Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Chapter 205 55. It is prohibited to throw objects at high altitudes

Darkus couldn't see Hagrid Grave at all in the distance. If he hadn't seen the thick smoke coming out of the workshop, it would have been as if the city didn't exist at all. He had been admiring the early spring scenery of Naggaroth in the wild for several days, and only continued to move forward when he saw that the time was almost right.

Hagrid's Grave, also known as the Black Abyss and the City of Shadows, is built in a sinister and foreboding place at the bottom of a cold, dark canyon, completely surrounded by mountains of exposed rock that stretch into the sky. surrounded. Surrounded by steep hillsides, the valley floor receives only a few hours of direct sunlight each day and only a few rare sunny days a year. For much of the year, the city is shrouded in a perpetual mist.

Night Governor Draka sent his steward and some retainers to greet Darkus at the city gate despite his busy schedule.

Darkus didn't feel left out at all. He was a pragmatic elf, and he didn't like things that were mere formalities. What was more important than that was the actual benefits he could gain. Besides, Drukhi society does not have any programs such as city parades, military bands, or teenagers presenting flowers to welcome distinguished guests. What's more, there is no corn in Nagaros, and he doesn't have a corn cob in his hand to wave.

“This is truly a city that is always in shadow!”

It was the afternoon, when the sun was relatively abundant in Nagaros, but Darkus didn't feel the sunlight shining into the city at all when he was walking in the city. The only thing in the city was the weak, flickering light of the magic fire ball, which was a green light. Glittering like will-o'-the-wisps in the corrosive mist that drifted through the streets. And he felt like there was a knee on his throat and he couldn't breathe! Kryon (noun, a mask, usually silver or gold, worn by Hagridgrave's powerful men to protect their faces from the fog that swept over the city.) It felt better than the mask he had worn before It was still uncomfortable, but he had no choice but to wear it. He would rather wear this thing than be baptized by black magic.

In Darkus' eyes, this was a place full of twists and wonders, with the city's eight black towers rising from the bottom of the canyon like the fossilized remains of some weird cephalopod. These eight towers represent the power of the eight families of Hagrid Grave. Various strange shapes and large and small walkways, platforms and bridges are built between the towers. Some are made of withered wood and soot-stained bones, others are made of jagged black marble or woven from the silk of giant spiders.

It is also filled with very large platforms, supported by brackets made of black steel and black marble. These are where most of the city's citizens live, huddled in ramshackle houses made of cinder blocks and fire-blackened wood.

The narrow environment, coupled with Druch's nature, ensured that conflicts could turn into violence with alarming regularity. Those unlucky enough to accidentally cross the street network have their throats slit and their bodies thrown into the swamp of sewage and carrion that covers the canyon floor.

At least in Darkus' eyes, it was similar to the Black Ark Temple of Malice, with a dark version of the beauty of a mountain city. From time to time he could see unlucky people falling from the edge while riding. According to reliable intelligence, the city guards and field troops in the city are constantly gathering at this time, seemingly preparing for a decisive battle with the Nagor army.

As analyzed by the White Paper Fans of Darkus, Hagrid Grave's current Varachal Isvar did not go out with the army, but stayed in the city to engage in political struggles with the powerful people who were spying on his status. .

At this time, there are no longer city guards pretending to maintain law and order in the city, which has intensified the conflicts and contradictions between neighbors.

"If I were the night governor of Hagrid Grave, I would definitely issue a ban on throwing objects at high altitudes in the city." Darkus saw another unlucky guy falling from a height to the front of the team. The unlucky guy looked like a Like a watermelon, the terrifying scene should be mosaic, he couldn't help but think.

The team did not stop, and the cold lizard's thick and powerful hind legs kept stepping on the watermelon, making a tooth-piercing sound.

"In the future, if you want to preside over the construction of the city on the Kauchen Plain, I have only one request. According to the layout of the Lustria temple city, it is best to combine the architectural style of Druchi with the style of the temple city. Together, but it can't be like this." Darkus called Walter over and warned him. While talking, he kept pointing his hand into the distance. Suddenly, his hand stopped at the fire not far above, completely ignoring it. The butler on the side looked apologetically smiling.

"Yes, sir. What should the name of the city that is about to rise be called?"

"City of Conspiracy, Commorragh? City of Hope?" Darkus said casually and shook his head. He realized that he really had no talent for naming names, and then he looked at Walter and Lane.

Walter looked at Darkus dumbly, as if he didn't understand what Darkus meant.

"Hope." Ren next to him manipulated the cold lizard to get closer to Walter, kicked Walter with his foot, and said in a low voice.

"This is the smell! A long-lost smell." Darkus suddenly closed his eyes and felt the two Druchi speaking lizard language.

What's outrageous is that Darkus couldn't understand the lizard language spoken by Ren at first. He thought it might be because of the hot-blooded accent. It was as if he was speaking a dialect in Chinese, and his tone and tone were like Mandarin. But he I just don’t understand.

As a result, Darkus later figured out that Chupako was causing trouble. He didn't really teach Ren at the beginning. He kept playing tricks on Ren. He didn't start teaching until Hesiota confirmed something. What Ren said before It's just fake lizard language, just like using Baga's intonation when speaking Chinese (corresponding to the chapter about the trade tycoon's accident).

Darkus can understand the authentic lizard language and can also read the writing on the stone tablets. But he can speak three sentences but can't write. It's like a talent and a loading module. He can translate automatically without learning, but he can also translate automatically. When he communicates with the lizard people, he usually uses the language of his hometown.

Walter reacted when he heard Ren's hissing in Lizardman, and then the two of them began to communicate in Lizardman. The strange tone attracted the attention of Druchi dignitaries who had never been to Lustria. and the curious looks of the sorceresses.

After Ren said a few words, he stopped talking and raised his head at Walter.

"Sir, the word hope in the Lizardman language should correspond to Ashriel in our language. If possible, add har (meaning city, palace) in front of it."

"City of Hope, Hal Asriel? This is too hopeful!" Darkus muttered in a low voice and then began to think. He knew the meaning of Asriel. In Elvish language, Asriel not only meant hope, but also despair. Through intonation, context and voice, the meaning of the word could be displayed in different scenes. He began to try to read and understand, hope represented the elves and lizard people, and despair represented the plantation employees sent from the old world labor service. He felt that this word was really good, wonderful! He actually doesn't want to be funny, but respects the customs of the lizard people and Lustria.

"Why is there a fire there? Is there some ceremony being held?" Darkus nodded and asked the butler who came to greet him in a joking tone.

The whole housekeeper didn't know how to deal with it for a moment, and could only keep wiping the non-existent cold sweat on his forehead. Darkus shook his head. He felt that the butler's adaptability was a bit poor, but something was indeed happening in that place where the flames were burning.

Nasser was a native of Hagrid Gravedruch, his father was a powerful master blacksmith. Unfortunately, due to the stupidity of the powerful twins' stupid sons, the powerful man's property and status declined rapidly.

The twin foolish sons' gambling and ambition outweighed their cunning and luck, and it wasn't long before their opponents sensed their weaknesses.

Within decades, this powerful man's property continued to be lost, his land was either seized or forced to be sold, and his twin foolish sons were both assassinated. All that was left of the once proud and powerful magnate was a few relatively loyal retainers, a small, barren estate, and declining health.

Naser grew up quickly and learned the skills and art of blacksmithing from his father. Due to his master's failed fate, he was forced to work hard in the smithy, and he even replaced the dwarf slaves who had tended his father's smithy, who of course were forced to sell due to financial problems.

Nasser's shoulders were strong from the rhythm of hammering on the anvil, his hands were hardened and unyielding from the fiery heat and weight of the black steel, and his chest was hardened by the push of the massive bellows that fanned the furnace flames. become thicker. Unfortunately as he grew in size, skill and strength, his elderly master's health declined.

In the one hundred and twenty-seventh year of Nasser, his life suddenly changed because Hagrid Grave was going to war again. His master finally succumbed to the effects of age and the slow-acting poison, and the retainers gathered around the powerful man's bedside to look at the powerful man's bony face.

The retainers made their own decisions, and some Druch decided to leave and go out alone to look for opportunities or find new jobs and allegiances with other powerful people. Others, including Naser's father, chose to stay and look after their master's home until a legitimate heir could be found to swear allegiance.

Nasser and his father took up the weapons and armor they had forged with their own sweat and strength and stood guard outside the gates of the manor. Because news of their master's death would spread quickly, powerful rivals would come to trouble them, the city guard would pay no attention to their fights, and there was no city guard in Hagrid Grave now.

Nasser did not see where the sudden arrows on the street came from. He only felt that something hit him hard on the head. The darkness swallowed him up and he fell to the ground. He woke up lying on the cold stone of the street, his vision blurred and his head aching. Slowly, he forced himself to sit up and look around.

"God of forging!"

Under the flickering witch fire ball at the gate of the manor, Nasir found himself lying in a growing pool of blood. His head was slashed and blood ran down his neck, soaking his kaitan, but the blood gathering around him couldn't possibly be all his. He shook his aching head and saw his helmet fall beside him, pierced by an arrow that would have killed him had it not been for his father's craftsmanship.

Sadly, Nasser's father was lying next to his helmet, his face almost unrecognizable, soaked in blood, staring at him.

A nearby sound caught Naser's attention, and he looked away from his father's body. The sound was close, but muffled by the walls surrounding the manor's grounds, but he saw the glow of the manor's fire.

The voice of a stranger, the voice of a murderer. A roar of pain and fury rose from Nasser's throat, and he sprang to his feet, grabbing his spear, rage already dominating his thoughts.

Nasser rushed into the open door he had been guarding. Three Druchi stood near the witch fire ball, pointing at the burning main manor house and talking about something. His rage-shrouded brain could no longer piece together what they were saying, he could only see the target of his anger.

A Druchi wore a bright red cloak trimmed with gold and shining black steel armor. An elegant helmet and mask covered his face. Two well-equipped warriors stood beside him.

A few steps away, in the shadow of the gate, stood a figure that Nasser had not noticed, holding a non-reflective repeating crossbow in his hand.

Nasser's intuition came into play. He staggered and dodged the sudden arrow, but his reaction was still a step too slow. The arrow scratched his left eye, then passed through the bridge of his nose and then through his right eye.

"Val!"

Just as Nasser roared in pain and anger, another arrow penetrated his lower armpit along the gap in the armor. The severe pain made him stop breathing. He knelt on one knee holding a spear. He suddenly lost his eyesight and could not adapt to this change. After a while, he seemed to adapt to some of the current situation, or the enemy. The footsteps were too loud and too close, and he was kicked down before he could react, causing him to collapse to the ground.

The old world, the forests of Athel Loren. Lord Dais, who was banging the iron felt in the Starlight Forge, suddenly stopped moving. The hammer he was about to hit hard was held high in the air and did not fall for a long time, as if his machine was down.

"Pity." The enemy shook his head at Nasser and sighed, his tone exuding contempt.

Nasser felt fear well up from his stomach like vomit, even overpowering the pain from his wounds. He was defenseless, he was hurt, he was lying on the ground. He suddenly realized that death was waiting for him and that he was about to die. He felt that his mind was frozen and he wanted to adjust his mind to face this terrible fate.

The tone of the enemy's expression, its powerful and arrogant tone, cut through the cracks in which Nasser was shrouded in despair. Just as the enemy raised his sword blade over his beautifully decorated helmet, preparing for a fatal blow, some small voices suddenly appeared in the depths of his mind, but the voices were lifelike, firm, sonorous and powerful!

Nasser, who was so blessed, finally reacted. He abandoned the spear in his hand and reached out directly to pull out the serrated dagger from the enemy's boot. The sharp blade penetrated deeply into the enemy's knee, making a crunching sound. Punctured bone and severed tendons. The enemy lost his previous strength and fell to the ground screaming and twisting.

Nasser roared and stood up, ignoring the pain in his armpits, trying to lie on the enemy and stab the saw-tooth dagger into the enemy's chest.

At this moment, the terrified screams of the onlookers and the sudden sound of arrows piercing the air appeared again. The extremely powerful arrow hit the serrated dagger in Nasser's hand. The serrated dagger fell to the ground and screamed. Crisp sound.

Nasser, who had adapted to blindness a little, vaguely heard the sound of the crossbow trigger. He knew it was too late, he had no chance. The voice came again in his mind. He leaned back with all his strength, and then shot He dodged the arrow with a roll. He followed his heart and the voice in his mind. He stood up and ran towards the door. He had to run, he had to escape. He must live! Revenge can only be achieved by surviving. This is not a disgraceful behavior for Druch.

Another arrow struck Nasser in the calf, and his injured leg was nearly paralyzed, but he held on and became stumbling. He limped toward the door. A new panic was driving him, his hands were shaking, his vision was not dark, but chaotic. The scary thing was that a strange eye briefly appeared in the chaos, and then disappeared again, and then disappeared again. It became colorless chaos. (Chaos expresses the state after blindness. Trivia: after blindness, the eyes are not completely dark, not even dark)

Fatigue and blood loss made Nasser erratic, and the sound of arrows piercing the air kept coming to his ears. He suddenly felt lonely, as if he was the last soul in the world, as if the entire universe had abandoned him. In such a short time, he lost everything, his father, his master, his home, and everything he cared about.

The Kane assassin behind him looked at Nasser in surprise, and then looked at the repeating crossbow in his hand. He felt a little strange. He was confident in his own skills. There was no reason for him to be so close to the last few rounds. The arrows all missed and flew past Nasser like a stroke.

"Jump!"

This sonorous and powerful voice came from Nasser's mind again. He was familiar with this place and knew what was waiting for him ahead, but he still chose to believe this voice. He dragged his injured calf and walked quickly, and then Speeding up again, the healthy leg stepped on the edge and jumped hard.

Drusala's right hand quickly stretched out, and a black and purple hand appeared out of thin air to hold Nasir, who was about to hit the team. He was suspended above Darkus' team.

"Don't hurt him, let him down." Just when Drusala was about to crush Nasir, Darkus' serious voice interrupted Drusala's actions.