Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

The catacombs lie beneath the tower that was once the fortress of Ores. Ores and his family were deposed long ago when they were revealed to be followers of Slaanesh.

The Witch King skinned every member of Ores and his family, from Ores himself to the lowliest slave, and nailed their wet, bloody bodies to the walls of Naggarond. Some cultists took weeks to finally die, the moans from their tongueless mouths a grim warning to all the Drukki.

Perhaps even in Naggaroth, some obscenities are too much? Or perhaps this is just a...? A Slaanesh follower, anyway, Malekith declared.

Since Ores was deposed as a Dread Lord, no new Dread Lord has dared to boldly claim the tabooed spire for his own. But what is not on the surface does not mean that there is not in the dark, and the catacombs under the tower have become the best hidden gathering place. At night, when the eternal lead-gray faded and the two moons rose, this place became the best gathering place for the powerful people of Naggarond, of course excluding Malekith and his cronies.

Hemara, who kicked away the scattered bones of the ancestors of Ores on the ground, was dressed in a silver-studded black robe, with thin lace decorated with bloodstone, which matched her raven-like long hair. She looked so out of place in this gloomy and terrifying environment. She looked like she was attending a festive banquet, not planning a midnight plot to overthrow the evil rule of the Witch King.

She maintained perfect elegance and calmness, but there was always something about her that made Tigarsuth feel cold in his blood. Through her beautiful face and charming figure, he could see a malice that even Duruchi could not bear. For Tigarsuth, watching her was like watching a huge spider weaving a web, always wondering if the trap was being woven for it.

Tigarsuth had luckily escaped the trap set by Hemara for him. At that time, he foolishly underestimated Hemara and thought that sleeping in the same bed would give him some immunity from the conspiracy. But fortunately, he avoided mistakes through shrewd betrayal. Only in this way can he protect himself in such a dangerous environment as Nagaros and avoid letting the wrath of the witch king fall on his head.

"I thought you would come alone, but I didn't expect..." Hemara said while looking past Tigasus and looking at the followers behind Tigasus unhappily.

"Did you forget? I know you!" Tigasus made a kind reminder, and then he pointed to the two companions behind him with his right hand, "If I knew someone was here to protect my back, I would be more focused on our negotiations."

When he saw the contempt in Hemara's eyes, the forced smile could no longer be controlled. Hemara probably knew that one of his companions behind him was his current lover. Could Hemara be jealous? No, not really jealous, but the bitterness of a spoiled child seeing others playing with her toys. He reminded Hemara just to tell Hemara who was dominant in this conspiracy.

"Your behavior has shaken my assessment of your ability. Maybe... you are not..." Hemara shook her head dissatisfiedly.

"My ability? I have ability! And it's higher than you estimated. This is why I'm here. If I don't have ability, I have nothing!" Tigasus looked at Hemara coldly.

Hemara hissed and complained angrily, making idle threats and empty curses. If it weren't for some reasons, she really didn't want to be here, and she didn't want to see the guy in front of her who made her feel disgusted.

But there was no way. This was her duty, this was her obligation. When the empty curse came out of her mouth, she thought of Dacus. Maybe Dacus would return to Nagarus soon? Maybe she would get rid of it all? Do something she likes, something she wants to do? She believed that Dacus would help her with this.

Tigasus put Hemara's dissatisfaction behind him like driving away a buzzing insect.

"Are you confident?"

"Only necessity can make you welcome me again and enter your arms." Tigasus answered calmly, and the hateful look from Hemara made him take a step forward. He considered every detail before coming. He understood the current situation. Hemara needed him and would endure everything until this situation was no longer needed.

"The Witch King is weak. He can no longer rule us. This is why I am here." After a moment, the treasonous words burst out of Hemara's mouth.

Tigasus was not surprised by what Hemara said, showing panic or looking around. He narrowed his eyes and looked at the woman in front of him carefully. He wanted to capture some useful information from Hemara's eyes.

"I don't know you are so afraid of the Witch King. Maybe... we don't need to continue talking? If a usurper is afraid of his monarch, then he has failed before he even starts." Hemara said while putting her hands behind her back and slowly retreating. Her fingers pinched the Night Ring, the trophy she won in Elsing Alvin.

This trophy is very useful to her. When the ring is activated, a dark cloud will be born around her. She can use this opportunity to escape. She still wanted to live well and wait for Dacus' return, rather than hearing the news of her death when Dacus came back.

"Anyone who is not afraid of Malekith is either a madman or a fool like Darkus, no! Even if there was any chance, I cannot deny my fear of him." Tigasus meets Hermara He replied with the intention of suspending the meeting.

"Darkus is a fool in your eyes?"

"Otherwise? A fool, a fool. As a consul, he actually left Naggaroth. He gave up that huge power! If necessary, I really want to teach him how to use power correctly!"

"Interesting!" After Hemara finished speaking, she bit her lips and tried hard to control her expression. She tried not to let her pupils reveal intriguing eyes. She was about to be amused by Tigasus, and she was worried that her sudden laughter would ruin the secret conversation.

"Then will you expose my conspiracy?" In order to avoid Tigasus' suspicion, Hermara asked immediately after she controlled her expression.

"I will not expose anyone, at least not yet, and I will listen carefully to your proposals to see how much support I can get. But you must know that it is me who holds the power, not you."

"This is a land filled with chaos, rumors of betrayal everywhere, nobles turning on each other, and a strong arm needed to bind them together again to serve their country.

This requires more cruel means than the Witch King, a savagery that even demons cannot match. Only in this way can they break their pride and bind them in the shackles of terror. I believe you will become the lord of all Druchi and the master of Nagaros! That's why I'm here. "Hemara kept saying things that she didn't even believe.

"I have received a cruel education and experienced the horror of the wilderness. The blood of my father and brothers is stained on my hands. For power, I am willing to do any cruel thing, you know!" Tigasus finished. Then he walked around in the tomb, digesting Hemara's rebellious remarks.

Even if these words are separated from the seductive greed and hatred, they still contain truth. There is no news about Darkus after leaving Naggaroth, as if he disappeared out of thin air. He has reason to suspect that Darkeus died in the jungle. In a certain corner of the world, maybe it was because Ashriel, the Witch King, secretly executed Darkus. Otherwise, why would Darkus never show up?

And Malekith, who had recovered the so-called Sun Flame Sword, was in a strange state of weakness. He could feel Malekith's weakness and compromise. This was something he had never seen before, and his plan to invest in Ashriel Book? Ridiculous stuff.

But he lacked some necessary information, which was why he agreed to meet with Hemara. Only a jackal like Hemara could smell the signal and approach quietly, ready to seize anything they could get their hands on.

"What if I expose you? What if my army joins his banner?" Tigasus asked after a moment, staring at Hermara, wanting to see a look of horror on Hermara's face.

"You want to side with Malekith? Are you sure? What benefits can you gain by doing this?" Hemara said while taking a big step back.

"Unless it's in my best interest, you invited me here and you're just talking empty words. Shouldn't you make a suggestion? Or make some kind of promise?" Tigasus stopped pacing. , as he spoke, he let his fingers scrape across a burnt coffin lid.

"I think you have decided what you want." When Hemara answered, her eyes were as cold as glaciers that have not changed for thousands of years.

"I ask for the crown, I ask for the rule of Naggaroth. In exchange, I will support you against your enemies and opponents." Tigasus corrected.

"I agree, we will recognize you as our king. But if you want to become king, you must get rid of the current one."

"My army cannot resist Malekith's army, you know it." Hermara agreed too quickly, so fast that Tigasus didn't like it, and he responded with a frown.

"Your army cannot fight Malekith and protect this land at the same time. I know this, so... let's find another way."

"Oh?" Tigasus showed a curious expression.

"We don't need your army, we only need you. We need the only swordsman in all of Naggaroth who can accomplish this, and you are the one. You must kill Malekith!" Hemara strode after finishing speaking. Backed away and left.

——

"You know they're just using you, and once you've done what they need you to do, they'll betray you as quickly as they betrayed their king."

"You have it backwards, it's me who is using them. They serve my purposes, even if their pride won't allow them to understand that. When their usefulness is over, even Hemara will find that she can Abandoned."

Tigasus roared lowly at himself in the mirror. After venting for a while, he stopped this meaningless behavior. He turned his head and looked at the lead-clad wooden box beside him. He walked slowly over and opened the box. The moment the box was opened, green light illuminated his face.

A Messer knife was placed in the box, with runes engraved on the blade, and bursts of green light emitted from the runes.

He did not touch it rashly. He knew that it was best not to touch the blade rashly without protecting his hands. The rune flash was the manifestation of the dimension stone, which was a terrifying substance.

Hermara's plan has been flawless so far, and her knowledge of the Black Tower and the daily operations of its Black Guards is simply priceless.

Tigasus saw the loophole, and he believed he could take out the sentinels patrolling the bridge between Hemara's own tower and the outer ring around the Black Tower of Malekith. He had the strength to do so. Afterwards, his men would don the armor of the Black Guard, take the sentinels' place, and adopt the golden belts that indicated the current rotation.

The sentinels would not be relieved before dawn, and his men would have to escape before then. Once his men retreated, the vacant posts would be quickly discovered, and the real Black Guard would gather on the bridge. He was sure that Hemara had prepared some tricks to relieve him of his responsibility, but it would not help him. If he was still in the Black Tower at dawn, there would be no way out for him. He would face the captain of the Black Guard: Koran.

After Tigasus put on his protective gear, he grabbed the handle and raised the knife. The blade was as thin as a feather and extremely sharp. It could easily penetrate the defense of Iselamar silver. He had tested it more than once. When the blade penetrated the armor's defense, the skin touched by the blade would turn black, liquefy, and rot.

He didn't believe that Malekith's body could withstand this fatal blow! If one blow doesn't work, then multiple blows! He believes in his own strength!

Naggaroth, or the elven society, doesn't have the saying: "With a sharp weapon, the desire to kill arises naturally", but this saying is the best portrayal of his inner heart at the moment.

Once the thought arises, it cannot be stopped, and the world will be wide in an instant.

As the dread lord of Naggarond, Tigarthus passed through the Black Tower like a lurking shadow. Even if you are not as cunning and twisted as the Witch King, you can guess his purpose. During Malekith's long reign, many assassins tried to overthrow the tyrant, but their fate was horrifying enough that even Duruchi was shocked. If there is a person in the world who can force fate to surrender with willpower, that person is Malekith. And now, he is pursuing such a doom.

Cold sweat condensed on Tigarthus's forehead, his breathing turned into rapid gasps, and he could feel the blood flowing faster in his veins. How much of this is the effect of the potion he drank to enhance his reaction and senses? How much of it was his instinctive fear, the fear he didn't even want to admit?

He had been through so much along the way, a life of walking on thin ice, and he was glad he had been through it. But now, he was shrouded in the shadow of the tyrant, full of fear. Could he make it to the other side alive? Could he become the new king of Naggaroth?

In the forgotten lower halls of the Black Tower, Tigarus was surrounded by the essence of the Witch King. One magnificent room after another, the walls were covered with masterpieces that many Duruchi nobles would sell their children into slavery just to see these masterpieces. Intricately patterned and artistic carpets, their lines so delicate that the slightest touch of the foot would cause ripples like water. Sculptures carved from obsidian, amber, emerald and crystal, their details so exquisite that the sculptures seemed to breathe when the eyes swept over them.

Tables carved from rare woods, every curve has immeasurable grace and dignity. Plates studded with diamonds and rubies, bowls of gold, silver and iselama, all laid out on tables, waiting for the attention of some passing guest, oblivious to the faint discoloration of the food they once held that had long since decayed.

The wealth of the lower floors of the Black Tower was immeasurable, enough to overwhelm the greediest of the Druki, yet it lay abandoned and forgotten, gathering dust that showed centuries of disuse. From the casting and craftsmanship, he knew that most of the art he saw was a relic from the Druki's shattered homeland of Nagaryth.

To any of the great families of Naggaroth, these relics would be priceless heirlooms, but to the Witch King, they were mere trinkets.

Nothing could have impressed him more about Malekith's absolute power than this abandoned splendor, perhaps the last time Malekith had used these halls was before Druki showed up? No living Druki had ever enjoyed them except the immortal Malekith, his witch mother, and the old ghosts of the Hellbane family?

Time had turned the cup into a hollow, rotten shell. He stroked a dusty and rotten wine glass with his fingers, but his fingers, isolated by the armor, could not feel the touch. The cup shattered under his touch and fell on the table, forming a ball of corrosion. The jewels that had long lost their luster stared at him desperately in the rotting garbage.

These rooms are a lost and haunted place, and every step through the silent halls reinforced this weird impression. An urge to turn back stirred in his heart. He had an urge to escape from the streets of Naggarond and get rid of the weird malice of the Black Tower. But he knew that he could not turn back. When the black guards on the bridge were discovered, what awaited him would be...

Walking and stopping along the way, he found that some traces were new. Seeing this, he felt jealous. Why? He knew that Dacus had stayed here, and these traces were left by Dacus and those disappeared followers.

It doesn't matter whether Dacus is missing or executed by the Witch King. What matters is that when he becomes the new king of Naggaroth, there will be no place for Dacus and the Hellbane family in Naggaroth. At that time, he will not only be the king of Naggaroth, but also the king of Asheril. He likes the name Asheril, the land of despair.

The urge to escape disappeared, replaced by an endless desire for power. He now stands in front of the ultimate power, the promise of the crown and the throne of Naggaroth.

Another moment later, he caught a glimpse of the trail, a series of footprints pressed against the caked dust on tile and carpet. He was not as skilled in the art of tracking and hunting as the shadows that lurked in the wilds or the beastmasters of Clar Karond, but even he could read the signs in the dust.

The tracks were made by an elf, whose boots were long and wide. They overlapped several times, indicating a recurring pattern, all of which was connected to the strange change in the Witch King's habits that Hemara had told him about.

Since his return from Clar Karond, Malekith had often left the throne room atop the Black Tower. Many a night he had wandered among the ruins of ancient splendor, pondering the remains of Nagarythe. No Black Guards to protect him, no sorceress to follow him. Whatever strange emotions were clouding his mind, it was a boon to his enemy.

If that enemy was bold enough to take advantage of the opportunity. And he was taking advantage of it now.

A bitter smile appeared on Tigasus's face. Despite all the intrigues of Hemara, Mara lacked that kind of courage. In his opinion, all Duruchi were like that, lacking that kind of courage, and only he had the determination to attack and kill!

In the millennium of desolation and decay, he lowered his body and walked slowly, chasing the traces left in the dust. He felt that every nerve in his body was like a fire, his heart was beating rapidly in his chest, and his senses searched in the stagnant air, trying to find the slightest sound and the faintest smell, anything that would make the hunter realize that the prey was nearby.

His hand clenched the handle of the warp stone knife, and he could feel the hungry blade beating eagerly, and the essence of the knife was eager to take a soul. Soon, he promised, soon he would satisfy the appetite of the blade.

After passing through a sculpture gallery, he entered a wide arcade with wooden screens on both sides, which were painted with exotic scenery and ancient legends. Obviously, these two screens were not the product of elves.

After a glance, he licked his lips, trying to moisten his dry mouth, his eyes wandering along the trail he was following. As he walked from one gallery to another, the world around him froze. His eyes did not linger on the dusty portraits in the hall, he did not stare at the jeweled frames and gilded inlays, his attention was completely focused on the solitary figure standing in the desolation.

Tall, dressed from head to toe in armor, the rune-carved metal exuded an air of arrogant contempt. The black evil armor, the tall helmet supporting the horned iron crown, the sun sword hanging at his waist, everything was so recognizable.

Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth.

Malekith turned his back to Tigarthus, concentrating on the portrait hanging on the wall, which showed Aenarion roaring before the sacred fire of Asuryan.

Tigarthus dared not breathe, he could not even hear his own heartbeat, he felt an instinctive fear. Could he strike now and cut down the immortal tyrant? Who was he to kill an elf who had survived the flames of Asuryan?

But now, it was too late. He had no way out.

Rage flowed through his veins, and his fear was overwhelmed by a wave of malice. Pride had brought him this far, and pride would take him further.

Tigasus grasped the warpstone knife tightly and jumped out of the darkness. (End of this chapter)