Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

The elves' terrified appearance aroused the Norscans' great enthusiasm, and these northern hunters chased after them like hounds that smelled the scent of prey.

A figure under a cloak stumbled and fell to the ground, shrieking and cursing at his companions who had abandoned him, with a sharp and thin voice and strange intonations.

The other fugitives turned their heads and laughed at this companion, and the cruel contempt was deeply imprinted in Gesven's heart through that strange and musical language. At this time, he also saw why the fallen elf fell. An arrow was deeply inserted into the knee of the faller, standing there abruptly like an accusing finger.

When the fallen man tried to stand up, he saw the face of the elf clearly. The skin was too white, delicate and perfect, the bone structure was delicate and sharp, and the facial features were too perfect to be human. The face exuded a weird and alien temperament, faintly revealing a sense of ancient eternity, mixed with terrible malice and evil.

He felt a deep sense of satisfaction as he swung the axe and chopped down the elf's raised arm and the hateful face.

The axe was embedded deep in the elf's skull, forcing him to squat and struggle to pull it out. Some of his followers stayed with him to help, while others continued to chase the shadows frantically. When he pulled the axe out, he was already behind the group and witnessed everything that happened next.

The elves deliberately let the Norscans almost catch up with them, and then pulled away with a speed and agility that he could not understand. Only then did he realize that the creatures were toying with them, as if playing a game of chase. With a sense of foreboding, he saw the elves fleeing around the fence towards the snow-covered earth bank. He turned and ordered his followers to blow the horn to call back the warriors, but it was too late.

Behind the snow bank appeared a line of elves, wearing dark armor, tall and narrow helmets, and holding heavy steel weapons. His throat was bitter. He knew the horror of those steel weapons. Some warriors also recognized these weapons, screamed to warn their companions, and fell to the ground.

But the warning came too late.

The elves fired a volley of arrows, and the steel crossbow arrows pierced the bodies of the Norscans, causing them to fall in the snow. They were hit in the abdomen, chest and knees, and they fell down groaning in pain, but no one died on the spot.

Those survivors who had managed to avoid the crossbow arrows and those lying on the ground stood up at this moment, roaring and rushing towards the elves. Experienced warriors knew that the crossbow needed time to re-string, and this period of time was their opportunity to cut off the heads of defenseless archers.

However, the elves still stood there, without any movement, neither reloading arrows nor retreating. They quietly waited for the Norscans to approach, and then raised their weapons again.

The crossbow seemed to be equipped with some kind of evil burst device, and another volley of arrows shot directly into the faces of the warriors, and their bones and flesh were torn apart by terrible force.

The elves stopped toying with their enemies and aimed their crossbows at the backs of the survivors who had fled after the second volley, firing round after round of those terrible arrows.

At this time, a third group of elves rose from behind the snow bank. They were armored like the crossbowmen, but with scaled cloaks on their shoulders. They rushed down from their positions behind the crossbowmen at a steady trot, typical of a crew, and began to slaughter the Norscans who were injured in the volley of arrows.

Gesven could only describe these elves as cruel as vicious children torturing injured animals. From the unbridled laughter of these scaled elves, it can be heard that this cruelty is completely random. Rage welled up in his chest, but soon, his fear of these demons overwhelmed his self-esteem.

"Retreat! Retreat!! Retreat!!!"

However, when he turned to his followers, he saw that his followers' faces were pale, and his eyes were staring at the broken wrist of his right hand in disbelief. The broken wrist was bleeding, and the hand holding the horn lay on the snow.

Just as the attendant opened his mouth to shout, a flash of cold light flashed, and a thin crack appeared in his throat. His eyes became dull, his head drooped weakly, and his almost severed neck revealed a horrifying blood mark. He knelt on the snow as he was dying, and then fell face down to the ground.

Behind the attendant's body stood the figure who had just slashed his throat.

It was a being with an impossible, beautiful and cruel enchanting figure, with graceful curves, slender limbs, almost naked, and only some suggestive clothes and armor adorning her body. The attendant's blood dripped from her long dagger, but it did not prevent her from smiling and looking at Guswen.

"I will dig your heart out of your chest, and now you can start begging for mercy." She said in a strange, melodious and threatening tone that Guswen could understand.

Yiin looked at the burning scene in front of him, looked at the corpses on the ground, wrinkled his noble nose, and the smell mixed in the wind made him disgusted. The gloves on his hands rubbed the gems on his knuckles. This was his habit. He would do this when he was angry.

Usually when he was angry, something would die, and always in some interesting and bizarre way.

He turned around, an impatient look on his pale face, and his gloved hands separated from each other and touched the hilt of the rapier inserted in the purple belt at his waist. His cold eyes were cast on the cold face of the first mate.

The first mate was much taller than him, and under the heavy sea dragon skin cloak was a body that seemed almost too strong, which was particularly strange among the elves who were known for their slenderness. Even so, the first mate finally shifted his gaze and obeyed.

"These beasts could have been tougher. After drifting on the sea for several months, such a scene can't dispel our boredom?" Ein said lazily, with a hint of fatigue in his voice. Then, his face became serious, "This may be our last time... and this is the result?"

The first mate turned his eyes again and smiled coldly and reconciledly.

——

Freya's father served in a tower and needed to keep an eye on the sea.

Her father was not a slave of the lord, but a free owner with a farm, a long house and thirty slaves. But in the lord's territory, whether it was a free landlord or a slave, every able-bodied person had to take turns guarding the sea to ensure that traces were found before the enemy landed and to give the territory a warning.

However, everything has changed now...

The little girl listened nervously to the shouting, fighting and the sound of weapons colliding in the distance. Her eyes swept across the fence, trying to find the direction of the sound.

When her observations yielded nothing, she breathed a sigh of relief, and then took a deep breath.

Wolves, bears, and ice tigers were just some of the dangers that roamed the glacier-carved valleys that led from the rugged Norscan mountains down to the coast. In the woods, her father had fought a troll so fiercely that he still bore a scar on his face. Yet it was for his bravery and strength that the Jarl granted her father a tract of free land.

Freya smiled as she remembered the respect shown to her father by the Jarl, but her smile quickly faded, and everything around her was foreign to her now.

She reached her gloved hand into her goat-skin tunic and touched the dragon-shaped ornament hanging around her neck, a gift from her father that she treasured. Crafted by her father himself, a gift that even his sons had never received, it was a symbol, a silent talisman of the bond between father and daughter.

She knew her brothers envied her, and her father's wife hated her, the only woman she could ever call her mother. Her real mother was a princess who had been captured during a raid on her tribe's lands.

Her father took the princess as a trophy, and soon promoted her mother from a common house slave to his wife, a move that deeply angered her father's first wife.

It was her father's wife's constant complaints that led her father to trade her mother to a warrior from another tribe when she was still a baby.

Freya knew that this was why her father always looked at her with affection, because she had a part of her mother in her, something that could never be taken away from her father.

She looked up at the sky, watching the faint flickering mist in the midnight dotted with stars, and she stared at the purple tapestry of the sky with the help of the surrounding firelight, trying to make out some trace of her father's teachings. She could see the raven god wearing a bone crown, and the berserker holding a battle axe, and the hungry hounds beside him.

Her father had taught her how to find her way by looking at the stars, but also warned her that sometimes the stars would deceive those who trusted them too much, or if she offended the terrible Tzeentch, the god of change would move the stars and make her lose her way forever.

She shuddered and made a gesture of bending her fingers, which was said to be a salute to the eagle, the most elusive of the fickle gods. Then she fell, falling in the snow. She did not get up immediately. She was startled by a faint, indecipherable sound in her ear. She peered through the fence, trying to find the source of the sound.

Were her brothers trying to scare her?

She shook her head. This idea was too stupid. Her father's wife would never let her precious child go into the forest alone, and this was not the territory she had always lived in, not Norsca, but a place called Naggaroth.

This realization made her blood run cold. She glanced at the round shield in her hand with a guilty look. She bit her lip and pouted her mouth in dissatisfaction with her cowardly thoughts. She was separated from her father. She had to find her father. Would the legendary shield girl abandon her responsibility because she heard a voice that frightened her?

Maybe the gods heard her plea, or maybe she was frightened.

As she rose from the snow, she saw the wooden pillars that supported the tower. She could see the tower itself, the thatched roof groaning under the snow. She could not tell what she was seeing, what was real and what was not. She did not understand why she was seeing the sight of the domain in Naggaroth, but she screamed like a frightened lamb, looking for her father.

Suddenly, she climbed the rough ladder that rose from the supporting tower and opened the trap door of the tower. She withdrew her hand in shock and found that it was covered with warm and wet crimson. She stared at the rungs of the ladder and the blood that continued to drip from the ladder in horror. She looked at the tower with new fear. After a moment, fear finally determined her choice. Despite the blood on the ladder, the tower was still her only refuge. Her father would protect her. Her father would not allow anything to take her away.

Trembling, Freya climbed into the tower, her petite body struggling to break free from the iron trap. The room she lifted into was dark and full of shadows, the only light coming from the long window that faced the sea. She was struck by the sinister gleam of the sea and the waves of stars, and through the thick fog she could vaguely see a ship moored in the fjord.

wrong.

The ship was not a longship, but a skinny vessel with brutal sails and an evil hull angle. To her, the ship looked more like a barbed dagger floating on the water than a ship. Her breath caught in her throat, and she dropped her buckler when she realized what it must be.

Bards sometimes tell terrifying legends and ancient fables about the Sea Elves, demons with demonic souls and hearts of ruthless malice. The bard said it was better to cut one's own throat and curse the gods than to fall alive into the hands of the elves.

The trembling girl stepped back from the window, cowering away from the sight of the strange ship. She felt something sticky tugging at the soles of her shoes. She turned around sharply when her eyes recognized what was tugging at her. When she couldn't help but scream.

A mass of dismembered flesh and blood, almost unrecognizable as a human being. However, she recognized it at a glance. Although it was brutally disfigured, her father's face vaguely retained the appearance of the past. Those old gray scars were the claw marks left by her father when he fought with trolls when he was young. Now that the leathery face was soaked with blood, it looked even more shocking. These scars were carefully and cruelly re-opened and filled with blood.

"What...is she doing?"

Druchi, who had just finished fighting, stopped what he was doing and looked at the Yankees who were running, spinning, making movements, and screaming in the snow. They were like the audience below the stage, watching and admiring, without interrupting or shouting, and some just whispered.

"Putting on some kind of show? Like we saw in Chapeuto?"

"What are you talking about? Can this compare?" A Druch pirate pointed at Freya and said with disgust.

"I bet that body was someone she knew?"

"You're talking nonsense." After finishing speaking, a Druch pirate raised his harpoon crossbow and pointed it at the Yankees.

The captain came over from the other side and raised his hand to stop the pirate's shooting.

The sound of crunching footsteps on the snow pulled the girl's eyes away from her father. A slender figure separated from the darkness and condensed into a slender and elegant figure in Freya's sight, as if it were some kind of figure. A flawless elven vision.

The milky white skin is like polished alabaster, shining in the shadows, but the black armor on the shoulders and high leather boots inlaid with silver spikes break this purity. The shapely legs stretched upward and were connected to a belt made of transparent tulle, embellished with tiny rubies and gold thread beads.

The slender figure was only covered with a metal breastplate. The breastplate was like claw-like steel fingers, restraining the strong chest within it. The figure's face was surrounded by a mess of black hair, and on his head was a headband inlaid with gems. The rubies shone like hungry eyes in the black hair. That face was breathtakingly beautiful, the perfect combination of symmetry and beauty that made people feel ashamed, longed and disgusted involuntarily.

There was a creepy smile on the captain's face, a smile full of irony and perverted desire. She slowly raised her hand, her movements too graceful to be human. She held a slender dagger in her hand. Blood was dripping from the dagger. Freya recognized it at a glance as her father's blood.

The captain's tongue protruded from his lips and gently licked the blood on the dagger, as if he was enjoying some kind of luxurious delicacy. Her eyes were closed and an expression of almost ecstasy and intoxication appeared on her face.

Freya watched in stunned silence as the evil creature licked the other dagger clean in the same manner.

When the last drop of blood was licked dry, Drucci opened his eyes and locked his gaze on Freya, as if he noticed Freya for the first time. A cruel and hungry smile appeared on her lips. She took a step towards Freya and lowered her body, her barbed daggers gleaming in the darkness.

Freya felt her heart beating crazily, as if she was about to be torn apart by great fear, but she still couldn't look away and could only look at the evil gaze of the elf. As the elf drew closer, she could smell the exotic powders and spices smeared on the elf's pale skin, as well as the acrid scent of her father's blood, as the elf's dark lips brushed against her ear.

"Shh!"

The whispered words sent a shiver through Freya's senses, and the fear that had paralyzed her was broken, and she screamed and stumbled away, a soft whisper in her ears as she ran into the darkness. And the sweet hissing laughter was the cold laughter of her father's murderer.

——

"Tell me what I have to do," Kurt insisted.

"Take off!"

"I'm gonna freeze," Kurt muttered, a hint of complaint in his voice.

"The warriors of the gods are not afraid of snow, and, tonight, something worse than freezing could happen to you."

Stung, Kurt took off his clothes and shivered in the cold. It wasn't long before the fire was ignited, and warmth swept over him as the flames began to spread and rise into the air.

A wizened old man with long, flowing hair and beard in intricate braids appeared in front of him with a dagger, the blade engraved with strange runes he didn't recognize, and the elder held a bag in his other hand.

"Stop talking, concentrate, and think of the gods."

After the elder finished speaking, he knelt on the snow and used the tip of the dagger to draw a winding line on Kurt's foot.

Blood gushed from the wound and dripped onto the snow.

Kurt closed his eyes, ignoring the sting of the blade, and let the elder continue his bloody work, cutting fine and delicate lines and shapes on his skin.

Soon, he felt the blood flowing down his legs, chest, and arms, and when the elder began to paint on his face, he opened his eyes, but remained still, allowing the elder to carve runes on his cheeks and forehead.

The blood began to flow into his eyes and coagulated on his lips, with a bitter taste. He focused on the feeling of the blade so much that he forgot the noisy sounds around him.

After completing part of the ritual, the elder began to chant, pulling the runestone from his bag and holding it tightly in his hand, a warm glow leaking out from his fingers. He whispered in a language that Kurt could not understand, and although he could not hear the specific words, Kurt still recognized four words, the names of the dark gods of the north: Khorne, the Lord of Bones and God of War; Tzeentch, the Lord of Change and God of Magic; Slaanesh, the Prince of Darkness and God of Passion and Pleasure; and Nurgle, the Lord of Decay and God of Plague and Famine.

When Kurt looked at the elder's face, he found that the elder was bleeding, a small amount of blood seeping from the elder's forehead and dripping onto his skin. The color of the flame began to change, and the orange flame was tainted with green and blue. He felt the wound on his skin begin to burn, first slightly painful, and soon more intense. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, and the flame seemed to penetrate the wound and invade his veins.

With the chanting getting louder and louder and the prayers of the other Kurgans, the elder circled Kurt and scattered the runestones in a rough circle.

The runestone glowed bright blue, more intense than before, and the snow hissed with steam.

Kurt felt the presence of the gods reverberate around him, and deep in his mind, filaments of energy surrounded him. Power rose from the ground beneath the elders' feet and descended from the cloud-shrouded sky. A dark cloud broke apart and the light of Morsleeb shone down, revealing an eerie green, dyeing his surroundings in a dim glow.

His body twitched, and his mind was filled with swirling images. He saw endless columns of warriors marching through the blood-stained snow, their weapons dripping with blood, he saw strange beasts roaring praises in the night sky, skeletons in ornate golden armor marching through ancient sandstone ruins, and he heard wild creatures roaring in the depths of the ocean.

It all flashed through his mind in an instant, and the sights, sounds, smells, and touches were so real that he trembled. He shook off the illusions and focused on the ceremony.

The fire inside him surged through his blood, burning his heart, consuming his lungs, and scorching his mind. He screamed through clenched teeth as his entire body was drowned in agony. He opened his eyes and looked toward the burning fire, the dancing flames flickering in and out of his blurry vision as his surroundings began to distort in his vision, merging with the flames into a magical vortex of fire and shadow. Yet the fire inside him was still burning, and power was coursing through his veins, through his muscles, into his fingers, and even out of his eyes.

The swirling scene gradually solidified into strange shapes, strange fish flashed before his eyes, with invisible clouds of energy, burning eyes and hideous faces. A shadow creature leaped at him from the light, claws pointed at his face. He dodged sharply and fell to the ground, shadows passing overhead. A two-headed snake wrapped around his legs, its skin full of barbs, tearing his flesh. He broke free of the snake, blood splattering, and forced himself to stand again.

He looked down at his naked body and saw the runes carved by the elders were burning with energy, each line pulsing with magic on his skin, as if crawling with life. Another demon leaped at him, this one a woman with jewel eyes, fangs like tassels, claws like sickles. He raised his fist, and the demon turned at the last moment, rising up in a fragrant mist, the air still smelling of flowers and blood.

He felt a circle of creatures gradually closing in, hungry for his body and soul. As fear crept into his heart, he felt the fire in his body begin to weaken, and the light of the runes began to flicker and dim. He realized that this was the danger that the elders had warned him about, but his body was also filled with the power of the gods, which protected him. If he gave up this power, the demons would swarm and tear him to pieces.

He summoned all the energy and will in his body, focusing his energy on the fire burning in his body, and he imagined that the fire would grow like a normal fire on the breeze, fueled by the breath of the gods. He felt the energy surge into his body again, he controlled the pain, and began to laugh. He felt the breath of the gods and heard the gods whispering deep in his mind.

The gods laughed at him, praised him, roared and laughed.

Kurt's vision became clear, and he stretched out his right hand to move closer to the image of the flames. He imagined those flames becoming his armor and weapons, and the colorful flames leaped into the air and surrounded him, but did not burn his body. The fire in his body became hotter, and he used this power to draw the fire into his muscles and tendons, penetrate into his bones, and merge into his eyes, ears and nose.

After a moment, he fell to his knees, breathing rapidly. The elder also fell next to him, unconscious, and blood seeped from the elder's nose, ears and eyes. He pushed himself up and looked at the pyre, only to find that the flames had extinguished, leaving only smoking ashes, as if they had been burning for many days instead of just a moment.

The clouds in the sky were also breaking up, a strong north wind blowing them away, allowing the moonlight of Morslieb to penetrate the clouds.

He looked around, feeling lost, unsure of how long he had been out of this world. His eyes fell on the surrounding onlookers, some of whom had their arms crossed and expressions of grim expression. He stood up and stepped across the ground, the snow hissing into vapor under his footsteps.

"Are you willing to swear to follow me?" His voice was deeper and more powerful than before, echoing in the night sky like the roar of thunder.

"You survive, but you still have to prove your worth."

"I challenge you!"

shouted a young onlooker, one of the youngest of the Marauders, but Kurt knew he was strong and fast as he stepped forward. A beard had just begun to grow on his face, and he held a sword in his hand, the hilt of which was carved into the shape of a coiled snake.

"Then attack me."

Kurt said confidently, spreading his arms.

Everything seems to have slowed down now. In Kurt's eyes, the blow that the predator thrust the sword into his abdomen was as slow as a snail crawling, giving him enough time to react, or in other words, his current speed was far Beyond ordinary people. His hand quickly reached out and knocked the sword out of the predator's hand, throwing the sword into the snow.

"Try again!"

The Marauder picked up the sword and stood in front of Kurt again. This time, he launched a top-down slash, targeting Kurt's left shoulder, but Kurt sidestepped and grabbed the sword. edge.

Blood seeped from between Kurt's fingers.

The Marauder grasped the hilt with both hands, trying to pull the sword out, but Kurt stood motionless, his grip as firm as a blacksmith's pliers. Then, Kurt flicked his wrist, pulled out the sword, spun it in the air, and caught the hilt.

"Last chance."

Kurt said, throwing the sword back to the Marauder.

The young Kurgan approached more cautiously this time, then suddenly charged forward, thrusting his sword straight out.

The blade pierced Kurt's abdomen, tearing out his insides and causing him to take a step back.

The Marauder let out a cheer of victory, but his joy quickly turned to a look of horror as Kurt slowly reached out, grabbed his wrist, and pulled the blade deeper until the tip passed through his back. out.

Kurt smiled at the predator and then waved his free hand, fingers like claws and muscles as hard as iron. His hand hit the plunderer's chest hard. The plunderer was blown away more than ten meters like a thrown stone, and fell heavily into the snow. A painful wail was torn from the mouth of the plunderer. out.

The other Marauders quickly gathered around the Marauder and let out a gasp of surprise when they saw the five bloody holes in the Marauder's chest, each as deep as if it had been pierced by a spear.

Kurt pulled out the sword inserted in his body, and the blade was stained with his black blood. The black blood did not gush out, but seeped out slowly. He threw the sword into the ashes of the fire, shook the marauder's blood from his fingertips, let it drip into the snow, and looked directly at the marauders present.

"The gods have spoken! I am chosen..."

Kurt roared, but before he could finish, a strange and weird rhythm interrupted his roar.

"Hey, what are you monkeys doing here without fighting? Is this... some kind of ritual?"

The "Hook Blade" Cyonlan suddenly appeared and taunted. Behind him was the Heart of Winter, which was slowly approaching. After speaking, he handed the halberd to the relatives beside him and stood in front of him. Kurt there twitched his fingers.

Kurt looked angrily at the elf emerging from the darkness, his eyes flashing with bloodlust. He growled lowly and rushed towards the elf. His power was obvious, every step he took made the snow crunch, and his figure was like a furious beast, charging straight towards Seonland.

"A nice gift?"

Sean Lan took a few steps forward, then stood there with an undisguised sarcasm on his face. Kurt completed the ceremony quickly, but he was faster. He turned slightly sideways and avoided Kurt's first One blow. The moment he avoided it, his first blow came. His movements were as smooth as flowing water, and a backhand elbow hit Kurt's chin. The huge impact made Kurt's head jerk toward Lean back.

Kurt roared angrily, his hands grabbing onto Sion Lan's waist like steel pliers, trying to use brute force to throw his opponent directly to the ground. But Sion Lan bowed his body and hit him with a knee in the abdomen. His movements stalled, and Seon Lan took the opportunity to raise his hand and grab his wrist, twist it hard, and throw his body to one side. He fell heavily to the snow, causing a splash of snowflakes.

"Speed? Brute strength?"

Sean Lan sneered, and he raised his feet and approached the fallen Kurt step by step.

Kurt got up from the ground angrily, waving his fists and pounced on Cyonland again. This time, he focused all his power on his right fist and swung it towards the opponent's head.

But Sion Lan didn't panic at all. He lowered his body, nimbly dodged the punch sideways, and slapped Kurt's elbow with his backhand.

With a click, Kurt's arm bent at an unnatural angle. He roared in pain but did not flinch, and swung his left fist.

Seanland had already seen through the intention of the guy in front of him. He grabbed Kurt's left arm and twisted it with force, flipping the whole northerner to the ground. Kurt struggled to stand up, but he was stepped on his chest and pressed back to the snow again.

"That's it? Is that all you can do?"

Seanland said as he leaned over and punched Kurt in the face. The sound of the fist hitting the flesh was clear and palpitating. Kurt's nose was broken and sticky black blood slowly flowed out.

Kurt struggled to resist, but Seonlan quickly grabbed his arms with both hands, smiled coldly, and pulled hard. With the sound of bones separating, his arms fell weakly and were taken off. He screamed in pain, but couldn't break free from Seonlan's suppression.

Seonlan pressed Kurt to the snow, and his fists fell like raindrops. Each of his punches was with thunderous power, beating Kurt's face into a bloody mess. The snow was gradually stained black with blood, but he still did not hesitate. He was like a cold beast, completely destroying his prey.

As Seonlan had fought enough, with a click, Kurt, who was completely unconscious, turned his head 180 degrees.

Seonlan stood up, shook his bloody fist, looked coldly at Kurt lying on the snow, and then turned around. The Heart of Winter is like the cold winter. They stood there, watching this scene silently without a trace of mercy. After turning around, he casually waved to his relatives, signaling them to deal with the remaining predators who had no will to fight.

——

Darkus never participated in the battle, but sat on the barrel, quietly watching Newkle constantly dispatching troops. As Jaeger left after receiving the order, he muttered in a low voice.

"Oh, it's a mess." (End of this chapter)