Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Rahil's voice echoed down the narrow path, bouncing off the granite cliffs above, his roar successfully attracting the Chimaera's attention. Even in the midst of the slaughter, one of the Chimaera's three heads turned to him, staring at him with a pair of gem-like red eyes.

In those eyes, there was only hatred, hatred for every living creature. In that broken, ugly face, there was no other desire, only to slaughter, destroy, mutilate and devour.

The Chimaera's eyes burned, and its black lips pulled away from the bloodstained fangs. It felt the power in Rahil's body and knew it was in danger. With a savage roar, it threw off the entourage that surrounded it and pounced on the real threat. As it swooped, its wings flapped outwards vigorously, pushing the pile of muscle, flesh and bone towards Rahil with the force of a collective cavalry charge. All three heads screamed with hatred, long strings of saliva dancing in the air.

"Karaman Ya Noresh Aksi!" Rahil stood where he was, with his hands stretched forward. He shouted, feeling the power in his body surge to the surface of his skin like boiling water.

Raging, gushing streams of fire burst from his open palms, two roaring streams of flame colliding with the oncoming chimera, stopping it in its tracks, the flames spreading like mercury over its rotting flesh.

The monster roared in pain and rage, shattering the rocks beneath its feet as it struggled to stand.

Rasir remained motionless, arms extended, legs steady, he could feel the energy pulsing through his body, roaring and boiling, rolling through his body, and then pouring out and hitting the monster in front of him.

He heard himself shouting spells of power, spells he thought he had forgotten years ago.

The burning pillars of fire grew more intense, tearing the monster's skin and digging into its dark flesh.

The chimera tried to reach Rasir, it raised its front legs, claws waving, and black liquid poured from its broken shoulder blades, boiling and steaming through the curtain of flames. With a great lunge, it thrust out its front paws, desperately trying to grab Rahil, driven even in pain by an insatiable desire to kill.

Rahil remained motionless, standing stiff as a statue, awaiting the onslaught that was to come. He channeled more power, flames bursting from his body, and he trembled all over, trying to stay awake, he had become a conduit of this terrible power.

The Chimaira rushed forward, screaming and roaring, striding through the flames, claws extended, neck stretched to bite. It almost succeeded, for a moment its teeth almost touched Rahil's jaw.

Rahil did not waver, he faced the beast, staring into the nearest pair of eyes, defiantly gazing at the reflective orb. The torrent of flames never stopped, the wind of Akshay constantly washed over his body, roaring and gushing from him, making the air flicker and vibrate, and the rose-red flames continued to consume the target.

With a howl of pain that made the earth tremble, the Chimaira fell to the ground. Its burned flanks quivered, its charred wings shattered as it struggled and rolled on the ground, trying to muster the strength to stand up again, but its life force had been burned away by the Axar wind.

Rahil gave a final cry of release and cut off the flames. The flames died out, and he stumbled forward and suddenly fainted.

The chimera was still burning, and it was in its last agony, unable to rise again, and its fierce screams were replaced by painful whimpers. Its tail was still swishing back and forth, but the movements were now spasmodic and erratic, not wild and fierce as before.

Rahil, waking from his coma, picked up the fallen sword and walked wearily, limping. He had never been so tired before, and blood flowed down his palms. He was exhausted and dragged himself closer to the monster's burning body. Around him, the remaining retainers who could still move stood up or looked at him cautiously, and all of them looked at him in awe, looking at their prince.

He stood over the smoking corpse of the Chimaera, and he could feel the monster still dominating everything around him even as it collapsed in its death throes. One of the three heads was still moving, trying to make a final attack, and as he raised his sword high, a pair of eyes stared at him with malicious intent as he pointed the blade downward.

The blade fell, piercing deep into the Chimaera's neck until it penetrated completely, and a spurt of hot blood spurted out, splashing Rahil's face and neck. The Chimaera's body trembled for a few seconds, twitching wildly, and finally collapsed to the ground.

Rahil felt the blood sting his skin, and instead of wiping it, he stayed in place, holding the hilt with both hands. Deep inside him, the energy was still pulsing, and he knew he had released some great power, and even now, even as the Chimaera's body was still smoking and trembling, he felt a sense of uneasiness, and his heart was confused.

"Why do I feel this way? Why now?"

After a moment, he remained in place. After another moment, he looked down at the beast he had killed. Then, he collapsed from fatigue and blood loss. He staggered for a while, fighting the darkness, and finally fell on the cold stone, knowing nothing.

——

The old story is repeated, and the previous situation is reviewed.

As if there is a sense of fate, the Kingdom of Caledor is the Kingdom of Nagareth, or more accurately, the Kingdom of Duruch.

At the time of the initial Great Sundering, Imrik, the God General of Caledor and grandson of Caledor the Dragon Tamer, was born. After the establishment of Naggarond, Malekith launched a long-lasting counterattack on Ulthuan, and Imrik was still the God General at that time.

When Caledor II died in Elsin Arwen, Malekith, who learned the news, launched a second counterattack on Ulthuan. At that time, the Phoenix King was Asanoak's cousin, the fifth Phoenix King "Peacemaker" Caradrell.

Before becoming the Phoenix King, Caradrell was engaged in diplomacy and served as an advisor. Most of his points were added to politics, and only a little bit was added to the military, such as establishing a rotating garrison system in various gates to ensure that the gates leading to the Inner Ring Kingdoms were always in a state of full defense.

As for the commander and military force...

But it can't resist the Caledor Kingdom's God Generals!

In the six hundred years of the war of revenge, many military generals emerged enthusiastically, and Caradrell handed over the command of the army to them. The most gifted of them all was Taesilis, a native of Caledor whose war experience was matched only by his hatred for Druki, who orphaned him and left him alone in his family during their many attacks.

Taesilis was not successful during Caledor II's reign, and the arrogant Caledor II abandoned him. There are always good horses... His military career took a turn for the better during the reign of Caradrell, who trusted him despite his coldness and determination.

He eventually repaid Caradrell by gathering the bravest veterans from the various Semen garrisons to form an army to drive Druki back to the sea. But it was unsuccessful, and when the battle reached a stalemate, Druki still maintained some military outposts in Ulthuan.

When Caradrell, who had ruled for more than six centuries, finally died peacefully in his bed, Malekith received the news that Taesilis had become the sixth Phoenix King.

The third counterattack on Ulthuan began. This was the most brutal one between Druki and Asur. The two sides fought back and forth, and the situation was constantly deadlocked. In the end, after Druki advanced into the Inner Ring Kingdom, Tasiris adopted a scorched earth policy, and the Druki army, tortured by hunger and thirst, was eventually forced to retreat.

The two sides fought from the scorched earth of Nagarythe to Tal Anlek, and from Tal Anlek to the Withered Isles. In the end, Druki was driven into the sea, and Tasiris died in the Temple of Khaine, and his death became a mystery.

Malekith, who knew Tasiris, sent Khaine assassins to ambush around the Temple of Khaine. If Tasiris pulled out the Sword of Khaine, the Khaine assassins would attack and use their lives to prevent Tasiris from pulling out the Sword of Khaine.

Druki didn't know what Tasiris had experienced when he was in the Temple of Khaine, and the Khaine assassins seemed to have succeeded.

The same is true for Asur. To this day, there are rumors that the Khaine assassin was killed by the White Lion Guards, and that Taesiris was also killed by the White Lion Guards when he tried to pull out the Sword of Khaine, thus preventing all elves from falling into a new dark and bloody era.

Whether he died at the hands of his enemies or friends, Taesiris eventually died in the Temple of Khaine, and after his death, the last trace of desire for war also disappeared.

Asur burned his own land and witnessed his people being slaughtered in the battle with Druki. They no longer had the courage to fight. And Malekith also knew that his army was defeated and the fighting spirit was exhausted in thousands of battles. In the end, Druki returned to Naggaroth to regroup.

After that, there was a long period of peace, but it was not so peaceful. The battle on the sea never stopped, and the silent infiltration continued.

Then, the ninth Phoenix King Moville came to power. The first thing he did after taking office was to organize the army to attack Naggaroth, and then... a massacre known as the "Day of Blood" appeared.

The militia system of Asur, that is, the whole people are soldiers, appeared during this period. The "Day of Blood" not only caused great losses to the Asur Navy, but also the Army.

When the news reached Malekith, he sneered at these recruits, calling them cowardly bakers and farmers. He launched the fourth counterattack. Like the previous ones, he set his sights on Tal Anlek and the Kingdom of Nagarys. After regaining his foothold in Nagarys, Druki began to advance to the inner ring.

Malekith chose to besiege the Phoenix Gate and focused his attack on the Griffin Gate. The militia initially recruited did not perform well in front of the fierce and battle-hardened warriors of Nagarys, but they still resisted Druki's attack and ensured that the Griffin Gate was always guarded for the next thirteen years. And Malekith also believed that the quality of the soldiers and the power of magic would eventually prove that the guards could not compete with them, and it was only a matter of time before the fortress fell.

During this period, the Asur navy was also restored and re-attacked, attacking the route from Naggaroth to Tar Anlek, cutting off the supply of fresh troops, food and weapons to Druki.

As the battle at sea continued, the third god of Caledor made a brilliant appearance.

Mentheus, a famous general of Caledor, gathered an army and tried desperately to rescue the siege of Griffin Gate. Because the route was cut off, Druki's army was weakened by lack of supplies, and he eventually led the army to drive Druki's army out of Griffin Gate.

For the next few decades, Druki and Asur fought on the rotten land of Nagaryth. Unable to raise the supplies needed for a decisive battle, Malekith was forced to send his army to fight guerrilla warfare, luring Mentheus' army into an ambush to weaken its strength.

But the effect was not so good. Mentheus never fell for it, and the battle continued.

Finally, after more than three centuries of bloody fighting, his army successfully pushed Druki's army back to Tar Anlek. The brutal offensive and defensive battle lasted for three weeks. Druki was determined to prevent Tar Anlek from falling again. Malekith drove the Cold Lizard Chariot and led Druki to fight. In the last attack of the Asur army, Mentheus was shot and killed by an arrow shot by the Black Crossbowman.

Mentheus' dragon, Nightfang, went crazy because of his death. The proverb of the Kingdom of Caledor: Dragons are an army in themselves. It was fully demonstrated that Druki's army was dispersed by the dragon's fury, and the dragon was eventually killed by magic, but at that time, Tar Anlek was also destroyed, and Malekith was forced to evacuate Nagaryth.

Druki's fourth counterattack on Ulthuan also failed... and the next one was in 2300 IC.

(Don't ask why they attacked the Griffin Gate, and don't ask why the two sides could fight in the rotten land for three hundred years. This is what the military book says. Spread your hands)

The flames burned, and several funeral pyres on the hillside were lit, and smoke filled the air. Of course, these funeral pyres were located high on the hillside. The remaining followers gathered around the fire at the lower leeward side, their cloaks wrapped tightly around their tired limbs to avoid freezing to death at night.

In the center of the camp, Rahil, son of Mentheus, lay motionless. Every muscle was aching, and his hands were still burning, as if the skin had been peeled off and the remaining flesh was soaked in acid. He woke up from a long coma and fell into a brief lucidity. It took him a while to remember where he was, why he was there, and what he had done.

His face was severely disfigured, and the blood of the chimera corroded his skin. Even after a while, he could still feel the presence of acid, gnawing at his body like a parasite.

"How do you feel?" Haval sat not far away, preparing herbal potions with the few supplies he brought. He asked when he saw Rahil woke up.

"Better." Rahil said hoarsely, although he didn't really mean it. After a moment, he asked again, "How many people were killed?"

"A lot." Haval's voice was full of blame.

"You are blaming me."

"My lord, I don't think this is enough." Haval did not answer immediately. He was in pain, just like a person announcing the news of death, and then he sighed, put down the potion and said.

"What do you mean?" Rahil narrowed his eyes.

"I mean, we have failed, go home." Haval looked directly at Rahil, his eyes full of pleading.

Rahil felt Hval's words pierce his heart like an ice spike. For a moment, his will wavered, and the skin of his hands and face burned in pain. It would be better to return to Caledor, he thought with his eyes closed, trying to make himself return to the fields of his hometown, where there would be blame and scolding, no doubt, but there would also be rest, sweet and happy rest.

"You know I can't do that, you know Tal Morwen has nothing for me anymore." Rahil said as he opened his eyes.

"Something awakened in me, I am stronger than I dreamed of, can you explain it? Is this the will of the gods, or the guidance of Caledor the dragon tamer? Whatever, I must believe this..." Rahil stopped talking at the end, and he was too proud to say anything to Hval: I can't turn back anymore, I can only keep going.

"It takes a lifetime to master this magic, I saw what you just did..." Hval looked at Rahil with a puzzled expression, and his words were also interrupted, he didn't know how to end the sentence.

Rahil sat up with difficulty. Since waking up from his coma, the whole world has become different for him. Everything is clearer, more vivid, and more real. The ruthless energy in his body is still growing. He can feel that power, growing in his body like a living thing.

"You don't have to go with me, Haval. Others can leave. My soul tells me that the dragons will awaken. I can awaken them. Everything is possible."

"Becoming a dragon mage is a sacred calling. You left this path long ago. You can't return to this path at will, and you can't return to this path." Haval stared at Rahil, and his face was distorted and elongated in the flickering firelight.

"Are you afraid that I will fail?" Rahil smiled, and the action made his lips split painfully.

"No! I'm afraid that you will destroy us all. I'm afraid that you will succeed!" Haval's voice was particularly gloomy.

——

After two days of climbing, the height of the crater became more and more severe, and the wind blew violently, howling down from the ice field on the roof of the world. The roar of the wind was incessant, the rumbling sound everywhere disturbing the mind, and from time to time, there were echoing cries, as if they were the screams of children, women or some extraordinary creatures.

This may be a prank of the wind, or maybe not...

Lahil chose to move forward, and Haval and his followers did not choose to leave, but accompanied him forward, entering the snow-covered hillside, and the ashes of the warhorse and the followers were left there.

Haval was in pain as he trudged through the snow. Like the others, he had been wounded in the battle. When the Chimera attacked, his death was only a matter of seconds, but at the last moment, Rahil summoned fire.

After years of willful oblivion, Rahil could summon fire that even the spawn of Chaos could not resist. His partial knowledge of magic was enough to tell him that such a sudden reversal could only be a change in Rahil that he was unaware of. Perhaps everything Rahil said was true, but it didn't matter. Everything seemed meaningless in the face of the scene before him.

He gritted his teeth against the biting ice and snow, and put these thoughts behind him. The entourage in the team wrapped their cloaks tightly to resist the cold, and soon the team bypassed a huge rock corner.

Beyond the rock corner, the terrain suddenly dropped sharply, and a huge valley lay in front of them, deep in the rolling sea of ​​clouds. The opposite side of the valley was hidden and hidden in the wind and snow, steep and dark, with snow forming bright stripes on the rock steps. The terrain on the near side dropped sharply, and the path meandered around the rocks and extended to the right.

"What should we do now, my lord?" Hawaer looked over the edge, feeling the terrifying dizziness and fear. There was no way to the huge chasm, and there was no point in continuing along the path. He overcame his fear and shouted to Rahil.

Rahil turned around, and the black marks on his face spread, making the exposed skin appear strangely mottled.

Hawaer could see a vivid and uneasy light flashing in Rahil's eyes, perhaps it was a strange potential energy.

"Can't you see it?" Rahil asked, he was a little confused, and soon turned into relief.

"I can't see..." As Rahil said, Hawaer came closer, and the loose stones bounced under his feet, tinkling and rolling into the abyss.

He saw that the curtain of half snow and half rain had parted, and the path did end, but there was a tower at the end. The tower was inconspicuous, only about ten meters high, full of holes caused by erosion, the steep roof partially collapsed, and the wooden door flapped loosely in the mountain wind. But what attracted his attention was not the tower, but a stone bridge behind the tower that extended to the unknown. The stone bridge was as slender as a taut bowstring and disappeared in the mist at the far end. The stone bridge had no guardrails or railings, just a bare stone road extending high in the sky.

"Yes, I saw it." He didn't know who built the stone bridge, perhaps the original ancestor? Was it magic? Perhaps it was not done by mortals. After watching for a while, he said softly.

"We will camp in the tower, we need shelter from the wind." Rahil smiled.

"Then what?"

"You stay here, when everything is ready, I will cross the stone bridge at dawn." Rahil looked at the stone bridge in the distance eagerly.

——

Rahil walked onto the stone bridge alone, all around, above, and below, everything was shrouded in a layer of pearl gray moving mist. He moved forward step by step carefully, the stones under his feet becoming slippery with moss and rain. He couldn't see the end of the bridge, couldn't see clearly how many meters ahead of him, and as he moved forward, a strange feeling came over him, as if he was traveling in stillness.

He took one step, and then another, but nothing seemed to have changed. The stones were still damp and mottled gray, and the sky was still rolling smoke. Everything around him was silent, and his footsteps were muffled, with only the deep rumble coming from farther away. The mountains always make some sound, like the crunch of teeth.

He took a deep breath and felt the moist air fill his lungs. The air smelled clean, with the harsh smell of snow water washing the rocks, the smell of old moss, and the salty sea breeze.

But he always felt that there was more, a more primitive smell, which existed for a short time and he could only catch it occasionally. He believed that if Haval was here, he would definitely not be able to detect it.

He continued walking, his heart began to beat faster, his face still hurt, and he could feel his skin tightening. The black mark left by the Chimera was permanent, and he knew that the mark would remain on him forever. But he was not confused by this, and strangely, he began to enjoy these marks. The mark was a sign of his change, a sign of his entry from one world to another, and a glory that belonged to him.

It could be tens of meters, hundreds of meters, and of course, thousands of meters. He didn't know how far he had walked. As he walked, in front of him, the mist gradually dissipated, revealing the end of the stone bridge.

There was a gentle slope at the end of the bridge, a mixture of gravel and loose rocks on the top of the mountain. At the narrow edge of the rock, the rock wall extended up and down. Further ahead was an opening in a stone cliff, damp and covered with dark orange moss, forming an entrance to the mountain, and a huge stone tablet stood at the entrance.

Rahil walked to the stone tablet and looked at the words on it. Part of it was in Elsarim, and part of it was more obscure in other languages ​​he didn't recognize. He had seen it only once, in the White Tower of Hoeth, and he knew that only a few of the learned masters there had studied it.

His cloak fluttering in the wind, he stood before the tablet for a moment, reading the warnings, odes, and hymns written in Elsarim that he could understand. As he did so, his heart beat faster than before, and smoke rose from his feet, darker and more acrid than the surrounding mist. He knelt, closed his eyes, and touched the ground with his hands.

As he did so, the Elthalin language shone with words he did not recognize.

There was a mind, older than the mountains where he slept. He glowed like a flame in the darkness, a reddish-brown light flickering in the endless blackness. The mind had no thoughts, no movements that manifested in the dull shadows.

He was on the border between life and death, in the gray shadow realm of energy and inertia. He had wandered there for hundreds of centuries, perhaps longer. He was in a deep sleep, buried deeper than pearls in the lightless gullies of the ocean.

There was no self, no existence, no heartbeat, no breath. Only a faint light, warm as an ember, in the gray shadows.

He did not sleep like mortals, mortal minds dream, mortal minds expect to awaken, mortal flesh twitches and moves, preparing for the dawn. This sleep was only a finger's width away from annihilation, a sleep of wisdom that did not expect to see the dawn. He had seen too many dawns, the cycle of day and night, year after year, and it had lost all meaning to him.

This was a vast sleep, an existence of an age passing away in flames, and the world left for it was just a fragile shadow.

There was no movement, a sigh, a breath, none of these.

His mind was cold, this world did not belong to him, and the stars in the sky spun and burned like fragments of ice crystals on a velvet background. Those younger and more violent stars were not the stars he was familiar with.

There were shapes between the stars, wings flashing, full of veins, flying in the ancient night sky.

Over the dark, deep and primitive seas, over the mountains lit by stars, and over the plains as smooth and hard as glass.

There were more of them than birds, wings flapping in the dead air, flying in flocks across the sky. It was pure, terrible, and extremely pure.

Kneeling on the ground, Rahil's mind wavered, weakened, he didn't know what he was missing, he had lost the words to describe it, he knew this world no longer existed, but he didn't know what replaced it.

Somewhere, his body still existed, the energy still pulsed, beating like a heart.

And that mind, the mind that had existed in the shadows for countless epochs, the mind that wandered in a world of fire and war, moved.

Rahil opened his eyes and trembled uncontrollably. He curled up, his head against the stone, his body shaking on the ground. Pain woke him, cold pain wrapped around his limbs like snakes, his skin cracked and bleeding from the cold, stiff and unable to move. In all the pain, he forgot his name for a moment. When the name came to his mind, his lips were dry and black, unable to speak.

"Rahil Morwen, I am still alive."

He thought, remembered, he was still alive, but just barely. The wind tore at him, ravaging his already tortured body. He could not move, curled up tightly, trapped in extreme cold and pain. When the mind passed through him, he could not understand, he could only hear the roar of the wind, which seemed to roar continuously like thunder.

Suddenly, a burst of heat like molten steel suddenly broke out, dispersing the mist and dyeing the hillside a fiery orange. But this warmth did not nourish him, but made him more painful. He felt his limbs screaming, and he could not tell the difference between extreme cold and extreme heat.

More waves of heat came and drowned him. It was as if the air had turned into a sea of ​​magma. The warmth finally made him scream from his mouth. He rolled in the mud, always accompanied by his cloak, rolling over and over again. At the end of the entrance, there seemed to be something, repetitive and heavy, making everything around him smell like hot metal.

He stopped screaming and looked towards the entrance. He gritted his teeth and propped himself up. In the process of moving, his limbs felt as if they were pierced by rusty needles. There was no more mist, no more rolling clouds, the sky opened up, burning brightly with pillars of blazing fire.

In the distance came panicked shouts, he heard familiar voices, cheering or screaming, he didn't know whether it was because of joy or fear.

He only had time to look up before he fainted again. When he fell, his cheek hit the gravel, and his cloak covered his body like a shroud. He was on the verge of death again, just as he had experienced before.

But this time, like any mortal on earth, he would go to another world.

The wind of Aksha was everywhere, rippling in the air and roaring on the earth.

When Rahil opened his eyes again, he saw a terrible pupil burning with fire. (End of this chapter)