, and attacked the assassin with a pair of daggers. By the time the child has scratched him, twenty one more corsairs had fallen, as well as a pair dark rider he pulled off their steeds. He then let the assassin place one wound on him, allowing him plenty of time to throw one of his daggers into his throat. In the end, we needed to throw one of our silvered-steel nets on him, and kick him until he passed out.”

“What is his condition now?”

“For someone being interrogated by the twins, he’s doing very well. He even managed to shove one of their whips down Frizzal’s throat before being beaten down again. I have been trying to get him to tell us who he is, and who his teacher was, but he hasn’t said anything of importance yet.”

“Amazing. He managed to kill that many before he was taken out by our finest warriors, and he still continues to resist our finest torturers. The Gods may have certainly given us such an interesting captive. If he doesn’t say anything by the end of the week, kill him.”

A week came and went, and the only one to meet a grizzly death was the captain; mauled to death by a young Hell Drake. As for the young boy, he gained the respect of the crew for going through seven constant days of torture, living off of drake urine and moldy bread. It was amazing he could still stand, much less survive where lesser beings would have died and stronger elves would have confessed to anything, he did not. He came close though, very close. Unable to hold the pain, he screamed this word over and over again: Ronin. Elvin, and later the human tongues of Nipponeis and Cathayin for a wondering warrior: a fighter without a place or a master.

He stood in his cell, wearing nothing but an old rag that covered his privates. His body was covered in scares, and racked with pain. “I wonder what father would say?” he asked himself sliding down the grime covered wall.

“I would say this is a nasty little place you found yourself in, son.” said a knight in black armor. He strolled over to the youth, moving his head around to get a better look at what they did to him.”

“Father, you’ve been dead for almost fifty years now. What are doing here?” asked the boy, his state becoming more lucid then the last.

The black knight simply laughed out loud at the comment. “You’re not looking too good yourself. Another day or so, and you’ll be with me in the hereafter However, death is such a poor excuse to keep a good father away from his boy.”

“Thanks. At least you showed up. Where’s mom…and…

“Hold on, hold on. Mom is ok. She’s going to be reborn as something far greater then she could have dreamed of, but I knew would happen. And the one that sired you, well, he’s already been reborn as a giant dung beetle farmer’s son, so no worries there either.”

“Shish, that stinks. So what will mom become?”

“That, my boy, is a surprise. Besides, you have more temporal things to worry about.”

Two corsairs opened the bared door that lead to youth’s cell. The two unshackled the youth, and carried him off. The ghost of the boy’s father gave him one last encouraging word, and then returned to the realm of the dead.

The two corsairs talked boisterously of the loot they took, and how they found some good warriors to fight. Their only regret was they got away, but that meant they would get a chance to fight them again. They also commented on how strong the boy was. He may have been their most hated kin, but all dark elves respected strength, and this youth had more balls then most of the crew.

The youth’s sense of time had long since been thrown out the window and into the turbulent seas. He was unsure if the two corsairs had been walking for minutes or hours, only that they never seemed to stop. He only wished he was fading more into unconsciousness so he wouldn’t feel his arms rub against the hard, sea dragon hide cloaks they wore. The corridors all looked the same now. They were all dimly lit, with only a few torches for illumination. The stench of salt water, blood, and other bodily fluids laid siege to the youth’s senses. Had it not been for the fact he grew up as a farm boy, and had smelt worse, he probably would have spewed onto the two warriors carrying him. He might still do that out of spite.

Before he could even consider working up the strength for such a feat, they came to a thick pair of double doors, signaling the end of their journey. Two guards armed with wickedly curved halberds, and donning armor that didn’t seem to run out of spikes to cover them, were all that stood in their way. With little delay, they pushed the doors open, allowing the trio to enter. They were expected.

In contrast to the rest of the ship, this room was rather inviting. Warm, spacious, and filled with the smells of incense and perfumes that begged to enter the youth’s nostrils. The two corsairs lead the youth to a simple wooden operating table, and placed him upon it, while three healers began working on him.

A beautiful slave girl slowly poured a thick, milky white liquid down his throat. “This will make you stronger.” she said weakly.”

“Of course it will. You made it yourself this morning.” said a familiar voice. The youth turned his head towards its direction. It was Mill’Scion, now in regal robes and armor.

The boy remembered him. As he was about to be pushed onboard, the commander stopped him and examined the battered youth. “Bring this boy to my quarters, had have my slaves and doctors on the ready to care for his every need. Is that understood?”

“I’m sorry, commander.” said a reaver, several ranks below his. “I know, it’s scary how much he looks like your son, but this child single handedly whipped out a small platoon of my men. What’s more he killed Sua like he’s been doing this his whole life. The kid’s master confirmed it. I’m sorry, but the old assassin wants us to have the twin interrogate him to see where he learned it from.”

“Did a runaway acolyte of the Bloody Handed God Train the youth?” demanded Mill’Scion, his sword arm well within reach of his minaret.

“No,” said cold voice that emanated power and intimidation like a conductor wielded the music that came from his orchestra. “The only time I saw that stance was when two nobles of Naggarond dueled to the death. However, the way he walk, talks, looks at you, and kills; even how he holds his sword and shield is within our doctrine. I simply wish to know who did this to him. Once we know, he will be yours.”

Mill’Scion had no choice but to accept this demand. All assassins of the Temple of Khaine were loyal to the war god’s cult first and foremost, but they also kept order and protected the Druchii from themselves whenever they were not paid to slit someone’s throat. This was one of those moments.

The youth turned his head to the ceiling, seeing a mural of a beautiful elvin maiden caressing a sword. The potion the girl gave him was working as she had promised, but the effects were doing so at a turtle’s pace. “What do you want?” He managed to wheeze out. It was too soft for the commander to hear, so one of the doctors had to repeat the question.

“Yes, well, I must apologize for my tardiness. I was hoping to rescue you from this torture sooner, however you proven yourself to be stronger than anyone could have foreseen. Even the assassins are impressed, and it takes quite a bit to do that.

“So I’ve heard. Apologize accepted. Now answer the damn question.” The Doctors reword that slightly.

“You reminded me of my son that died some two hundred and sixty years ago. He died in a raid against the humans. One of their black powder weapons sent a lead ball into his temple. I know it was just a pure juvenile reason, but I wanted to spare you for that reason alone. However as the day continued and you still fought like a lion, I knew there would be something different about you.

“How different?”

“Different enough to take my offer. I will spare you, and a number of friends of yours. We used a sorceress to see which ones had survived. There were ten candidates. We can allow them to be dropped off in a human kingdom we have associated with.”

The youth couldn’t help but let out a few chuckles, despite the fact it made his chest feel like it was in a dragon’s clenched maw. “Druchii are the enemies to all. What use is a human kingdom to you?”

“Plenty. It’s one of the mercenary cities in Tillaia. They have extremely diligent soldiers, and they are always a pleasure to work with. Besides, we also get those who are to be sent to the gallows as slaves, as well as the occasional crate of warp stone depending if the creations of chaos attacked them or not. It’s a very fruitful situation as we help them with their enemies, and we get the booty.”

“And you expect me to believe that you’ll just let my friend’s go? No questions asked?”

“Yes. The offer is better than nothing. However there is a catch.”

“What is it?”

“You become one of us.”

“What?” wheezed the youth. He would have picked himself up because of how shocking that statement was if it wasn’t for a sturdy hand and a few wounds keeping him down.

“We could use you. Besides, you should know by now your city was left to die. There were enough soldiers nearby to keep a full-scale invasion at bay.”

“I know.” said the youth, his voice returning to normal. “I can never forgive you for what you did to my home, but I will always hate that prince for letting my friends be turned into lambs for the slaughter for you. Moreover there is a demon I wish to find.”

“I think you’re looking for the wrong army…”

“I want to kill it. It destroyed my world. I want to end him. As for the prince, I want to carve his heart out. If I must join you, then so be it.”

“Good. I knew you would see it my way. I had already taken the liberties of dropping them off.”

“Now I know you are toying with me.”

“No, the same sorceress who told us what captives were your friends also told us what would be willing to do to join us. You have a strong spirit that is unbreakable. It would be a shame to let it die.”

By now the doctors had finished mending the boy’s body. He was still covered in a patchwork of scars from the torture, but at least now he didn’t look like he ended up looking like he was caught in a stampede. He walked over to the warlord, and bowed on one knee.

“I have my thanks. What does the captain think of this venture?”

“You just asked him. The man that ordered the attack upon your port city home has suffered an unfortunate accident. He was mauled to death by a rather large adolescent hell drake. Real shame, but he should have known better then to have beef jerky in his pockets with those things souring up above. Speaking of which, you may want to open this up. Mill’Scion handed the youth a package.

The boy ripped it apart until he found what was inside. It was the last thing he expected, and he was taken back at such an honor. “This is…”

Mill’Scion stood up and draped his gift around the boy’s shoulders. “It’s a symbol of fear and mark of all corsairs: The Sea Dragon Cloak. This creature is hid is very strong, making a very light weight layer of armor for you. Better yet, its layer and layers of scales are more than enough to stop bow, crossbow, and even rifle fire. And take a look at this!” he said, folding its horned head over Ronin’s skull. “It makes a natural hood, adds to your intimidation, and better yet, we still have its skull cap in there so it’s a helm as well.”

“Why did you do this for me? I know I’m still not completely in the realm in the living, but why are you doing this?”

“Because you remind me of my son, and I also foresee much glory you will bring us. Now, Hope the Witch King Malekith see’s the same thing in you!”

_________________
Who needs sanity? I have a Hydra


Last edited by Saintofm on Thu Apr 07, 2011 6:20 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Sat Apr 02, 2011 3:33 am
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SIne I've had over 50 views and no one has made any crotiques, I'll asume I did a good job.

Chapter Two: Naggrond.


“Welcome to Naggarond. Are you here for business or pleasure?”asked a jaded city guard.

Next to him was his weapon of choice: the Drannach. Although the dark elves referred to their so called “sky piercer” as a spear, it was more or less a heavy bladed glaive. Most were built like normal spears, some had long sword like blades, some of which were curved, and some even had a hook for catching horsemen as they charged them. This elf’s Drannach had a thick blade that might have been able to split a man in half.

The elf looked up from his table, well behind stone and iron bars. “Dreadlord?”

Mill’Scion chose his words carefully, knowing full well a pair of the Witch King’s personal killing force, his Immortals, was nearby. “I was always under the impression that an opportunity to be in the ‘Black Court’ was both.”

“Does your business with our lord has anything to do with an Asur child that fights like a seasoned `Druchii warrior?” asked one of the Immortals. He wore the standard heavy black suit of armor, but like most black guard, his was rather terrifying to look at. It had been layered with sheets of metal and thick interwoven cloth to provide extra protection. In his right hand he held a wickedly curved halberd. The spiked helm and thick pauldrons helped make the elite warrior look as intimidating as he was skilled. His hadrikall, his collar of serves which all retainers wore, was made pure gold and was made in the shape of twin, twisting dragons in battle.

“Why do you ask?” asked Scion. He knew the personal body guards of Malekith were raised from birth in one of the twenty or so towers that housed these killing machines, and they spent their youth doing nothing but training, killing, and plotting. If he had to go toe to toe with any of them, he was probably going to die. As seasoned and as well trained as he was, he was not going to come out in one piece. Malekith’s Endless were of a higher grade of warrior then he would ever hope to become. Few outside of this city saw them, and even then they hoped they wouldn’t get a halberd thrown into their face.

“We just caught him killing three children picking on a juvenile harpy.” The guard directed the commander with his free hand to two more of his fellow endless and the two corsairs trying to restrain the boy.

“I suppose you are going to kill him now, then? After all we can’t have any murdering scum bags running about.” Truth be told, he was prepared to lop the boy's guards' heads off and use their skulls as soup bowls. This hadn’t been the first time they had slipped up with the child, but they were the best he could find.

Anyone that was remotely loyal, or at least competent that was on his ship was left there to keep would be usurpers in their place. For added protection, he had hired enough assassins to take out any of the would-be rabble-rousers that came out from under their rocks. That left just the two corsairs he bought to ensure the boy would be at arm’s length to him. But that was currently the least of his worries. Thankfully, his fears did not come to pass.

“Other than being caught in view of the public during the light of day," began the Black Guard. "We’re rather impressed with the youth. None of us had seen a child kill someone that quickly since our own youth. But we do insist that you come with us, to prevent the deaths of more of the Highborns.” This was not a request. With five more Endless from their tower, they were off to Malekith’s palace: The Black Spire.

The boy looked around his new surroundings. The city was protected by large outer walls, lined with bolt throwers and crossbowmen. They were thick enough to not be taken down by powerful siege weapons, and tall enough to make scaling them was all but impossible. Along their edge, Malekith’s personal Dragon Banner, the Banner of Nagaryyth, and impaled skulls of failed generals hung on huge spikes for added effect. The heavy metal gate were fifty feet high, and five feet thick, thirty feet wide. Even if the invaders had managed to enter the building, they had they had the endless number of dead ends and winding streets where the city’s defenders would take the fight to them with chariots, spears, swords, lances, and halberds.

Then you had the second layer of defense of the city: The city itself. All Druchii cities were built like labyrinths to confuse any would be invaders. Only the locals, and the occasional highborn from another city knew all of the secrets there in. This was all the better for the inhabitants as this increased the chances the enemy getting lost and running to their doom.

Almost all of the buildings were cylinder shaped towers in and of themselves. Each one was so large the youth thought they must have housed thousands of slaves, hundreds of soldiers, and whole clans of the dark elf nobility. The opposite end of this was the simple houses and taverns that the lesser nobles and commoners lived in. As with the rest of the city, a labyrinth of winding streets leads to their shops, stalls, and taverns.

Most of the shops, and stands were manned by half staved and well beaten slaves as all dark elves feel their time is better spent working on fighting and training. The boy would soon learn that there were Druchii bakers, farmers, and smiths but they were usually in charge of the final stages of the preparations or the more intricate work of their field. Still, even among the Highborns, all Druchii were first and foremost warriors. The only true exception would be the few woman accepted into the dark covenants of Sorceresses who instead spent their time and energy trying to become more destructive wizards.

The boy also noticed something else: While all elves are known for having fair skin, dark elves took this to a whole new level. Most of them looked like they had never seen the sun. Although odd at the time, he would learn to get use to it. Only the corsairs, and those who raided the South Lands and Lustria on a regular basis seem to get develop a darker skin tone. Even then, it wasn’t much of a difference.

Two scantily clad woman walked past, who the Black Guard gave a wide wake. The boy would latter learn they were the Brides of the War God Khaine: The Tulac, Manbid, or as some called them, Witch Elves. Few dared go near these wild and largely unpredictably violent beauties.

“That’s odd.” commented the lead Black Guard, staring blankly at the dark clouds above.

“What is it?” asked the one of the corsairs.

“It will be dark soon…too soon. We should have another hour before we should start worrying about it. Probably a sign of another incursion from the forces of Chaos, no doubt.

“You look stoic, but you are too tense for the mere minions of the Dark Gods to worry you.” commented the commander, his expression more stern than usual. “What is it that brings fear upon the fearless?”

“Tonight is Death Night, and ye know the law. But do not worry, I know of an inn we can stay at for the night. The owner owes me a favor.” said the leading Endless.

“Huh, is it Death Night already? Damn, just when I get to see civilization, I get this crap.” said the other corsair.

While the boy didn't completely understand what they were afraid of, he knew enough about the Black Guard to know he should be afraid as well. He had heard stories of their viciousness, and that they feared nothing save maybe the wrath of the Witch King. I guess if he survived this night, he could add one more thing they were afraid of on that short list.

With this in mind, the Endless quickly guided their charge to the inn in Questions: The Skull Summoned.

“Well, if it isn’t an old familiar face. Good day to you, commander.” said a one of the patrons outside. In his lap laid another popular weapon of the Druchii: the Urithan Repeater Crossbow. Like its name, the “Death Rain,” suggested, it would rain armor piercing bolts upon unsuspecting enemies. “Let me buy you a drink.”

The black guard grasped the other warrior’s shoulder, and gave him a friendly smile. It was a rare thing, and it confused the corsairs to no end. “I could use one Neffrettious. It’s been too long, my comrade.”

_________________
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Last edited by Saintofm on Thu Apr 07, 2011 7:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.



Thu Apr 07, 2011 1:03 am
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From what I read, I like the story you have come up with. However, I stopped reading because it is very hard to become involved in the story; I think it's because of the prolific poor spelling and grammar as well as some out of place words. Perhaps spend some time checking and correcting your writing. I look forward to reading further! I will check back here soon.

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Last edited by Greenwhy on Sun May 08, 2011 2:14 am, edited 1 time in total.



Thu Apr 07, 2011 3:24 am
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I'm working on that now. My Microsoft Word didn't show too many mistakes, so I'm going to hit the spell check to take a more throughout job. Thanks for the advice.

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Thu Apr 07, 2011 6:11 am
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Chapter three: brawls.


In his secured room, one of the corsairs in charge of the youth sat with his legs crossed on a human hide foot rest, relaxing. It would be a few minutes before the sun set, and he wanted to spend it drinking cheap wine and looking at pictures courtesy of the cult of Atharti, the goddess of pleasure and self indulgence. Too bad it wouldn’t last long.

With a triangular bladed dagger in hand, the commander kicked down the door. “Where…is…the…boy?” he growled.

“He isn’t with you?” asked the corsair nonchalantly, as he put his parchment down.

The commander squeezed the horizontal handle tighter, releasing a two more blades on either side of it. “You see this weapon? It is called a Katar. Its sole purpose is to get though one’s armor, and rip their innards out. Sometimes they are given a couple collapsible forked blades, like this, and close up on enemy’s weapon. That way you can disarm him with one hand, and cut his head off with another. The handle itself, unique in weapons like this, makes it more of an extension to one’s fist, adding more to its power.

“Now this weapon was not originally Druchii. It was taken from the human nation of Ind. We saw it, we liked, and we perfected it. And we have done this to hundreds and hundreds of weapons, like the dwarven crossbows for example, was taken and perfected by us.

“Then you have the boy. He is as much of a weapon as this dagger is, and like this blade was perfected by us for our use, that boy will be perfected by us, for us. Now Kodachi, do you want to tell me where the blasted \ child is, or do you want to see, first hand, what this dagger can do to you?”

……

It had not been half an hour since the Captain and the Black Guard secured them their rooms that the other corsair had already picked a fight. To make things worse, he was going to make the child fight for him. The youth took in the tavern with his brown eyes. The room was well lit, with various grades and varieties of exotic woods making up the entire interior. Mounted above the bar and brews were the skulls of former slaves and patrons that got too rowdy. But like a human asylum, there was always room for one more on that row. One in fact, was about to be added to the collection.

“Why am I doing this?” asked the boy, prepping to face off against three thugs. The first one was a scrawny corsair wielding a pair of combat knives with spiked hand guards. The next was a noble who was easy on the eyes, in white ceremonial robes, with a fencing saber in hand. The last one was a lesser noble carrying a massive blade across his shoulders. He was big for an elf, and carried his large sword as well as his comrades carried their smaller blades. “It’s your fight. Why do I have to fight in your stead?”

“Because I said so, now go!” The boy did what he was told.

First to charge was the corsair. The boy jumped into the air, and landed on the elf’s shoulders. Using his weight, he knocked the elf off balance. With a sudden jerk from his feet, the boy snapped his foe’s neck. Next came the two with the swords. The boy ran straight towards them, rolling at the last possible second between the warriors to avoid their blades. The one with the saber was the first to look back, just in time to get a tray thrown in his face. With a broken nose and a bruise developing in-between the eyes, the pretty elf charged the youth in a berserk rage. His reward was a chair to the stomach, and a knee to the face.

“Too easy. You want to show your friends how it’s really done?” berated the child in perfect Druhur, the language of the dark elves. The youth kicked the saber into his hands, and taunted the last remaining foe to come and get him.

The last opponent charged at him as well. The noble shoved his blade forward, missing the child completely. Just as the child thought he had an opening, the noble smacked the butt of his sword into his head.

“There is more than one end to a sword boy. Learn this well, child.” The elf slammed the massive blade just a hair shy youth’s body, nicking a part of the child’s left ear. With some foot work, he sent the other noble’s weapon at the child’s retainer’s face, butt first. “Next time pay your debt Ekolieus. BARKEEP!” he yelled. The startled slave woman ran up to him. She was human, of average appearance for a woman of the Empire of Sigmar. “This slob has killed another one your master’s patrons, destroyed several tables and chairs, and now has tried to kill the property of another tenant!” he said, pointing first to the unconscious noble, then to the boy. “Leave him out for the Hags!”

This was the first true show of kindness given to the boy since coming to Naggarond. It was unusual, even unethical by Druchii standards, but the boy was glad just the same.

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Mon Apr 11, 2011 8:46 am
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Death Night? I look forward to seeing what you do with this :) I've enjoyed it so far.

... I did read it without critiquing it ... but I don't always feel competent to say very much as I usually try to say more than "good story" ... I try to say why ... well, here's my try:

You have a good feel for Dark Elf culture, the details all match what I know myself (maybe that's why I like it :D ).

The only thing I've noticed really is that you've taken to explaining or defining that the Druchii words mean. It breaks the flow of the narrative a bit; if you feel you need to include a translation, I'd put a glossary at the end. But most of us can look up any words we don't know in the army books :) It's not a major grumble!

You capture the heavily armed and armoured, military nature of Druchii society well. It makes the one solitary Witch Elf stand out, especially when even the Black Guard give her a wide berth.

So, looking forward to more!


Death Night ... it's like Valentine's Day for Brides of Khaine :D

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Tue Apr 19, 2011 1:40 am
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Syjahel wrote:
Death Night? I look forward to seeing what you do with this :) I've enjoyed it so far.

... I did read it without critiquing it ... but I don't always feel competent to say very much as I usually try to say more than "good story" ... I try to say why ... well, here's my try:

You have a good feel for Dark Elf culture, the details all match what I know myself (maybe that's why I like it :D ).

The only thing I've noticed really is that you've taken to explaining or defining that the Druchii words mean. It breaks the flow of the narrative a bit; if you feel you need to include a translation, I'd put a glossary at the end. But most of us can look up any words we don't know in the army books :) It's not a major grumble!

You capture the heavily armed and armoured, military nature of Druchii society well. It makes the one solitary Witch Elf stand out, especially when even the Black Guard give her a wide berth.

So, looking forward to more!


Death Night ... it's like Valentine's Day for Brides of Khaine :D



Oh, wow, thanks.

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Tue Apr 19, 2011 4:52 am
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I'm at over a 150 views, so it's time for the next chapter.

Chapter 4: Death Night.


The Boy had a problem sleeping that night. It wasn’t so much that he was strapped to the inn’s wall, but that his captors snoring sounded like a constipated dragon. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t break free nor block out their constant, drool spluttering drone. At the moment, he was simply content not to be dragged off to the temple that night.

It was a night of terror, and in the Druchii tongue, only one name would do for this holiday: Death Night! The air became stagnate with dread as soon an orgy of death and destruction would befall this city's inhabitants! On this night the Brides of Khaine, his Witch Elves, patrolled the streets for any unfortunate they came across.

Babes and infants would be gently placed into the crimson ichor of the Cauldrons of Khaine. All Druchii knew that if the mystical energies didn’t destroy them the girls would become the Lord of Murder’s brides, and the boys would become his chosen sons: His personal cult of assassins. Anything older then that was simply brought back to be bled dry, their fluids filling large cauldrons. In the morning there would be hundreds of dried husks, left for the scavenging harpies and ravens to feed upon. The Witch elves cared not if their victims were free or not; lord or commoner. These cannibalistic women saw them all as their next meal.

There was a sudden scream, as a mother begged the Brides of Khaine to return her baby. It didn't take long for her to begin pleading for her life as well. From the sounds of it, the Witch Elves had broken into the woman’s home. The boy learned from a drunk that the witch elves would do that from time to time if they didn't find enough unfortunates to capture on the narrow streets and alleys. One could avoid this fate if they left generous donations for the Temple of Khaine throughout the year, or had left a few slaves tied to the front porch on Death Night. There was a shriek of ecstasy from one of the Witches, as they pulled another occupant from the house next door. That family didn't give generously enough to the temple either.

Apparently the tavern was among those who had done so. The two made a deal: ANY fool that drank so much that he couldn't properly wield a sword was there’s for the taking. Since then they have sent those foolishly to drink themselves into a stupor, in a cart to the Palace of Skulls, the local chapter of Witch Elves. This year was most fruitful for the temple as the raiding season did not fare well, causing many of the corsairs, and even stalwart captains to drown their sorrows. There were so many of these once proud soldiers giving up on life, that the tavern would have paid its debts to the temple thirty years in advanced.

How one could consume that much alcohol confused the boy, as elves had a high resilience to strong drink. Comparably speaking, Dwarves and Ogres have the highest alcohol resistance, while a human would have long since been drunk under the table by the time an elf would have began feeling woozy. Even that drunk that talked to him, though he could still defend his honor and butcher three sober elves effortlessly, had emptied at least three bottles of the more expensive elixirs to get to his state.

As for the others, the boy counted the bottles each of the elves emptied: Four to six bottles of the lowest grade of wines average; two and a half if they drank the dwarvan sludge.

Another scream brought the youth back to reality of the present. Even if he was in a comfortable position he knew the constant screams of fear would have kept him awake.

In the morning the boy and his two handlers waited next to the bar keep. Like the boy, they didn’t sleep well either. The lad would soon learn only those who were buried in the long forgotten family crypts sleep soundly on Death Night. The barkeep brought the elves something strong. Her owner had bought the woman for the sole purpose of cleaning up after the drunken brawls, but her skill in making potent cocktails had forced his hand, and put her in charge of the bar.

“You too, eh?” she asked in the Druchii Tongue. Both corsairs stared at each other, then at the woman. “Figured as much.”

“Where’s Borgotha, wench?” demanded Kodachi.

“I haven’t seen him since he left to see his mistress. Presently his wife got tired of his flirtatious nature and left with some ship captain. If you think he’ll make it back wait a few hours before he sobers up and returns. Otherwise talk to his son. He’s the master of the house now.”

The two corsairs feared for the worst. They knew full well he probably had a ceremonial dagger shoved into his chest by now. They also knew his son was not on speaking terms with them.

“The one you seek is dead, and you two are wasting Lord Malekith’s precious time!” yelled commanding black guard. “Your captain took the liberty of having the slaves pack your belongings, and carry them to our destination. Now move it!” It was never a good idea to piss off an already angry black guard as it was common knowledge they are never happy unless they are in the act of killing something. The three elves on the bar downed their glasses and joined their guide.

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Wed Apr 20, 2011 8:22 am
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Over 200 Views, ready for the next chapter. Please rip this apart like a manticor. I have a form of autism so some things do go over my head unless someone points it out to me.

Chapter Five: Dance of the Fury of Khaine

In the Black Court, the Dread Lords and Masters of the six Great Cities enjoyed the company of a female troop of performers. All of them were the daughters of Atari, the scouts and survivalists of the Dark Elves. They were descendent from the ruling families, and lowborn loyalists of the city of Karond Kar who were banished by their rivals. It had been almost thirty five hundred years since that day, and they have all learned to survive the harsh Wilds of Narrgaroth. Today they were performing one of their oldest and most energetic war dances.

There were sixteen performers in all. The two youngest were given the responsibility to play a flute and an animal hide drum. They were dressed in their war gear, with several Druchii runes drawn on their bodies with either yellow or red war paint. Six of the dancers wore human skin midriffs and animal hide skirts as they moved their lithe bodies around energetically. They had fresh blood dabbed on their faces by one of their elders: a sign they had successfully survived their rite of passage into adulthood. They leapt in the air, dancing an eccentric dance with a pair of daggers. Four older girls, fully dressed in their hunting gear swung large swords over their heads. Their skill and speed with the massive blades put even a pair of seasoned Executioners in aw, as if they were born with the weapon. The Two eldest members carried a simple sword, and a crossbow, taking turns to rest, aim their weapons, and mock shoot it at the center.

All of them circled a pair of warriors who played the part of a manticore that had attacked their village. It was one large costume, with the stronger of the two at the rear, while the more energetic member of the pair manned the front. The whole thing was made from the hide of a high elf general’s Griffon, with the feathers of hundreds of birds of prey making up the mane. The manticore leaped in there air, mock charging the audience, attacking the other dancers. Only when they neared the jaded Malekith, did they lower the costume’s head for even the most feared beast of Naggaroth shows fear and respect for Witch King.

They had been going on for fifteen minutes now, and the heavy head was now tiring the dancer at the front of the costume. She knew she had to end this fast, or risk collapsing out of cue. The dancer jumped into her air, landing on the shoulders of the warrior in the back. The Flutist putdown her weapon of choice, and began pounding away at a small cymbal, signaling to the others they had one last minute to drive the beast away. All but two of the dancers with the daggers, a crossbow woman, and one of the dancers with the heavy sword feigned death, representing the loss of life that occurred when one such beast attacked their village home. The Crossbowman slid her way up front, took aim and pulled the string. This time a real bolt flew out. The two manticore dancers twisted out of the way, just as the bolt came past the. They landed perfectly on the ground, but made it seem as if the beast had been slain.

The Eldest, got up, and pierced the air above her with her sword. She had conquered the embodiment of their War God, Khaine, the Thousand faced Lord of Murder. Or so she thought. The two manticore dancers slowly got up. They limped one way, than another, until one manning the costume’s maw was close enough to breathe on her victim. She opened up the mouth on her head dress as far as it would allow, and used it to swallowing her would be killer in one bite. The eldest shade contorted her back to fit in the massive costume, adding a blood curtailing scream for effect.

“You smell like Bison droppings!” whispered the older elf, roughly two hundred and fifty years of age. She was in an uncomfortable position under the other elf, her head in-between the other’s feet.

“You try carrying this thing, be as energetic as our younger sisters, and worry that one misstep in the role I was chosen to be could mean you're immediate sacrifice to Khaine!” said the other in a neutral tone. She was about a ninety years younger than the other elf.

“They're applauding!” said the performer in the back. “Let’s get out of this thing while the going is good!” The other two couldn’t agree more. In unison they took the costume off and took in the applauding crowd.

Even the immortal Malekith clapped his Gauntlet hands together, if only to prove he hadn’t fallen asleep. It was no secret he had no love for most living things, but he did find the cunning and maneuverability of the Auttarii, the shades, admirable. It was because of their skills as scouts, and saboteurs that made them as detrimental to his schemes as the six Covenants of Sorceresses, or his horde of war hydras. But truth-be-told he saw this dance a dozens of times, by a half dozen of the shade clans. At least they added onto the story, or changed things every once in a while.

“Bravo, Bravo. I see you improved on your grandfather’s design of the manticore. I especially loved the part of the end, where the hero downs the great beast, only to still be devoured by it. Tell me, what inspired that genius finish?” he asked. He was still hiding how dull he thought it was. The Panther’s Shadow clan was one of the more prominent of the Shades in this region of the land of Chill. If he wanted to, he could have them annihilated down to the last man, woman, and child, or threaten them with their lives. But they worked best when under the illusion of being his chosen vassals.

“We are honored, my lord!” said the Shade who manned the head of the manticor. As she had the most prominent part of the play, thus she was the one who would be allowed to answer Malekith’s questions. “As you well know, the story depicted in our dance happened to one of the clan that we Autarii are almost all descended from. A marauding manticore attacked their small village, slaughtering everything in its path. All those willing and able fought back, and after much bloodshed, and loss of life, our village’s best hunter used his skill with the repeater crossbow; firing only a single bolt at the monster’s weak point. Just as our savior began gloating of his great feat, the sacred beast of Khaine rose up, and used the last of his strength to crush the hero. We changed the normal ending of this dance to this to better show that unless you make sure your enemy is dead, it will still take your head off.”

Malekith thanked them again, and waved them towards the refreshments. “Now that we have had our fun, we should get down to business. I have looked into the winds of magic, and have counseled both my own seers, and ‘Dark Sisters’ of Ghround. The time to strike against our twisted Kin shall soon come to pass. You are the most powerful Dreadlords, Masers, Death Masters, Draich Lords, Master Sorceresses, and Crones. I, Malakeith, the Witch King, command you to assemble a fighting force not seen in ages! We will retake our birthright in Ulthuane, and butch all who stand in our way!”

The nobility of the Dark Elves muttered among themselves. The thought of revenge against their most hated Kin sent a surge of ecstasy through their corrupted veins, but they also knew the power their cousins wielded. Even if every Druchii son and daughter took sail and assaulted the hallow shores of Ulthuan, they knew it was going to be a costly war. Like them, the Asur, their high elf cousins, would fight down to the last man, woman, and child to keep their lands free of Druchii incursion.

“I have also learned that my mother has given the North Men a most interesting proposition. They have sent a messenger to tell us what they have decided. He should be here right about…NOW!” No sooner said then a gust of purple wind busted through the balcony Malekith’s Dragon liked to perch at, and into the Witch King’s court. The wind began to take form. First came one arm, then another, then a pair of crab like claws. Finally, its hideous body came into view. It was a Keeper of Secrets, a greater Daemon of Slannesh, the Dark god of Lust, Pleasure, Desire, and Pain. The Immortals quickly surrounded the otherworldly being, baring the points of their Halberds at it.

“That’s enough, stand down.” commanded the Witch King. The Black Guard turned to their leader in confusion, still keeping their weapons on the ready. “I said stand down.” said the Witch King with more force. They did as he commanded.

Malakeith marched forward from the black marble steps that lead to his thrown, making his way towards the monstrosity. While most people could be manipulated into believing this thing could be the masterpiece of beauty, a being like Malekith who was immune to such trickery simply thought it was the ugliest thing he saw since the Orcs. “This better be important.”

“Oh, but it is.” It said in a filtered voice. “The Chieftains and those aspiring to be the Champions of Chaos are heading this way to aid thee. Your mother, Morathi, was quite persuasive in having us join you in your crusade. A good number of daemons and beastmen have also decided to join in the foray. We simply ask when you wish to beguine the attack?”

“Tell them to assemble them at our docks, where there they shall board our black arks as we shall make land fall from them.”

“Black Arks…Those flying fortresses?” the monstrosity asked.

“Yes?” the Witch King had a feeling he wasn’t going to like the answer he was about to here.

“Ugh, how can I put this?” said the greater daemon sheepishly. “They are…they are terrified of those things! Do you not have any more conventional sailing vessels?”

“If not, it is a problem my subjects can easily solve. Am I correct?” He didn't need to turn around. He already knew the nobles would be spending every coin they had in their name to make Malekith’s will so. The last time someone questioned him on something as minor as this, he and several other nobles were turned to ash by bolt of dark magic emanating from his fist. “So, we’ll be seeing you in a couple of years then?”

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Last edited by Saintofm on Wed May 04, 2011 6:54 am, edited 2 times in total.



Tue May 03, 2011 6:50 am
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i like it a lot, also that you didn't overexaggerated with "evilness".
In my opinion speech style of the Witch King - needs some work.

Personally I rather see Dark Elves force and use chaos than deal with it, but it's only my personal Khaine fanatics view.

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Tue May 03, 2011 1:25 pm
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The story takes place about ten or so years before the last main war with the high elves (you, know the one where Malekith had to throw himself realm of chaos to escape Teclus' magic). In it, Morathie makes a deal with the forces of chaos (who were mounting an army anyways) to fight a mutual enemy.

And don't worry, Malekeith will get some time to shine soon enough.

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Tue May 03, 2011 5:56 pm
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:)

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Tue May 03, 2011 7:33 pm
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I really enjoyed the dance part :) It seems like the kind of thing the Autarii would do. It also illustrates the difference between them and the city-dwelling peoples.

You still have a few typos, but as you mentioned Autism I'm not sure if that might be why? If you like I'd be happy to proof-read. Spell checkers are really useful, but they can't pick up when the word is correctly spelled but the wrong word. If that makes sense. Like ... well, you've put The Dance of the Furry of Khaine, I'm guessing you meant Fury? I hope I've not offended, I am happy to help out if that would be any use :)

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Wed May 04, 2011 12:32 am
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None taken.

I took the idea of having an DE version of the Chinese Lion Dance, and this was what came up. I'll try making some corrections when it's daylight.

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Wed May 04, 2011 6:54 am
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It works. I especially like the detail about the manticore bowing to Malekith. It's about right for his ego and temperament :D

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Wed May 04, 2011 8:59 am
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I also think that idea of manticore is great.:)))) very, very good:)
Also Reapeter Crossbows orginally were invented in China - so maybe not "from dwarves" but from "cathay"? But, would Malekhit even bother for such things, or talk that much? [Is he even able to talk "normally" as he's bunred and clad in iron?]

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Wed May 04, 2011 1:57 pm
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The Malekeith book says they were a gift from the dwarves, otherwise I would have done something like that.

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Chapter Six: [In desperate need of a good title]


Mill’scion’s retina and escort walked down bleak corridor after corridor until they reached the doorway of the Black Court.

“You're late, Nigh Radeer.” said one of the sixteen other guards who were waited just outside the courtroom. Behind them was a magnificent brass door, with the depiction of elvin savior Anerion slaying four most powerful Greater Daemons to come into this world. “We cannot allow you to enter.”

“We have no names, for we are Endless.” responded the commanding black guard leading the Mill’Scions retina. “Besides, I saw fit to bring in the New Captain of the Black Ark, ‘Rampage of Khial’ to the Black Spire myself. It grew dark too soon, and did not see fit to risk my life, nor the lives of my charges on Death Night.”

“A cowardly Black Guard?” scoffed the elf. “Well, if you truly want passed the door, then you must face us in battle!”

Ten minutes of senseless slaughter later, they were in.

The one referred to as Nigh Radeer straightened himself up as much as he could. Like the other Endless who followed him to the tower, he was covered in the gore of rivals. “High Lord, and the true and righteous King Malkekith; I bring you the dreaded Commander Mill’Scion, of House Care’Toe’Na’Torii’Oni’Sie’nneigh’Sai’Say’Sciee’Sco ’Yo’Torri….”

The guardsman would have continued but the commander saw fit to stop him. “My family has hyphenated a number of names into their own from various marriages, so you may want to just skip to the end.”

“Oh, I see.” the Endless said matter of fact tone before turning back to the witch King, his gaze never meeting his lord’s. “He just received a field promotion to Captain of the Black Ark ‘Rampage of Ereth Khial,’ after his captain was mauled to death by a small, but deadly hell drake.”

“I see.” said Malekith, seeing the greater daemon off. “Why are you covered in blood?”

“A phalanx of your black guard fell down some stairs.”

“Is that so?” Malekithe didn’t believe it, as the rivalries between the members of his beloved Black Guard are legendary. Just the same, he decided to let it pass as this was the preferred way of weeding out the weak of his personal guard. “Bring the Captain closer to me, so that he is a hundred sword lengths away. Also, remove any weapons he may have.” The Black Guard did as they were told.

In Druchii society, the risk of being assassinated is so great that etiquette required a certain distance be between personages known simply as Hithuan. The measurements were made in sword lengths, or as long as an outstretch arm pointing with his sword. Unless called for, the lowborn commoners needed to be at minimum of three sword lengths away; retainers stayed two sword lengths away; trusted retainers, such as bodyguards and lieutenants as close as one sword length away; while anything closer is for lovers, concubines, and their rivals. In the case of Malekith, most of his subjects stayed fifty to a hundred sword lengths away. This was as much for their safety as much as his. It wasn’t unheard of for him to suddenly fly into a rage and kill half the occupants in his court with a single bolt of black energy from his steel clad hands. It wasn't unheard of either for the Witch King to tear the nobility limb from limb with those same clawed gauntlets.

The dark king waved for a retainer to hand him a parchment. He cast a spell, and the scroll came alive with the history of the former Lieutenant.

A member of a lowborn family that rose to prominence since his great, great, grandfather took to the sea. He began his career at the young age of eighty, and remained a corsair for over a hundred and fifty years before being promoted to the rank of reever. After another thirty years of serves he became a sub-Lieutenant. After that he quickly rose up the ranks, as rivals were either killed or promoted, until he reached the rank of commander. As commander he has served faithfully under the same captain for thirteen years, forty under the Captain before that, and fifty six under the one before that.

During that time, each captain renamed the vessel they commanded. The Hag Queen’s Revenge, The Black Gem, The Green Plague, and so forth until Mill’Scion. Continuing the tradition he renamed it after the Ruler of the Underworld, and her legendary wrath, christening it:"Rampage of Ereth Khial."

The parchment also noted that the commander was unusually educated in the arts and writing, taking as many scholars as slaves as he could from around the world. He could speak over a forty languages, including Asur, their strange wood elf cousins the Asrie, Bretonian, The northern and southern variants of the Empire of Sigmar’s tongue, Tillaian, Estillan, Ogre, two dialects of dwarvan, several of the tongues found in the Southern Lands, Cathayan, Indish, and all but a few of the Chaotic tongues from the northern parts of the world.

The Parchment also noted that he never wished to aspire to anything greater than his current position of power at any given point in history, only to be the best corsair he could be. This attitude remained with him throughout his rank advancements, going above and beyond what was required of him. There were three exceptions to this rule though. The first was when he reached the rank of lieutenant. He challenged a member of the crew who was a rank higher then he was, but that was to defend his honor and the honor of his betroth. Next rank advancement came in the form of a rival who surpassed him in every way. He disappeared for three days until he was found at the bottom of a pile of dead slaves, with a hatchet lodged in-between the eyes. In this case, the evidence suggested he may have been defending himself.

Then came the day he ascended to the rank of commander, by replacing the former who many believed murdered Mill’Scion’s young wife. Like the others, that had as much to do with revenge as it do with self preservation.

The Witch King tossed the parchment to his retainer. He then beckoned the commander to come forward until he was twenty sword lengths away. There, he had black guard check again for all possible weapons he could have hid on him. Afterwards he beckoned him to come to five sword lengths away.

“Well, your record has spoken for itself. Kneel.” The elf did as he was told. Malekith walked up to him, unsheathing his long and powerful rune inscribed blade. He knighted the elf, bestowing the rank of a master of the Druchii upon him. “Arise, Captain Mill’Scion. May you always sail upon pleasant seas.”

“And May I always serve under your command.” He responded, keeping his gaze downward. “I bring you a present, my Lord.” He motioned the two corsairs to bring the boy forward, a hundred sword lengths away. The youth’s attire improved some, but the only thing not falling apart, and subsequently off of him, was the sea dragon cloak around his shoulders. “When we captured him, he had killed forty Corsairs, two dark riders, and an apprentice assassin of the Blessed Murderer before he was beaten down into submission. Since then, he has killed one of my best interrogators, several other Druchii for either trying to kill him or picking on a harpy. As we were coming in, and gave one of the fallen Black Guard a mercy killing. He has been taught in our ways of warfare, and I thought maybe he could serve you as either another minion, or possibly a way to stave off your great boredom while we wait until the time is ready for our next attack against our kin.”

“That may come sooner then we all could have hoped for, my servant.” The Witch King gestured the newly christened captain away, turning his attention to the youth. "BOY!” he called out. “What is thy name?” The boy did not answer. “I said what is it?” The Boy still refused. “This is not a request child. Do as I command or I will kill you myself.”

“I can give you no name my lord, for there is none to give thee. It died a long time ago, and is now buried beneath the scorched ground that was my home village. I laid it to rest in an earthen grave with the only two bodies I could find: The mangled corpses of my mother and father. I have no master now, no home, and no place to call my own. Your new dreadlord’s former captain made sure of that with my second home left to burn. If I am to be called something, call me the ‘wondering warrior,’ for that is all I am.”

“A Ronin eh?" asked the amused King with a chuckle. "How befitting. What is it you desire, my young Ronin? Revenge against the great Druchii race?” he asked, laughing maniacally.

The room erupted into nervous laughter. The brief moments when their lord was in a generally good spirits was few and far between. To not join him in one of these rare moments was to risk a more common one: any object close at hand, preferably one with a great many spikes attached to it, thrown into the fool’s face.

“The captain who ordered the assault against my second home is dead." declared the boy, a look of scorn covering his face. "But, there are two beings I would like to destroy with my own hands. The first is an Asur prince in green armor. He abandoned me and that port town the new captain had sacked, despite being ordered to defend it. I want to suffer and die the way many of my friends did.

“The other is an entity of hate, and malice. My village was a back woods community as far away from the petty squabbles of the princes and their courts as it could have. It slaughtered us without inhibition, without mercy. I do not know why I was lived, but I want that thing to suffer for taking my family’s lives.”

“It’s a little difficult in your current situation.” taunted the witch King. He was now having fun trying to see how far he could push this whelp.

“So is trying to conquer our homeland, but that hasn’t stopped you before, has it?”

The room fell silent. Never had they seen such a child, even amongst their kind. No one had his courage, but then again this courage came from lacking a healthy fear of death.

“Cute kid. You have spirit. I like that.” said Malekeith. With a swing from his gauntlet he hit the child hard enough to draw blood. “That is for being stupid.” He hit him again the opposite direction, knocking out a tooth. “This is for your insolence.” The Dark king then placed his cold gauntlet youth’s skull. “And this is to see what your future is to be.”

Within seconds, the dark lord channeled the winds of magic to foresee the youth’s future. It was Ulthuan, the beautiful landscape made perfect by the dusk sky. The young ronin was now a young adult, holding his majestic Helm in his arms. He was overlooking a crop on a hill just above them. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in. When he opened them, the thunderous charge of the Druchii knights and foot soldiers were all around him, screaming his name, waving banners with the bloody handprint of their war god adorning it. He tossed the helm aside, and pulled his sea dragon cloak’s hood over his head, the creature’s horned skull making the dread lord as intimidating as his army.

“We are now avenged.” The young man finally said. He whistled for his mount, a monstrous reptile the Druchii knights rode upon called a nurglire. He few his sword on joined the rush of knights as they descended upon the encampment below them.

Malekeith did not know what would happen next as the vision ended soon after. For a moment the dreaded Witch King was silent. When he did speak again, it was with great intrigue. “Interesting. I was intending to see where I could put your flaying into my busy schedule, but it appears fate has another destiny for you. How would you like to join us?” There was an understandably loud gasp in the room, as every noble and guard was wondering if their lord had lost his mind.

“I’m afraid I lost my sense of humor, my lord.” said the youth.

“And I never had much of one. I want to take my rightful place in Ulthuan’s throne, and you wish to kill a certain general. Join my armies and you will meet him sure enough on the field of battle.”

The youth didn’t take long to think about this. “I will not become a butcher, but I will fight under your banner so long as I get my revenge.”

“Well, then you have come to the right place. We Druchii are well adapted at avenging ourselves.” said the sensual voice of a woman.

She rode on the back of a great black, red eyed Pegasus. Unlike the breeds used by man, the black pegasie were notoriously vicious hunters. Omnivorous, they ate whatever they could find, but warm flesh was their preferred meal. Upon its crown grew a thick black horn which it used to ram into would-be prey items, or the few animals large enough to hunt them.

But if the mount was hand raised, as this steed was, it could be gentle with its rider, and put its deadly nature to good use.

The woman leisurely dismounted, patting her fine steed on the neck. Once on the marble floor, she walked toward the Witch King, doing so without a trace of fear. She was exotic, with many of the nobles whispering that she was the Avatar of their Goddess of Beauty and Love, if not the deity herself. As she walked, dark energy swirled around her lance like staff, signaling that she was a master of the dark arts.

Most sorceresses felt clothing was more of a suggestion then a requirement, their mastery of magic being the only protection from the elements; this high sorceress took it a step further, leaving little to nothing to the imaginations of mortal males. But today she felt the need to wear a thick yet soft fur coat that covered her other promising assets. As she walked towards the Witch King she heard the whispers of many a noble commenting of how she wasn’t dressed like a cheap concubine fresh on the slave markets. Those foolish enough to say this within earshot and not to keep this secret within their heart of hearts was rewarded their soul slowly and painfully being twisted out of their bodies, and into the realm of the Daemon-Crawler Anchan-Rogar. As usual, the fell being rewarded the sorceresses for adding to his collection by giving her the life energies of the poor soul; sustainer her for years, and healing any wounds she may have had over her journeys.

“Hello mother. I see you have rallied the chaotic scum to our side.” said the dark lord. He extended his left gauntlet to her.

In return she kissed the out stretched hand, and affectionately rubbed the cold steel against her silken cheek. “So, N’Kari decided to deliver the message after all.” she said, her voice still soft and sensual, yet now carried a subtle cold tune to it.


She was the oldest one in the room. That said she looked and felt as if she was but a two hundred years of age. Most speculated it was because of her acute knowledge of the dark arts. Others had heard rumors that she was gifted personally by Khaine with the Supreme Cauldron of Blood, the first one gifted to the Brides of Khaine, and one that would grant youth eternally and continually. But those who knew the truth knew both stories were right on target.

“So may I already assume he told you we may have to provide smaller sailing vessels for the barbarians, as they feel uncomfortable with our flagships, not to mention the fact they are too brutish to man our hell drake and leviathan pulled vessels?” She stroked behind her son’s ear, easing any tension he may have had. With his anger over his plans delay melting away, he was willing to confer as much. “So who is this adorable little boy?” she gave a glance at the youth like a caring mother would give.

“He is an Asur, one that might prove useful. He has already shown great skill with a blade, a desire to maim and kill that is on par with our teachings, and a level of bravery that few of his kind have.”

“Bravery you say?” She gave her son an odd look then turned back to the boy.

With another glance towards her son, and caressed his chest plate. She leisurely moved up to the boy. A gentle hand grasped his chin to examine the Asur. The Hag Sorceress examined the many scares on his face, wondering how many of them were caused by battle as they were from any torture the corsairs put him through on the trip here.

“Here in Naggaroth, we reward bravery.” Morathi calmly said.

She set her staff down, the dark magical energies still pulsating from her finger tips. The sorceress dug her free hand into the youth’s relatively short hair, stroking his ears as she would her son. After a few gentle caresses she maneuvered the boy's head near hers. The boy tried to move away as the ancient crone placed her lips on his, but the powers of persuasion she controlled were more than any worldly could withstand.

At first, it felt warm and inviting, as if a great peace had befallen him. But it was too good to be true. His memories, his past flashed before his eyes. Each one held great significance to the child, regardless of how minuscule it may have been. Then they stopped. As the youth wondered the empty corridors of his mind, he felt that something was now within him, something that should not be. All of a sudden, his memories reappeared before him, repeating his past over and over again. Each time a scene of his life was played, searing pain wracked his body, each time the intensity growing ever so slightly. His birth; his mother; the father who left to wage war with the Dark Elves, never to return; his second father who trained him how to fight, how to live, and his final act to save his new family. He remembered a pair of ferocious nurglire he rescued in the woods; the stranded Khornite champion his father kept as a bodyguard; the detachment of high elves that forced the boy to join them, and the Dark Elves that massacred that unit.

Then he saw his second home, his life there, working at a tavern to clean up after the fights, and later as a bouncer. Then the attack, the legion of elves that should have saved him, and then the legion that captured him. He remembered the fights, the torture, and the screams of fear and death that echoed throughout his cellblock.

Just when Ronin could not take the pain anymore of seeing everyone and everything he cared about die over and over again, he remembered the High Elf prince riding on top of his steed. He had a look of contempt for the boy, for the harbor town he lived in, and its inhabitants. The youth remembered his eyes; those evil, arrogant eyes glaring at him from on top of a green hill. What disdain for life he had, what disgust for his second home had. It was because of that revulsion for it that he let the town burn so to take away the stench of lesser races with it.

Then came the image of the entity that started all of this appeared. It was smothered in a red and black aura, and everything it touched died. He killed off two whole armies, and a village to appease its lust for destruction. But it wasn’t enough.

The youth watched as it killed everyone he cared and loved, destroyed his village, burning his house to the ground. His mother blocked one of the entity’s magical blasts aimed at the boy, scorching her flesh both within and without. Just as the situation grew dire, his father climbed on top of the daemon, stabbing its neck to no avail. He was pulled in half.

“Die!” It said in a horrid voice. The monster’s pulsating hand burst into wicked flames, and then sent another burst of its vile magic at the child.

It was then the youth’s only remaining friends came to save him. They were a pair of nurglir, massive one tone reptiles the Druchii used as mounts for their knights. While vicious, these two were still passive enough to allow the boy to free them the badly damaged chariot. They had taken a liking to the boy and their instincts told them to defend their pack mate. There was a flash of red, a shriek of pain from the war beasts, and then darkness. When the boy awoke, his world was lay smoldering. The rest of the day was spent burying the only bodies he could find: that of his mother and father.

“Make it stop!” his subconscious screamed! He came to his senses, and pushed the Witch King’s mother away. Weakened, the youth collapsed to one knee, his experience leaving him weak and nauseous. He turned his gaze back to the sorceress; his normally brown eyes now had the continence of brass.

“He has the eyes of Khaine.” she said with a smile. A trickle of blood ran down her nose. Even though she was the greatest spell caster in the world, the image of the entity that haunted the boy’s past was a bit much even for her. “He was telling the truth about his quest for revenge. He is willing to burn our twisted kin’s kingdoms to the ground in order to achieve it. Shall we not give him the torch to do it with? Shall we not have him cleans our ancestral home with the fires of hatred and revenge? Who shall train him?” she demanded.

None of the masters of the Dark Elf lands responded. They would rather die than allow this youth, born from an enemy, become their equal. Save one.

“Lord Malekith, Mistress Morathi; if you may, I have a suggestion.” The lord who spared the youth the previous night stepped forward. He still carried his massive sword on his back, but now had two standard blades sheathed on his belt. To the dark elves, this was a symbol of prestige. He was given permission to speak his mind. “My uncle, Tullaris, has finished training his last apprentice for the time being, and has ended up killing the other three he had under his care. If you may, I would like to take our young ronin there to his palace in Har Gannath. There, he will train for a year under my uncle’s watchful eye. After that we will send him to each of the cities to train and learn from those his previous teacher deems worthy.

“I see.” responded the ancient king. “So, if the captain of the Executioners has not killed him in a fit of rage within a year, and he survives the others then he might be of some use?” The Dark Lord's habit of tapping his now sheathed sword began to manifest itself. Any Noble who had survived one of the Dark Lord’s fits of rage knew what would happened, and prepared for the worst.

“Unless you know of a better way of beating the Asur out of him, and still having him be of some use to us, yes. Torture doesn’t seem to have worked, and finishing his training might be what the gods want.” There was a moment of silence. No one dared speak as the Witch King contemplated this. “Besides, he’ll be going through a Har Ganthen training period. Even if he is a failure, it will be fun cutting our losses.”

To even the meekest, kindest person in the city of Har Ganeth, the act if shedding blood was a necessary part of life at one end, and riotous fun at the other. So much so that even the most ruthless and bloodthirsty of Druchii of other cities thought this city was overflowing with madness. So much so, “cutting one’s losses” was their inside joke of taking someone who failed their expectations, taking their head off, and then using it as a kick ball.

“So be it. When Can you leave?” Malekeith asked at long last.

“All I need to do is muster my guard and we may move on the morrow. I had hopes of enjoying more time at your celebration, but if you will it…”

“Then stay. I have waited five thousand years to rule our rightful home; I can wait a few more. You may stay and enjoy yourself. After your feats of daring against slaves of the Old Ones, you deserve at least that. And for the love of glory, give the child some clothes!”

From that day forward, the boy would be known as Ronin. From that moment on, he was no longer an Asur, a High Elf, but a Druchii: A Dark Elf.

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Sat May 07, 2011 8:41 pm
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I'll be interested to see where this is going :twisted: What awaits on the City of Executioners? ... well, violence, obviously, but I'll tune in to find out!

Quote:
the depiction of elvin savior Anerion slaying four most powerful Greater Daemons to come into this world


This is a good point. I think that both kindreds see Aenarion as an ancestral hero. He was Malekith's father, after all, so I'm sure that Druchii would as well.

I also think you captured the interaction between Malekith and Morathi well; parental, but subtly not quite right. How she gets away with playing off Slaanesh and Khaine against each other I'll never know :D ... but she does.

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Sun May 08, 2011 3:28 am
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My guess is she really worships the one, and is using the other for her own means.

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Sun May 08, 2011 5:02 am
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And she tells whichever one she's with at the time they're the one she really worships! :D

But seriously, Morathi is very, very smart politically. But like you I don't think she completely controls Malekith, though she's obviously a huge influence in many ways. It would be interesting to see what happened if either of them died ...

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Sun May 08, 2011 4:42 pm
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Over 300 views, ready for the next chapter?

Chapter Seven: [needs a title really bad.]

Ronin stood in front of thee tall mirrors, while a meek elfin tailor took his measurements. Behind him, two autarii waited by the door. Their orders were to take him east, to the city of Executioners: The Cursed city of Har Ganeth. While the youth couldn’t tell why, he senesced they were not pleased with this. If he had to guess, it was either the fact they had to act as a body guard of sorts to their most hated kin, or the rumors of the city they were taking him to were all true. Maybe it was both. In any case, their stark glares continued on.

The new captain of the black ark walked into the room, carrying a bundle under his arms. “I brought this just in case. It was the armor you were wearing the day we caught you.”

“The gauntlets as well?”

“Yes. They seem to be enchanted somehow. When other corsairs tried to put them on, they seem to be racked with pain. When we took them off, their hands looked as if they were put in a smith’s fire.”

“That is because they were made for me and me alone. Anyone else it will reject, unless I say otherwise. But have you ever seen a smith’s fire, or do your slaves do every”

“Corsairs have to look after themselves, and the use of slaves if far and few between for most of the tasks except for house hold needs and animal care on board black arks. This means as with most things, we have to fend for ourselves. Metallurgy is just one of the things we have to learn. Well, I need to be off soon. My ship has received its orders to gather timber and some wild beasts from the southern continent. It will be coming to Naggrond to pick me and the two numb sculls up within a day.”

“I take it you are not going to Har Ganeth with us?” asked the Ronin, turning his head to get a better look at his former jailer. The youth’s eyes had returned to their normal brown hue.

“Oh by the dragons of the depths, no! Only devout Khainites wish to go to that cursed place! To the people of that city; you are of the temple; a guest of the temple; or prey, and all three tend be too interchangeable for my tastes.”

“No wonder those two seemed pissed.”

“Arnt’ you a little young to be speaking like that?” asked Mill’Scion with an inquisitive look.

Before Ronin could respond, the tailor just finished his measurements and interrupted them. “Too young or too old, I am ready for the next step. So, how do you wish to be dressed as?” The tailor brought out a book with images of unisex gowns and weapons of the commoner’s stock.

Ronin looked at the book, then at the two specters watching him like a hawk. “Actually can you get me something like what those two have on?” he asked.

A day of hard travel later, Malakeith's command to build a mighty fleet for the barbarians to traverse the harsh seas had begun. As predicted, the northern tribesmen were too frightened by the massive flying vassals to take a step near them, and no one was willing to test the humans’ skills on their living ships. Only a handful of glory seekers from their stock asked to enter the arcane ships as they knew they would see the excitement they sought after. The only problem Malakeith could see with his grand scheme was making the conventional vessels completely human proof. To accommodate this commandment, every ship, be it a transport vessel or a black ark, was out capturing more slave labor and gathering timber across the world.

That said the Ronin and his new guardians had to continue on their three to four day journey through the perilous wilds of the Naggaroth to Har Ganeth, City of the Executioners. It was near the end of brief summer, and things had begun to cool down from a temperature just warm enough to cause sweat, to one where a jacket was required to keep warm. While not freezing, the howling winds would steal the warmth from anyone they touched. The dark clouds didn't help much either. While an untrained eye wouldn't be able to tell, most of the group could sense rain would be upon them within a day or two, drenching the dry ground.

As Mill’Scion was called to raid Lustria, Ronin was given to the responsible hands of the Noble who first suggested this trip and his elite unit of Har Ganeth’s Executioners.

The troop of shades who entertained Malekeith’s court was also along for the journey to assure the groups safe passage. Besides the performers, there were at least three dozen other warriors of their clan, most of which were veterans of over a dozen different wars. Of these, one of them was anything but pleased with this decision.

“Why the hells are we taking the runt?” grumbled an experienced shade. “By all that is ours for the taking, he is a common Asur! I have killed runts like him before, and to be blunt, I see nothing special in him.”

The shade had survived over two hundred battles, either on patrols against marauding beastmen and the human followers of Chaos in this land, or on various raids against any remaining colonies the Asur had left in the world. He wore no armor and little padding for warmth as he had adapted his body to two things: speed and cold climates, and he didn’t want anything to weigh him down. His chiseled chest was exposed; the rest of his body was covered in black cloth he had stolen during a raid several seasons prior.

“It’s been a day’s travel, and he’s managed to keep up with us so far, father.” said the young woman who played the part of the hero who slew the Manticore. She wore a brown flowing cloak, brown pants, and matching shirt, with black chainmail peeking out through the opening around her neck. “Give him a shot, or if you think he’s that useless then take the shot. You have the best aim in all of Naggaroth, use it.”

“Know you place daughter, for I know mine. And while I am not fond of this decision, it is one our elders have made, and one we cannot disobey”

“Then you should quit complain, father, as it does nothing to solve the situation. You have taught me at least that much. But if he will be such a big waste of time as you fear, shouldn’t it be our responsibility to alleviate this problem from our greatest patron of the soft bellied city folk?”

“Our city dwelling cousins are the least of our worries. As for the stripling, he is as of right now he’s proving his worth!” said a familiar voice.

It belonged to a Shade standing on a large boulder. He made a ten foot jump to the ground, but recovered as if it were a mere step or two. He wore all black, and had a pair of extendable silvered steel claws permanently attached to his right wrist. Few knew what he looked like, as he always wrapped a black scarf over his face, while his hood was almost always over his head. Regardless most could recognize the shade from the fact he was very thin, almost too thin.

“Where is he?” demanded the war leader.

“He volunteered to join me and the other advanced scouts.” said the thin Shade. “During which time we ran into a fight between a manticore and a hydra. The hydra was almost defeated when the embodiment of Khain’s furry spotted us. Seeing easier prey the manticore bolted towards us. It killed two of my party, wounded another. The Fact is if it wasn’t for the Ronin, we would all be dead by now.”

“I see, so he is dead. Who was the other to fall, and what fool allowed him to join?”

“I did sir. He asked if he could help. We told him if he could keep up, he was more than welcomed to it. I did not expect him to be able to keep up with all that dead weight. As for the first question, he didn’t die. It was Kill’eiom and Tallen that got clawed into five pieces, while Keik got lucky and is only suffering from a minor concussion…and three broken ribs.”

“Great, two of my greatest warriors have now gone on their journey to the Underworld, and my heir is half dead. Where is that cowardly wretch Ronin?

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Sun May 08, 2011 10:09 pm
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Is there any more of this? I want to know what happens in the realm of the Shades ... The rest of my active roleplaying party are Autarii so some helpful hints might be good :D

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Wed May 18, 2011 2:35 am
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I will take all the hints I can take. Most of my shade info I got from the malus dark blade books (the first onibus will work)

And since its been a little bit since my last post, heres the next chapter.

And I stll need titles, PEOPLE!



Chapter Eight: Primal Furry


“RUN FOR IT!” yelled one of the advanced scouts, running for his life. Despite the natural speed all elves shared, the Manticore was keeping up with him. The elf had taken one clean shot, taking out one of the beast’s eyes. Big mistake. While it took its attention away from his fellow Autarii, it changed the target of the monster’s rage towards him! He knew what this thing could do, and he knew it was Khaine’s favorite beast, and for a good reason.

Although it looked like a regular lion, there were some rather districted and drastic differences in size, shape, and temperament. For starters, it was big. Many a Beast Master have often described it as forty feet of mussel and fury; half of which made up a muscular tail that could smash a man’s chest open with one swipe. In this case, this dark brown beast had to have been fifteen feet longer than that.

At the end of it was a foot long stinger that resembled that of a scorpion. In this case it was shaped like a broadsword. Although it housed a neurotoxin, venom designed to paralyze prey, a typical strike from it would often kill smaller prey, while larger prey ended up getting stabbed so many times that it would die from the wounds in and of themselves.

The other major feature to the monster was its powerful set of bat like wings. It made the most use of them on the tall mountain peaks where its kind liked to hunt, gliding in through the air. Yet the massive wings were powerful enough to lift it and any large prey it might have caught back to its lair. It isn’t uncommon for a manticore to lift a hydra of equal size and weight, if not greater, back to its lair. But if their wings were damaged, or they are hunting in a thick forest, they could give chase on foot. This monster almost lost a wing with that fight with the hydra, and there was the firm possibility it could never fly again. This fate would mean a pitifully short life out here.

The last issue, and the most important one, is that this was the most dangerous beast in the wilds of Naggrond. Worse than the minatours, the bears, the chimeras, the hydras, and even the drakes, it was the king of the mountains and the forest. Manticores had this nasty habit of taking on anything that came in their territory, be it large or small. Once it spotted an intruder it would go straight for the kill, commonly using its favorite tactic: Rip its head off.

It wasn’t unheard of these things to attack a dragon for the fun of it. Even when they have been trained to take a rider, the old saying from the port city of Karond Kar held true: “There is no such thing as a tame Manticore.” Although a good trainer or rider could get these beasts risk its life to defend its owner, the moment it saw anything that remotely resembled prey it went on the attack. In other words, anything that wasn’t a tree or a rock was fair game and the beast knew it. Despite the risks, or maybe because of them, the nobility of Naggaroth have been using these sacred beasts as their mounts of choice since the first one was captured and reared before the fall of Nagaryth.

But even then, as the Shade knew, it was eternally a feral animal, and the one chasing was no different. It was getting closer. The only thing keeping it moving was adrenaline and the purest form of rage. Despite its wounds and the loss of blood it kept running. With one working eye, its depth precision was off, allowing a large branch to knock the predator to the ground.

The elf thought he was safe. He looked back; a carless mistake. This area was hit hard by heavy rains during the spring that eroded the soil, exposing the tree roots. In his panicked rush, the autarii forgot this fact, despite the training he received from birth. With a yelp, he got his foot tangled in one of these exposed roots. Gravity did the rest. Pain stabbed at his leg from the ankle up. Just as the lad was about to pull his foot out, he heard the low growl. He looked up. Justifiably his pants now smelled of fresh urine. The manticore let out a deafening roar, ready to swipe the young elf in half.

Suddenly the forest came alive with the roars of another great beast. The black, serpentine hydra it faced earlier wasn’t dead yet. Its remaining head spat a stream of fire at its enemy, setting the manticore’s mighty main on alight with hellish flames. On one of its stumps where one of five heads resided stood the Ronin.

He wore a green tunic, brown pants, and a chainmail shirt under it. His face was obscured by his sea dragon’s cloak’s hood. With his scimitar in hand, he goaded the manticore on. The stump the youth was standing on exploded with another head, launching him at his prey.

The manticore made its equivalent of a chuckle, smothering the blaze with its one good wing. Like a snake, the manticore dislocated its jaw, and swallowed the boy whole. With one strong stroke of its tail, the beast broke the hydra’s remaining necks.

By now the rest of the shades, and a few executioners arrived to deal with the bloodied beast. With a mighty roar, it charged them. The elves knew what this thing could do, and prepared to run. But it was too late. With a single swipe he cut three warriors into pieces, including a heavily armored Executioner.

The veteran of the group took aim and fired his repeater crossbow at the face of the monster. Normally he would have tried to find a weak spot on the neck, but the thick knotted mane made it impossible. The great beast flung a drop of venom from its tail at the would-be attacker. Like acid, it seared his face, but given some ointment, and a simple healing spell he retain his necessary sight.

Before his vision became too blurry, he saw the monster raised itself on its hind quarters, preparing for one final attack. The Veteran Shade quickly opened up a vile, and splashed its contents in his eyes. He knew it was futile, as the behemoth would have started toying with him before the concoction took effect. But if he was to die, then he may as well see it coming.

Just as it was about to pounce, the great beast jerked back in pain. Its cries went from that of a cunning hunter, to that of a wounded beast. Its large paws quickly scratched around its neck, sendng gereat chunks of fur and flesh flying around. Crowching as low on the ground as it could, it released a series of deep throated hacks until it loosened the irritant from it’s being. Ronin, along with a wad of hair the no bigger than he was, was well bloodied, but no worse for where.

“And I thought they smelled bad on the outside.” said the youth, trying to keep a straight face with his appearance in shambles. Just as he had time to pick himself up, he had to role out ofo the way of the charging monster. For a split second he took a look at the hydra giving it’s last dying twitch. “You bastard! You killed Malock!” Ranj head long towards his foe, sliding under the charging beast. With His sword in hand, he cut the back of the beast’s heals, but the blade had lost it’s edge at that point. It still had a sharp point, and Ronin figured it’s anatomy had to register pain elsewhere.

With a shrilled roar, Ronin not only confirmed it but made sure this beast was not going to have more seed. Ronin Hoped this would be enough. By now more shades began pelting the beast with bolts, while Executioners bared their great swords and axes, They hacked away, slashing the beast to bits, while oters tried to skewer it with longer blades.

Near defeat, and well bloodied, the frenzied monstrosity refused too give up, even long after tide had turned against it. With it’s attention souley on the armored elves, Ronin climbed on the manticor’s back, ready to kill the beast that killed his new hydra. It wasn’t hard convincing the wild monster to join him: He simply had to place a healing solve his mother taught him to make on the beast’s wounded leg. The regenerative properties of Hydra’s flesh did the rest. Now his new ally was dead, and Ronin was going to make sure so was it’s killer.

With his sword pointing downwards, Ronin shoved the blade as deep into the monster’s back, just below the main. Ronin was unsure if it was enough to cause any true harm, but it was enough to cause it great pain. So much pain, that the beast hardly noticed master of death leading this expedition until his oversized blade pierced it’s skull.

“This is the biggest Manticore I’ve seen. It’s even bigger then Queen Hel Borum’s, and Thalog is no runt.” commented the most powerful of the Executioners, as he pulled his massive blade free.

Ronin, exhausted, finally fell off the dead beast, a half dazed smile spread across his face. He had won, but at a great coast. Even then, what he brought to the battle field was limited at best. It was the shades, and the Executioners that brought this beast down, not him.

By now the salve was working, removing the effects of the venom from the elite shade’s eyes, while his daughter cast a simple healing charm for the rest. “What happened?” Asked the veteran shade, surprised he was still in one piece.

“Ronin distracted the embodiment of khaine, while your warriors, and the elite of khaine killed it.

“What was Ronin doing, screaming like a little girl?

“He goaded a hydra to finish it’s fight, rammed himself down it’s throat, got coughed up with a hairball, nuddered it, and shoved his sword into its back. I believe he has proven himself. If you want to push your idea he is a weakling, prove it at your own risk.

“Where is he?”

The young woman pointed towards Ronin with her sword. The youth in question was over by the dying hydra, his arms wrapped around one of the great beast’s necks.

“I see. Tell the elders. We may have a use for him after all.”

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Wed May 18, 2011 4:36 am
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Malekith's Best Friend
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Joined: Tue Jun 30, 2009 3:15 am
Posts: 1269
Location: UK
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Some good description of the manticore here; remind me not to go for a nice picnic in the Naggaroth woods.

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~ We Never Slept ~


Fri May 20, 2011 2:25 am
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