Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Winter was fading, and as he ran, Sefian felt the fury of spring beating in his pulse. The first breath of the new year has begun to break away from the cold and fill the trees with desire. It was a dangerous moment, but he felt no relief at home, and as he hurried through the shifting darkness he frowned, catching a glimpse of the gorgeous lights of the Gray Hall ahead.

Saifian couldn't help but shudder. It had only been three months since he last left his hometown. He was frightened to be reunited with the Familia again so quickly. He could already imagine the ridiculous spells and meaningless deceptions of the Familia. He promised himself that the visit would be short, and that as soon as the news was conveyed he would leave and return to the forest again.

After reaching the entrance of the valley, Sefian fell to his knees due to pain and exhaustion. He tied his arms with ointment made from dry leaves. The blood flow had decreased, but his head was still unusually light. He pressed his palms into the hard earth and murmured a prayer, begging Elsa to hold him just a little longer.

After a while, the ground began to change and roll.

Sefian watched with bated breath as the path closed around him, branches crunching as they crawled over the soil, reaching longingly toward his trembling limbs. He knew they were not leaves, but remnants wrapped in broken skin and hair. He was still recovering, waiting, when he felt the thorns scratch his skin, and suddenly he stood up and kept running.

The bloodstained branches stuck out behind Sefian for a moment, claw-like, then retreated into the shadows when Sefian was gone.

A winding path led Sefian into the valley, covered in gray-white silver birch branches that gleamed like bones in the dark. As he walked through the bare branches of the silver birches, he listened, expecting a sound, a sign. After a moment, he shook his head. He heard nothing. Years of observing the forest had honed his instincts, and he could feel the forest's displeasure as clearly as his pain.

Sefian noticed flickering lights in the shadows, smiling wood spirits, alight with the approach of spring. He looked at the wood spirit with envy, longing for the freedom that the wood spirit showed off so happily. After sighing, he walked towards a pale arch at the far end of the avenue, which was Arida's territory.

Sentinels guarded the gate, silently hidden in the shadows. When Sefian entered, they did not move or greet him, as if Sefian did not exist.

Sefian stood there, making no attempt to hide himself. Why didn't the sentry stop him, or at least say hello? He paused, looking back at the pale arch, trying to make out the guarding figures. He shrugged and moved on, hurrying through another tunnel of tangled branches toward the gray hall.

Arida weaves her spell under the roots of a huge tree called Dillandra, a dreary and melancholy place. As evidenced by the melancholy character and gray-toned clothes of Aslay there . There are no songs of joy in the gray hall, only the dirge of the elves living in the shadow of death. In fact, the Asrai of Tirsais are no more fatalistic than others of their kind; they simply revere the end of life as fervently as the beginning.

Therefore, the asrai of Ashenhall erect intricate moonstone statues in their woodlands so that their dead will not be forgotten and honored even by their loved ones elsewhere in the forest.

"What an ego."

As Sefian approached the Ashen Hall, frowning at the moonstone statue, he placed his hand on the statue and looked up at the sky through the branches.

Durandra stands tall, and protected by its eternal palm fronds, the forests of Tilsas grow day by day. But in recent years, it has become taciturn, wrapping its wounds in bitter silence. Only at the culmination of Arida's resuscitation ritual does it glow with a glimmer of vitality, and then return to silence again.

"The valley sleeps so deeply? That no one welcomes me home?"

At the base of the trunk, roots cut across the earth, creating a gaping hole with no steps, just a void where the earth is soft. Sefian paused as he approached the entrance, calling to the shadows.

"Already our kind have gathered below, watchers, and the lady is among us, dressed in the colors of the past, celebrating the coming melt." The shadows were like ripples in the water, converging into a tall, slender figure, a man with a sling hanging from his shoulders. A sentinel with a long bow and a hood on his head appeared, and he spoke in a measured tone.

A stiff feeling increased Saifian's fear. Why didn't the sentry call his name? Why treat him like a stranger? He took a step closer, trying to make out the sentry's face in the gloom, but the sentry moved awkwardly and averted his gaze.

"I see."

Despite what Sefian said, he was confused by the Sentinel's uneasiness. He turned back to the hole in the intertwined root system and stared into the darkness, a nameless fear welling up in his heart. What awaits him below? He cursed his own absurdity. No matter how much he despised this place, this was his home. He nodded to the sentry, ignored the sentry's distant gaze, and stepped into the void.

Sefian felt the embrace of darkness, he was being dragged, slender branches stabbing his face while thick roots moved beneath him, rolling like waves. He felt a strong sense of weightlessness in his arms, and the roots rattled and cracked as they carried him deep into the ground. He watched as huge shadows rolled past him. Arida's magic had penetrated deep into Durandra's roots, almost disconnected from the physical world.

Strange scenes keep emerging, masses trapped in change flash through faces and limbs, and ghosts of the past float and call. The warping of time and nature filled Sefian with grief, and when the roots finally released him, he hurried down a dark avenue.

After passing through a slender archway, Sefian came under a dome of roots and thorns. This chamber has been around for thousands of years, becoming silvery and petrified over time. He looked up to see the frozen veins of starlight snaking through the wood, filling the air with warmth and movement, and overhead the golden branches of dry mistletoe pulsing with the light of a forgotten sunrise, and he hurried nonetheless He walked hurriedly through the front hall, hating the wonders designed to amaze.

Sefian crossed into another room where towering pillars coiled above his head, twisting into ever-changing statues. Now the pillars take on the images of gods, the roaring god of hunting Kunos, the smiling god of deceit Loik, and Elsa in an ivy robe and a ring of twinkling fireflies.

After taking a look, Saifian quickly entered the Jasper Hall, a majestic hall with constantly changing colors, where hundreds of his dependents gathered. The air is filled with the pungent smell of herbal wood smoke and roasted game. There are also many fireflies floating in exquisite cages, illuminating the darkness and dotting the gathering crowd with blurry beams of light.

As Sefian hurried past, a pale face flashed out. His family members stared at him with anxious eyes, pointed at him with trembling fingers, and murmured his name. All the Familia are spell weavers. The strange thing is that the spell weavers avoided him after seeing his gaze. The few spell weavers who could not avoid looking at him could only simply nod, and then quickly disappeared into the shadows.

At the far end of the hall, Saifian saw a flash. He wasn't sure what he saw. It looked like flashes of silent lightning trapped underground. His heart sank as the flash passed through a circle of awed faces. After a while, Arida was indeed present. Arida was worshiped and feared, and her strange magic caused a lot of trouble. As he got closer, he noticed that his closest friend was also avoiding him. He couldn't figure it out, and he didn't want to get involved in this strange game, but such open hostility seemed strange.

"Iser!"

Finally, Sefian saw a face that he was sure would not turn away after seeing him. he shouted, and Iselton, who was talking to the others, paused as his voice echoed through the hall.

Israel turned her head and greeted Sefian with a smile. Her cinnamon-colored hair was filled with sparrow hawk feathers, tied tightly at the back, and hung between her ivory shoulders, making her face look extremely serious. Her blue-gray eyes flickered in the changing light, and as he pulled her closer, Seifian realized that she had cried.

"Why are you back so soon?"

"Why does everyone treat me like a stranger tonight?" Sefian shook his head. He was confused by Israel's indifference. He could feel that Israel was keeping a deliberate distance from him.

"Aren't you a stranger? When have you ever longed to talk? Aren't your words enough to keep you talking for at least a year?" Israel smiled, but the smile was sad.

"Does every thought need to be spoken out? Is there anything wrong with keeping one's thoughts secret?" Sefian's frown deepened, and he looked around with disgust as he spoke.

"Don't worry, you're just not the most exciting guest tonight." After hearing Sefian's words, Israel shook his head in disbelief.

"Although you are of very noble origin, you must learn to be humble. The forest does not revolve around you, no matter how much time you spend praying to it." Israel ignored Sefian's anger and continued.

Sefian was so angry that he couldn't speak for a moment. After pointing at Sefian, he shook his head, trying to get rid of the painful memories.

"I have news, outsider!" After a while, Sefian recovered. He took off a necklace from his neck and raised it in front of Israel.

"Outsiders?" Israel frowned, with a tone of distrust in her voice.

"Yes, outsider!"

"You are hurt."

When Israel saw the blood-stained ointment on Sefian's arm, Sefian shrugged and said it was okay.

"You must talk to Lady Areda, I think she will definitely receive you." Israel said while gently stroking the ointment, her eyes full of compassion.

"Okay, my news is important..." Sefian could feel that Israel was strange, but when he thought about facing Arida next, his uneasiness increased. He had lived for a long time, but He had never seen Arida's face.

"She'll see you," Israel said, taking Sefian's arm across the hall.

Arida is powerless. Sefian suspected this earlier than most of the Familia. In the past few years, Arida's powerlessness has become an undeniable fact. When he came to Arata, he saw her floating in mid-air a few centimeters above the ground.

With her arms raised above her head, Arida is surrounded by tentacles of light and fluttering leaves, dazzling shapes that make her silhouette almost unrecognizable. Gray haze of light rippled around her body, washing over her muscular figure like dust.

It was an incredible show of power, but Sefian was not fooled. Arida was old and her power had long since left her. Arida's delusions were sustained by a row of pitiful figures hanging low in the shadows. , this is a fraud and pretense, and he thinks he understands the truth.

Still, Sefian was mesmerized by the scene, and he saw the powerful hallucinations Arida was weaving. He saw visions of transparent, sparkling spring and new growth, and even the wild hunts of summer. To his embarrassment, he discovered that many of the scenes involved himself. His performance in recent years has won the respect of the entire tribe, but this is not love. When he thinks of the coldness he has received, he becomes confused again.

"Ms. Arida, I bring news!"

Arida glanced down, then fell from the air. The gray light fell on her skin like a gray cloak.

Saifian found that as he shouted out the words, all the family members present turned to look at him, but he did not see any one surprised by his interruption. His family members seemed to be waiting for him?

"Sefian, tell me, what news did you bring?" Arida, who was wearing a veil, asked in a calm voice. At the same time, she cast her bright eyes on Sefian, and various emotions were revealed on the face behind the veil. Desire, excitement and a few surprises.

"I...I saw outsiders in the north, madam." Sefian hesitated, and finally told the news he had obtained.

"Watcher, is there anything unusual about this? Not long ago, outsiders came." A burst of nervous laughter rippled through the crowd, and Arida looked around her subjects with a wry smile and said softly.

Sefian turned to the jeering Familia, noticing how they flinched from his gaze. He couldn't understand what his dependents saw in him. These dependents were all noble beings, but now they cowered in front of him. What changes had happened?

"The outsiders have arrived at Alanlock. Under the leadership of Ms. Liv, maybe... they will arrive here soon." After realizing that Arida was still waiting for an answer, Sefian tried to calm down.

This time, Sefian saw surprise in Arida's eyes, and then Arida's expression was replaced by excitement.

"Is it him? Is he here?"

The excited Arida turned her attention to the person next to her, an ancient silver-haired spellweaver, holding a long white birch staff. Wearing a white mink cloak and a bleached wooden mask carved into the face of a sad owl in the shape of a heart, covering the upper part of the face.

"It should be, I shouldn't be here. I should be in Modrun, I should be in Modrun! With Talernik, with Talernik! Aisha, I'm both What I did, Aisha has obviously told me, I made a wrong decision." The face behind the mask expressed a sigh of relief.

"Madam, they may be the legendary Druchi. Shouldn't we do something? Why do they appear here? Why is Ms. Liv in their team? Is she being held hostage?"

Sefian's confusion deepened as he took a step closer, and to his surprise the crowd moved away from him, as if his contact would produce harmful spores. Incredibly, Arida and the silver-haired Spellweaver also took a step back. He stopped when he saw this strange behavior, shook his head and continued.

When Arida was about to respond, the silver-haired Spellweaver leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. After listening for a moment, she nodded, her body couldn't help but tremble, and increasingly intense excitement replaced her surprise.

"Thank you for your vigilance, Sefian. The gods and I will consider your words. Now, it is time for you to rest." Finally, Arida turned to Sefian and smiled at him. Then, she gestured to a distant staircase in the Jasper Hall.

"Ma'am..." Sefian became excited when he realized he was being sent away.

"Please, leave!" Arida said firmly, her heavy voice full of power.

Sefian felt like he was hit hard when he heard Arida's words. He looked around for support, but he only saw a circle of dull faces. He was numb, and he could no longer feel the slightest surprise. He saw that the crowd had parted, creating a wide passage for him. He longed to leave the oppressive atmosphere, and as he passed through the rows of silent faces, he couldn't help but resist the urge to rush forward.

"Elsa's tears, what happened tonight?" Saifian, muttering to himself, appeared on the surface. He breathed in the cold night air, looked at the dense branches, and looked at the stars above his head. In reincarnation, it seems that the stars can give him the answer.

"You should rest, Watcher." The voice that responded to Sefian did not come from the stars, but from the shadows.

Sefian nodded helplessly. He paced heavily under the branches, feeling like he was trapped in a waking dream. Why would he leave alone? In the end what happened? At this time, there should be countless annoying lights meandering among the trees, and songs echoing among the branches. But the whole valley is quiet, where is the elegy? Confused and doubtful, he wandered through the woods and hollows, then left the valley and returned to the wilderness.

However, what Sefian did not notice was that Durandla moved, moving in the winter, which had never happened before.

Saifian paid no attention to his route, allowing the unpredictable paths to blindly lead him forward. His uneasiness subsided as he completely reveled in the bewildering embrace of the forest, and a few hours later, knowing he had lost his way, he sat resting beside the cracked trunk of an aspen tree. He tried to sleep, but his mind was troubled by the scene in the Gray Hall, and he was troubled by the nervous eyes of the dependents.

"Why?"

Sefian muttered, shaking his head and pulling his cloak tighter around him. To comfort himself, he listened to the sounds of the forest, the murmur of the breeze through the undergrowth, the creaking of leafless branches, the bites of hungry beasts, but his uneasiness continued to grow.

When Saifian fell asleep, what he saw was no longer a scene in the real world, but a series of symbolic omens, as if nature itself was conveying some kind of message to him. In his dream, he saw the huge oak tree called Dilandra, with its tall trunk and dense crown. This oak tree was supposed to grow in place and guard the Gray Hall, but it was moving in the dream, slowly shuttling through the winter forest, as if it was looking for something, or chasing some kind of goal.

As the oak tree moves, the surrounding scene changes. The winter forest seemed to be moving under the leadership of the oak trees. The trees were swaying in the cold wind, and colorful sunlight shone between the branches and leaves. This scene was both strange and beautiful, and it made Seifeian feel in awe.

"No way, this is impossible."

As dawn appeared, Sephien awoke to a familiar sound floating in the forest, a trumpet that sounded like the low wail of a wounded beast. He stared into the gray between the trees and muttered to himself. The sound was answered, another of the same note, and another, until the whole forest was filled with the sound of the hunting horn.

Sefian felt his heart beat significantly faster. He stood up. Spring would only come in a few days. Wild hunting could not appear so early. This was impossible. Yet the evidence echoes around him, and as the horn sounds get closer, the animals begin to panic, with rats, squirrels, birds, and deer bursting out of the darkness and rushing through him.

"Kunos."

After leaping lightly onto the branch of a tree, Sefian avoided the collective rush of beasts and peered into the darkness, uttering an exclamation of disbelief when he saw the Wild Riders.

The Wild Trooper is tall, powerful, and has an inner fire in his eyes. They ride strong antlered herd deer and wear blood-red bearskin cloaks covered with frost and dew. Their exposed skin is tattooed with spiral patterns and blood. Bleached skulls hang from their belts, and twisted necklaces of dark metal wrap around their arms. Tall bronze helmets with carved cheekpieces and stag-like curled horns nearly hid their faces. They carried spears entwined with thorns and feathers and tipped with sharp iron blades.

"Wild Riders! Priests of Kurnos!"

It was very close, close enough that Sefian could see the pale eyes of the Wild Rider, and he recognized the Wild Rider immediately, his voice shaking with awe. He watched dumbfounded as the wild horsemen galloped by, and then his awe was replaced by fear. However, this time, it was no longer vague fear, but he seemed to know what was making his heart beat fast.

The Rough Riders are here for him! (End of chapter)