Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

In a place devoid of friendly laughter and warm sunshine, a tower of silence resounds with piercing screams, and the air is filled with the smell of blood. Surrounding this bleak spire are hundreds of grim, malicious spires, which stand and look down on the city that huddles on the plain, wandering in nightmare.

Black castles and spires surround the great tower in the center of the city, and gray dust falls like rain, which is the trace of the sacrificed victims turned into ashes in the burning flames. Scavenger birds circle around the city, hungry and anxious in the leaden sky. The sound of hammers hitting and metal scraping can be heard from the city, mixing with the cries and wails of the victims into an endless death wail.

A scream came from the tower of silence again, as if the air itself was enjoying the taste of pain. The screams have continued for several days. Although screams are not uncommon in Naggarond, the pain conveys an unimaginable torture. The Druki who heard the sound thanked the gods, thankful that they were not the ones who suffered.

In a closed room lit only by charcoal fire, Isek was torturing a piece of canvas with his dark torture. He was a human, but he had long given up any emotional ties with his kind in years of fighting revelry and worship of evil gods. He didn't care who the canvas in front of him was or which tribe it came from. These things were meaningless to him, because his torture was purposeless, and his only pursuit was to create pain.

What he had to do was to destroy such a beautiful canvas to the extreme, while keeping it alive and clearly aware of the destruction it had suffered. For him, this was both an art and the highest worship of the dark gods.

He was sturdy and his muscles were as strong as iron, which were forged in a harsh climate and a life of indulgence in fighting and pleasure. His skin was shiny with grease, and leather straps were tightly wrapped around him, fixing pieces of armor that fit his body to his dark skin. Shiny blond hair covered a handsome and indulgent face, with an exquisite and beautiful face.

However, beyond the beauty was cruelty. There was no trace of pity or sympathy in his eyes, only morbid enjoyment and unusual fascination.

When the last stroke was completed, a beautiful and twisted painting was completed.

Then, the canvas left, released by Isek, its eyes were blind, its lips were missing, and its spirit collapsed. It staggered around the streets of the city, wailing for a long-awaited relief. It wandered in the streets and alleys, becoming a feast for nocturnal creatures, accompanied by sounds of disgust and admiration, and finally disappeared in the dark corners of the city.

Isek stood up, threw away the needle, and picked up a slender and sharp knife. The knife was slender and delicate, and had no other use except to torture the most sensitive parts of the human body. More screams echoed in the closed room, his low roar intertwined with the wailing of the canvas, and he roared with primitive joy while painting.

"Your pain pleases the great Slaanesh, and for that I thank you." With his desire temporarily satisfied, Isek leaned down and kissed the miserable canvas, whispering praises.

He turned and paused for a moment, taking down an ornate sword from the wall. The blade was curved and cruel, with a bone guard piercing his palm, and the sharp blade on the hilt cut his palm, bleeding. But he did not scream in pain, but gasped in pleasure, and then he hung the sword gracefully in the scabbard on his back.

After leaving the "prayer room", a stone-paved passage curved and opened in the tower, extending left and right, and twisting along the arc of the spire. He took a step and walked gracefully in the direction of the chanting and crying.

The structure of the tower seemed to contain some kind of rhythm, and thousands of years of pain and blood were imprinted in the bones of this building. He could clearly feel the pain that had erupted here, just as the scene in front of him was vivid. Ghosts of the past paraded before him, and the torment that had made the building stand tall was like wine from the sweetest blood winery.

Finally, the curved part of the passage reached a wide door made of black steel. Six warriors guarded the entrance, wearing tall helmets, wearing fine armor, and holding huge halberds, the blades of which reflected the light of torches.

Isek could feel the gaze behind the helmets, with eyes full of scrutiny and disgust, and the weapons were intertwined, blocking him from reaching the stairs. He nodded slightly, feeling satisfied in his heart, he could feel the strength and loyalty of these black guards. He liked loyalty. More than one warrior of the Chaos Gods died because of the betrayal of his best friend, and the reason he was alive was not because he trusted his friends' loyalty.

"Your master will surely be proud of you, but I am invited here."

"Invited here? ... maybe?"

Isek smiled when he heard the response. He turned to face the captain of the Black Guard. Kolan was a head shorter than him, but Kolan's presence should not be underestimated. He stared at Kolan and looked into Kolan's eyes. He did not see any trace of fear in Kolan's eyes.

"You don't trust me?"

"Should I?" Kolan smiled with a hint of contempt and disgust.

"Yes, I will kill friends and allies when necessary." Isek said frankly.

"Then how about we go together?" Kolan said calmly, but his tone was unquestionable and not a question.

Isek nodded and waved to the captain of the Black Guard to move forward.

Naggarond was bitingly cold, and the frost covered Issik's armor, forming a thin layer of white frost. The oils coating his skin congealed with the cold, his breath muffled in the air, and Korran led him through the mist toward Naggarond's tallest spiers.

Since arriving in Naggarond, he had imagined walking towards the Witch King countless times in his dreams. Now, following Coran's footsteps, a trembling excitement surged through his body. Although he has been killing and torturing for decades, he knows that the darkness he has created in the world is only a fraction of the shadow cast by the Witch-King.

The creaking stairs seemed to climb endlessly, and the oil on his body began to crack, and his muscles shivered slightly from the extreme cold. Finally, he reached the top of the tower, the most evil place in Naggarond. Every one of his senses was aroused by the power of hatred and bitterness, which penetrated every breath and made it difficult for him to ignore.

The darkness in the throne room was like a presence, self-contained and within reach. Darkness clung to the walls like a disease, crawled across the floors, climbed up the tower walls.

Issik's body began to tremble. His thick body had never experienced such a strange cold. He had no fat to keep out the cold. He could only see the vague outline of Coran, and the boundless darkness around him seemed to be oppressing him, causing him to completely lose his vision as if he was covered with a hood.

"No, that's not the case..."

Isek's senses have long transcended those of other humans, and he fights with the gift of Slaanesh in order to more deeply savor the agony of his prey and the ecstasy of victory. At this moment, he could feel the rusty heavy breathing in his mind, as if there was some kind of huge engine roaring deep in the tower, and the roaring echo penetrated the entire tower. He could feel something gripping his mind, a claw-like touch that was carefully searching through his memories and desires, penetrating deep into his heart.

He knew he was being tested, but he welcomed the intrusion, confident that he would be chosen for the task to which he was called. The cold feeling of thought receded from his consciousness, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel that the powerful force had gradually converged, and seemed to be satisfied with him?

The darkness in the throne room weakened, and he saw a huge throne, on which sat a mighty statue made of black iron. One arm rested on the armrest, and the other hand held a strange sword. The scabbard flickered with flames. The power contained in this sword was far more powerful than he could imagine. His sword was nothing compared to it. Just getting close to it made the magic on his armor gradually lose effect.

Even in the most sacred shrine of Slaanesh, he had never felt the presence of a god so vividly embodied. The Drukki were undoubtedly lucky that their gods had such an astonishing sense of reality. As he looked at the idol that made him fear and wonder, Coran had already begun to speak in Elvish language that he could not understand. He had to suppress the urge to kneel down and worship the statue, for Slaanesh was a jealous god and would surely punish him for this.

"Won't you honor my son? Doesn't he deserve your surrender?"

As Issik continued to stare at the magnificent and terrifying statue, a voice full of desire said. Before he could react, pale and slender hands wrapped around his neck, and the nails touched his skin. He could feel the nails being long and sharp. When the nails touched his throat, he felt his body respond to the touch of the nails, a shiver of desire and disgust running down his spine.

However, what he didn't notice was that the statue sitting on the throne moved slightly, and the hand holding the armrest tightened.

"Your son?" Issek felt and felt the hand sliding across the armor covering his chest, slowly moving down to the exposed abdomen, stroking the lines of the muscles. He looked sideways, capturing the beauty that fascinated him, the pale skin, the eyes as dark as liquid, and the plump lips that had traveled up his body more than once.

"Yes, my son." Morathi walked around Issik lightly and stood in front of Issek. She was as beautiful as she had been when she was married to Aenarion, and she wore a long purple dress with a slit from the neck to the waist.

"Madam, it's an honor to see you again." Isek had to force himself to move his gaze upwards to avoid being overwhelmed by desire, and he bowed exaggeratedly.

"Indeed." Morathi said while taking a step back.

"I have received your summons, ma'am."

After Issek finished speaking, he looked at Morathi's astonishing beauty, and his mind was already imagining the scene where he would play with Morathi wantonly if he had the opportunity. When he stared at the goddess in front of him, Morathi's face twisted in front of his eyes, as if twisting in the heat. The traces of time appeared on his eyeballs, and the debris of time and the destruction of time piled up on the unbearable skin.

"It's time to go to war with Ulthuan." Morathi responded, interrupting Isek's perception.

"Is the blood ready to flow out?" There was a kind of excitement that could not be concealed in Isek's words.

"Indeed."

"Then we must set sail. I am eager to display my skills on the canvas." Isek clenched his fists and slid the tip of his tongue across his lips.

"As I promised you, Issyk, we will set sail with our warriors soon, but before that, there are some other things and entertainment that need to be done."

"Then offer sacrifices to your god and end this quickly, witch, I long for the dance of the blade and the pain that brings pleasure!" Issek nodded towards the huge iron statue, and then said sternly.

Morathi frowned at first, then laughed when she realized what Isek meant. The laughter was as sharp as ice, penetrating the throne room and killing the carrion birds that circled above the tower. Then she turned to the iron statue.

Issik took a step back, reached behind his shoulder, and grasped the hilt of the sword. The reason why he reacted so violently was because he saw orange-red fire begin to flicker in the slits of the statue's helmet, and he felt a terrible vitality awakening in the terrible armor, even though the armor did not move at all.

But soon, he realized that this was not a statue at all, but the Witch King himself...

Malekith stood up gracefully from the throne and looked down at Issyk, his hot breaths roaring out.

That evil radiance made Issek ashamed. In front of the Witch-King, all he had ever inflicted was a trivial depravity. When the long sword containing terrifying energy was swung, he felt a wave of fear coming over him. He believed that this would be the moment of his death.

"Very good! Now, go back and prepare your army!"

After a long time, the throne room fell into darkness and silence again. Malekith sat quietly on the throne, thinking and thinking. After another moment, he murmured.

"A gift to Darkus!"

——

First the light, then the sound.

He could feel light penetrating his eyelids, as if someone were holding a light in front of him. He closed his eyes tightly and gradually sensed the surrounding environment through other senses. He felt that he was lying on a soft mattress, and his limbs were comfortably covered by soft quilts. The air was moist and had a green and earthy smell, as if he was lying outdoors or in a greenhouse filled with exotic plants.

The air smelled sweet and pleasant, and he took a deep breath, taking in the various aromas surrounding him. He heard the buzzing of insects, the rustling of leaves gently swaying in the breeze. He didn't know where he was, but it was clearly comfortable and free of any danger. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the light and he began to open them carefully.

Although the light still made him feel uncomfortable, he finally opened his eyes completely. He saw a large piece of sparkling glass above him, rippling like a ripple. The glass was framed by golden lines that were so thin that he couldn't believe it. It doesn't look like it can support so much glass.

He turned his head slightly and found that this strange ceiling extended to the left and right, but where exactly it extended was a mystery because his line of sight was blocked by branches. Did he realize that his guess seemed to be correct? The space he is in is shaped by the trunks of trees and enclosed by woven shrubs and plants.

Through the transparent ceiling, he could see clouds chasing each other in the sky, but strangely he could not feel a breath of wind. Perhaps the ceiling above is some kind of magic barrier, able to insulate the harsh weather from the outside while maintaining a constant internal temperature? As he watched, one of the panes trembled slightly, then sprayed out a fine mist of water, nourishing the nearest plants.

He tried to sit up, but the muscles all over his body sent out sharp pains in protest, making him groan in pain. He fell back on the bed and tentatively raised his hands. Soon, he found that his hands were covered with bandages, and there was a numbness in his palms.

However, what surprised him even more was that he wore a silver ring on his left hand.

Is he married? With whom? Why does he have no memory of this?

A deep sadness came over him, and he tried to recall the girl who had given him the oath ring, but to no avail, he found that he could not remember.

The ring infused him with energy, and he stood up again. He wanted to figure out where he was and find a way to regain his memory. He raised his hand to his forehead and found a bandage wrapped around the side of his head, wincing in pain when he touched it lightly.

How did he get to this place? In Elsa's name, where is this?

He tried his best to think back, and kept thinking back, but his memory was blank and he couldn't remember anything.

He pulled back the soft quilt covering his body and found that his skin was pale, which was obviously the result of not being exposed to sunlight for a long time. He tentatively checked other wounds, and he felt a few scars on his shoulders, but these were old wounds, and the skin had long since healed into pale scars. He didn't remember where these injuries came from, but except for the wounds on his head and palms, and the stiffness of the muscles, everything else seemed to be healthy?

He moved his feet to the ground, and the moment he stood up he found that he needed a lot of willpower. Not only his head and hands were injured, but his legs were also injured. After he staggered to his feet, he looked around and found a small table next to the bed with a loose robe on it.

He quickly put on his robe. He could not remember the last time he had put on new clothes, as if he had forgotten the softness of silk and the comfort of clothing. He took a few tentative steps in the green room, testing his strength and balance. The pace was a little unsteady at first, but with each step he gradually felt his strength and confidence return.

He found no obvious exit, but as he approached one end of the room, the vines and creepers that had entwined the tree trunks rolled back with a rustling sound, as if an invisible hand had lifted a beaded curtain. He was startled and hesitated before continuing forward. He saw that the space in front of him was full of plants, and above his head was still the strange undulating ceiling. He walked carefully through the door curtain, and the vine curtain behind him made a rustling sound and closed again.

He strolled among these strange plants, and soon he stopped and carefully observed the plants in front of him. He couldn't recognize them, but this was not surprising, he was not a botanist. Suddenly, a strong fragrance filled his nose, and he turned around and saw a tall plant dotted with clusters of bright red cones, surrounded by thorny filaments, like a drooping willow branch.

He walked towards the plant unconsciously, and it seemed that a strange sound rang in his ears, not just an auditory feeling, as if the plant reached into his heart and soothed the irritability in his heart. The scent of the flower grew stronger, intoxicating him, his senses filled with the plant's alluring promise. He walked closer to the plant unconsciously, smiling dreamily.

He watched the red bud slowly open, revealing a round mouth surrounded by sharp teeth, dripping with glittering mucus. The array of thorny teeth should have alerted him, but the enchanting song suppressed his fear and he continued to walk towards the plant.

"Hey!"

A sharp shout from a distance made him stop in his tracks, and the moment he stopped, the soothing song echoing in his mind suddenly turned into a scream, and the piercing wail echoed in his mind, and he cried out in pain. The enchanting aroma also dissipated, replaced by the pungent smell of burning leaves.

Freed from the plant's enchantment, he stumbled back, sickened by the smell of plant juices and soil, he fell to his knees and retched.

"You..." Kadov, who was standing in the distance watching all this, shook his head speechlessly, then walked over and helped the other person up, "Look at what you look like now!"

"What...what is that?" He pointed weakly at the plants in the distance and asked.

"That? I don't know, some strange works?" Kadov waved his hand carelessly. From the few words of conversation, he found that the existence he had been taking care of seemed to have lost his memory? Otherwise, he would not have such a reaction when seeing him. He was too lazy to tell the other party that this was a plant that only grew in the Kingdom of Nagarys, a plant that was on the verge of extinction after the collapse of the sky and the earth.

"Is it dead?"

"Should be?"

"Are you a mage?"

"No! I'm a warrior." Kadov's other hand suddenly clenched, but he quickly let go. He was sure that the other party was indeed amnesiac, not teasing.

"Where is this?"

"Nagaroth, Clarkarond, Tower of Destruction." Kadov did not say the words that lingered in his mind. When he first came here, he could not believe that the legendary Tower of Destruction actually had such a garden. He shook his head, "You have too many questions."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Should I say I know? Or I don't know?" Kadov said calmly, with a light tone.

"You know!"

"Yes, I know you. We have met before. I know your name and what you went through before you lost your memory, but I won't tell you."

"Why?"

"Why? That's a good question, because telling you is not the same as you remembering it on your own, you know? You don't know, at least not now. When you remember it yourself, you will know why I said that." After Kadov finished speaking, he saw that the other party was still confused. He frowned, thinking seriously, and finally responded, "Okay, I tell you, your name is Darul."

"This is the rune of memory and recollection! You are kidding me, I am definitely not called this name." He whispered the name Darul. For him, this name did not feel familiar at all. He instinctively knew that this was not his real name.

"But it fits, right?"

"It does fit, maybe it can help me remember..." Darul sighed.

"Do you really remember nothing? Nothing at all?" Kadov asked.

"No... a blank, maybe you can give me a hint?" Darul shook his head.

"What a sad story." Kadov didn't follow Darul's words.

"Eyes with tears and lips with smiles?" Darul blurted out, and then he was stunned. Although he said this sentence himself, it seemed particularly strange, but so natural.

"Do you also know the works of Messerien?" Kadov looked at Darul with a look that said you are seriously ill.

"Who?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter. What's important is that you have to find your own memory, not listen to others. Now, follow me." Kadov said, and turned away.

Darul nodded and walked towards an arch made of leaves. As he and Kadov approached, the leaves slowly parted, revealing the stairs hidden behind. The steps were cleverly carved into the rock, and he couldn't tell whether the steps were naturally formed or artificially built. Unlike the lush and strange vegetation around, the steps were clean and tidy, without any trace of soil or plants, as if the surrounding plants consciously avoided this downward path.

"Where are we going?"

"To meet a noble lady, a powerful... mage."

Darul sat in the room. He didn't know the exact name of the room because it was too strange and out of the scope of his rhetoric.

While tall trees form the walls, they curve overhead to create an elegant arch, with leaves extending to the ground like feather ropes. Parts of the plant cover every surface, with plants shaping the tables and chairs rather than being handcrafted by craftsmen.

The air was thick with the scent of earth, along with several varieties of flowers. The smell of so many creatures should have been overwhelming to him, but he found it was pleasant, as if the owner of the place had found the precise combination to ensure that the air remained Pleasant aroma.

After a while, Anasara walked in. Gone is the terrifying tiara, Gone is the Druchi makeup and clothing, Gone is the staff. She was wearing a shimmering emerald green gown, her hair was tied up, and she was carrying a pruning tool that only a gardener would use. At this moment, she was neither the night governor of Krakarond, nor the mother of the Hell Calamity family, nor Druch, but an Asul gardener with a little bit of magic.

Everyone has a little hobby, just like Darkus, who is not good at cooking, likes to cook, gardening and flowers are Anasara's hobbies.

When Darul saw Annasara appear, he stood up and bowed. He didn't think it was a good idea to be rude to a powerful mage.

"Sit down, sit down." Here, in this garden that belonged to her alone, Anasara's words and expression became different.

After sitting down again, Darul looked at Kadolf. He hoped Kadolf could introduce him to him, even though he didn't even know Kadolf's name. However, Kadolf, who looked at him, had no intention of introducing him. Instead, he turned his head and looked into the distance.

"Don't worry, you will know who I am soon. Now, let's talk about your problem." Annasara, who was sitting opposite Kadov, said slowly.

"Would you assist me?"

"Maybe."

"That's not the answer, can you restore my memory?"

"How do you want me to answer?" Annasara showed a cheerful smile.

"Please, you have to try, please, I can't live without knowing who I am and where I come from, help me!" Darul begged.

"Your amnesia is not caused by hitting your head, but by severe trauma to the soul. The soul needs to be repaired, but this is very dangerous. I cannot guarantee you that your memory will be preserved." Annasara looked at Da carefully. Ruel, observing Darul's expression, she said slowly after a long time.

"I don't care. Without my memory, I am nothing. What kind of life is that? No matter what is needed, I am willing to do it. Please help me!" Darul begged again.

"Are you sure you want to go through this?"

"I'm sure."

"But... what if all that's waiting for you is pain? Once you start, you can't go back. You may see things you wish you hadn't seen. You have to be able to withstand such a sight, do you understand?"

"If this is the case, then I will stop moving forward and face the past. But if not, I will find my past to make up for the wrongs done to me." This time, Darul was stunned, but he The determination was quickly strengthened.

"Then start, close your eyes."

Darul sat quietly with his eyes closed. He measured the time with his own heartbeat. Time passed minute by second, but he felt nothing. It wasn't until Anasara, who was sitting opposite him, waved her hand gently that he suddenly noticed a precious and fleeting feeling. Things began to move at a speed that was almost too slow to be noticed.

A wonderful sense of calm came over him, energy flowed through his body, and he could feel the lethargy and pain that had been plaguing him disappear. Then, energy entered his body, filling him with great power. He gasped in surprise, but found himself becoming breathless, to the point where he had to fight to control his breathing.

"If you want to go further, you have to focus your attention."

Although Darul heard the Master's words, he found it increasingly difficult and out of reach, and meaningless images continued to appear and disappear. As everything receded, he let out a cry of pain as a gray mare galloped by, a horse he knew.

Idalys...

Although he called the horse's name, he had no idea what it meant, and as it galloped away he saw it moving freely and happily across a mature field at the foot of the hill. He knows this land, and his heart is filled with love for...home?

Just as he felt it, the hot, sharp pain suddenly stopped, stinging him, and he looked down to see the head of the arrow protruding from his body. Blood flowed from his body, and he heard a soft voice ringing in his ears...

Goodbye, Kelly...

"No!" Darul cried when he saw a face so similar to his own appear in his mind, and the image disappeared into the fog of his memory. As if a bucket of cold water had been poured on him, his head jerked up and he let out the cry of a drowning man desperate for air.

Then he collapsed like a fish, his back hitting the soft grass hard, his open eyes filled with tears of pain, betrayal, and rage.

After a long time, he slowly stood up, his temperament had completely changed, warmth disappeared, replaced by cold darkness. His eyes were heavy and cold, as if a thousand pounds were pressing on his eyebrows, and the tenderness and firmness of the past gradually blurred, swallowed by painful betrayal and deep resentment. There was an extreme indifference in his eyes, as if the former Kellier had died in his heart, buried in the memory woven by love and loyalty.

When the name came to his mind again, he felt a tearing pain, accompanied by broken fragments of memory, as if his soul was peeled off layer by layer, revealing a heart burned by betrayal. At this moment, he was no longer the former Kellier, but a Darul reshaped by hatred and loss.

"That's not my name, I remember it now..."

Annasara's mouth corners slightly raised, her eyes wandered to Kadov, and her smile became brighter. In this subtle move, she revealed a kind of confidence, and the web of fate she controlled had already woven everything into Daquus's plan.

Moreover, Dacus brought her a gift, so she should also show some appreciation. She already had some idea of ​​what Dacus had done in Elsing Alvin. In her opinion, the two people in front of her might be the best gifts for Dacus. (End of this chapter)