Out of the Wilderness [Campaign Fiction]

[VictorK]

That's right! It's a twofer!

This is the third and final piece of the Wilderness Trilogy. I highly recommend reading The Wilderness and Beyond the Wilderness. Otherwise this won't make much sense.

And, if you haven't already, read Eldacar's piece, Asur. Together these two stories, perhaps the finest that have ever been produced for the Dark Empire, set the stage for the coming campaign. Enjoy.

Out of the Wilderness

Drip, drip, drip. His third and final awakening was punctuated by the sound that reverberated throughout the cabin as if it were an expansive cave. He was warm. Fingers of heat caressed his midsection and chest before pooling at his lower back. He was awake, but kept his eyes closed, adrift in the drunken haze between waking and rising. The warmth around him filtered into the core of his being, and once there began to quicken his breath. What had been peaceful waking was being invaded by darker desires. In the limitless possibilities contained by the space between lucidity and dreaming, a space which even gods dare not regulate, Aikhen attributed to himself an endless slaughter stretching back for eons. The heat that rushed through him was the exhilaration of battle, the satisfaction of annihilation. The feeling turned his stomach and sent sharp pangs of discomfort through his body. The pain dispelled the tantalizing vision, and he finally opened his eyes.

He was covered in blood. He was unable to slow his breathing as panic overwhelming the feelings of rage and murder. Aiken’s left hand rested on his solar plexus where it had oozed blood all through his sleep. The thick crimson liquid traveled in rivulets between his muscles and his ribs before soaking into the hammock that supported him. From there, once it had saturated the cloth, it dripped onto the floor. By now the flow was regular, a steady drip, drip, drip. A cold sweat broke out on Aiken’s brow as he tried to keep his composure. He slowly lifted his hand, drawing a dripping red curtain between his palm and his chest. He deliberately began to turn, keeping his eyes on his red hand as his feet went to the floor. They splashed. Blood pooled up to his ankles, sending warmth that turned ice cold up his legs. Aikhen was shaking now that he stood in the pool, searching for the walls of the cabin that would provide a check on the expansion of the blood pouring from him. They were gone, and he stood alone in the dark cavern that replaced the ferryman’s ship. The blood was no longer dripping; it flowed from his hand in a constant cascade to the floor beneath him.

Out of the darkness figures began to appear. These were not the immaculate elves that had passed by him in the dead city. They were wretched, like him, but less real. He could see through them, but soon the throng that had gathered made each one seem as real as he was. The full range of emotions played out in the crowd, some wore faces of anguish, others of sadistic glee. A few were resigned to their fate; others seemed to plead for another moment. All of them looked at Aikhen, men, women and children all. Their eyes accused him, piercing his chest with the force of their certainty. To them he was guilty, and he didn’t know why. The wretched one fell to his knees, arms hanging limply at his sides. Blood splashed up onto his skin, but he barely felt it. His hand was oozing freely, the fingertips just brushing the surface of the pool. “What is it.” He whispered, face contorted into a tortured look as he was forced to behold the silent faces. “What have I done?” He asked, but knew he would get no reply. “What have I done…” He lowered his head.

“Ah, master Aikhen!” The ferryman’s masked face peered below the deck from the surface. “I trust that you slept well?”

Aikhen looked up. The cabin was restored, there was no sign of any blood. He knelt next to his hammock, completely dry.

“Lost in prayer, I see.” The ferryman descended a few steps into the cabin. “An odious habit, prayer. Why offer up any sentiments to the gods above, when they turned a deaf ear, hmm? Surely master Aikhen knows that he is all alone in this world.” Aikhen rose, taking a few breaths to steady himself. He stared at his hand, and found it dry as a bone. “Come, then! The lioness and I are waiting. We have just returned from a very important meeting.” He extended a gloved hand towards Aikhen, who took it. The wretched one was led out of the cabin and onto the full deck, where a light breeze which seemed to catch only the ship’s sail was lazily blowing across the water.

The lioness was sitting at the ship’s bow, her fur twisted by the gentle breeze as she looked to the west. There, on the far horizon, a golden light was just creeping over the surface of the water. Its pale glow reflected off the mirror like surface of the water and was disturbed by the passing ship’s wake. It was the first light in the sky that had not shone with either malice or indifference. It warmed Aikhen to look upon it, and his feet were rooted to the deck as he first beheld its glow.

“It’s beautiful.” He murmured, giving voice to the feeling in his heart. It was meant for no one in particular.

“It is that.” The ferryman replied. “And it is where we are headed, though we shall never reach it. Nor shall it break up the darkness on the coast we have just now left. It is fixed in place, this light, though it shone much brighter in older times.”

“I should liked to have seen it.” Aikhen replied.

The ferryman shook his head. “You would have been blinded, and thus, you would not have seen it at all. To look upon the light’s true face is to invite utter destruction.” He tapped the mask that covered half of his face. “Better, then, to hide ourselves so that even if we are not as bright as we might have been, we can preserve those around us, and share in what they have to offer. When light shines from you, master Aikhen, take care that its purpose is to illuminate, not to blind. All can appreciate a warm light, but a light so impressive as to blind…well, that is a light that no one sees.”

Aikhen just nodded, not quite grasping the ferryman’s words but content to listen to them. The lioness turned and started to pad back towards the two new arrivals. “It is good that you are awake, Aikhen. Our journey is almost at its end.” She looked over her shoulder at the line. “Soon we will have a new shore. And from there…not long to travel.”

“What will I see there?” Aikhen asked. Reflexively he hid his hand behind his back, as if he was ashamed to show it.

“Nothing.” The ferryman picked up for the lioness.

“Everything.” The lioness was speaking before she even knew that the ferryman had stolen her line. At the contradiction the two looked at one another for a long moment, amusement and unease passing between them. “Are we the demiurgi now, speaking in riddles and contradictions?” The lioness asked softly, slowly averting her gaze from the ferryman.

“Such a fate is perhaps closer than we would find comfortable.” He replied. “But,” and then he turned to Aikhen, “Sometimes a question can have two contradictory answers. On one level, on the surface, principles can be opposed…But go deeper, and you will find them united, each speaking to a different part of a truth. Remember this, Aikhen.” The ferryman seemed to smile. “No truth worth knowing is easily grasped at first glance. We call that not truth but temptation, and it is the ruin of many.”

“Is that why I am here, then?” Aikhen asked, looking between his guardians. “To hear lectures? I have seen so much, and been lectured throughout, but what have I done?” His fists clenched. “What am I to do with all that you have shown me? What is my purpose? How can I just be your blank slate, to write on as you wish?” He paused. “Or am I something you are trying to rewrite?”

The ferryman looked at him without a hint of emotion. There was sadness in the lioness’ eyes. She padded forward a step, and then sat in front of Aikhen. She did not immediately reply, and the hesitation caused him to shake with barely suppressed rage, and fear.

“I was something before this.” Aikhen murmured. “I see it peeking at me through the cracks in this world…” He held out his left hand, as if using it to accuse the two in front of him. “Why does my hand bleed?” He demanded. “Why does the blood disappear? Why am I given horror one moment and then words of wisdom the next? Why do you speak to me as if I was one of you? What am I? You gave me a name but it means nothing!” He was shouting, his thin frame quivering with the effort. “It means nothing!” He shouted again, the accusation in his tone pointed at his guardians. “Why did they look at me, as if I was that Harlot, who had devoured those souls?” He continued to shake, but the power was drained from his voice as the outburst had worn him out. “I loathe myself, and at last I am loathed. Why should you, two beings of great power and beauty, protect me?”

They responded with silence.

***

Morathi sat at the head of a great caravan, her sensual form hidden by curtains of flimsy silk. Thin enough to tantalize the commoners who lined the road in great throngs, thick enough that she could forget that they existed and retreat into her own thoughts. The pain still stung her. It had lost its sharp insistence of that first night when it appeared, but the dull ache was still there just behind her skull. The entire business with the Vraneths had left her with a sour taste in her mouth. She idly fingered the hoops that held together the strips of fabric she dared to call a gown, listening to them ring against one another. Something had happened in Saphery. The full extent of it was lost to her, and the uncertainty was enough to propel her into action. She leaned forward and carefully parted the front curtain of her palanquin in order to peer into the distance.

The once great complex was now little more than ruins. The training grounds and living quarters of the Black Guard, the most feared soldiers in all of Ulthuan, spread out around her. They engulfed the structure at their center, a structure that once commanded the respect of all elves on Ulthuan. She sneered at it. Its stones were close to collapsing, and its grandeur had been dwarfed centuries ago as Malekith’s architects erected the buildings around it. The vaguely pyramid shaped structure no longer glowed as it did in those early days, days which Morathi would be happy to forget. This was the great Shrine of Asuryan, an empty shell for an empty god. She let the curtains fall back into place. There was nothing else that she needed to see.

Her thoughts turned to what lay at her back. The vast procession contained the retainers of every High Prince in Ulthuan. A final gathering to take place before the oncoming war. Few sensed that war was upon them, but Morathi knew. It was only days, perhaps only hours, away. But by far the most important cargo behind her was the bier carried by the elite soldiers of the Black Guard, all hand picked by their Queen. An iron shod corpse was laid on top of it, and as it passed through the gates of the complex she could hear the mourning wails of the common people raised in the air. It was the last (and for many, the first) that they had seen of their beloved Malekith. Originally interred in the Living Shrine of Khaine in Anlec Morathi had decided that it was time for a more proper funeral. She could not permit a symbol of unity, a symbol of Khaine, to rally the people. The kingdom that her son had built from the ashes of Bel Shanaar’s realm ended today. And she had no regrets.

The palanquin bearing the Queen Mother and her host ascended the crumbling steps of the defunct shrine. The High Princes had dismounted at the base of the pyramid, each proceeding on foot up towards its peak. Malekith had been lowered onto the shoulders of the Black Guard who carried him, acting as an intermediary between the hidden queen and the nobles behind her. Few of the elves in the procession felt any trepidation at walking over the hallowed ground; it had been thousands of years since the building had had any meaning, and an oversight that it existed at all. Yet when at last they mounted the platform that terminated the steps and acted as the threshold for the temple itself few could avoid feeling something stir inside of them as they stared into the darkness of its depths. No one took a step further.

The palanquin was lowered to the ancient stones. The curtains parted, and the Queen Mother stepped out. Despite the cold air she was barely clothed; though she wore on her brow a crown that denoted her status and her role as high priestess. “Come, then.” She said in a sing song voice, smiling seductively at the men behind her. “We have a great deed to accomplish.” She turned, her ebony tresses bouncing around her shoulders as she walked into the darkness. Her attendants, slaves who had carried the palanquin, fell in afterwards. Each produced a torch, and lit it. But Morathi seemed to have no need of their light. It was for the benefit of the nobles.

The air inside the temple was stale, even though it had not been sealed. To the princes assembled within it felt more like a tomb than a place of worship. And perhaps something was buried in there, the Prince of Eataine wondered. Perhaps there was something moldering in the endless corridors turned catacombs that had once held the legions of the Phoenix Guard. The procession continued forward with regal purpose, allowing its members only furtive glances at the thick walls that surrounded them. The Prince of Eataine noted that the runes carved into the walls seemed shallow, familiar forms twisted into endless lines of gibberish or brief stanzas of madness.

“Do not try too hard to read what is on the walls.” Morathi cooed, her voice echoing through the structure. “We are passing through the old Chamber of Days, where the king of the gods Asuryan decreed to his slaves what menial tasks they were to perform for him. The traditional route to our destination is above us. I took us on this…detour to show you just what lives in the mind of a tyrannical god. This is what we were before, my princes. Interpreters of runes carved by a madman. Now, we are the ones who write the future and ordain what is to be done in the present. Look upon these runes, and recognize them for the chains they are! Look upon the corpse of the elf in front of you, and recognize him as your liberator.” She allowed the procession to continue in silence, past the seemingly endless lines of Eltharin, now forever extinguished.

The group soon arrived at the heart of the temple, and the largest room they had yet come across. Morathi’s attendants filtered out to the room’s periphery and placed their torches in the sconces prepared for that purpose. It was clear that Morathi had led them on a long way to this chamber, a slight breeze could be felt coming from the outside. The room was circular, and was perhaps once beautiful. Now its marble floor and its colorful fixtures were caked with dust and the residue from smoke. The chamber stank. Ten panels of red marble were still barely visible in the floor, radiating out from the center like a sunburst. There was a spot for each of the ten high princes of Ulthuan, and knowing this each instinctively took their place. The Black Guard filled the gaps between them. Morathi advanced towards the center of the room, where a shallow pit that seemed colder than the rest of the room was bridged by a slab of stone. Morathi knelt down, the body of Malekith hovering behind her in the arms of her soldiers. She touched the cold stone, smudging the dust with her fingers.

“Before my husband, the great Aenarion, no elf had set foot on this stone.” She said, her voice reverberating throughout the room. “Bel Shanaar walked upon it, as did my son. Caledor robbed it of its power.” She was distant, remembering first hand things that were to every other elf in the room merely legend. “Or, perhaps, he showed that this stone had no power to begin with. He showed us, with his weakness and his stupidity, that we were all of us fools to believe that the flames that once caressed this rock held any sway over us.” She rose, and stepped back. The Black Guard entered the concave depression beneath the stone and laid the body of Malekith upon it. “We will give it power, now.”

Morathi looked at the assembled princes, counting off those she could trust and those who must die. “What I shall do today can never be undone.” She declared. “With this sacrifice I transfer into my power and the power of my master the soul of every elf past, present, or yet to come. But in order to realize how this is possible one thing must be understood above all else.”

“Khaine is dead.”

***

They beached the ship on the new shore and set out over land. A deep, clinging mist illuminated by the feeble light emanating from the western horizon covered the landscape. This land, it seemed, was truly empty. The wilderness, now an ocean away, had seemed more alive than the bare rocks and thin grasses that Aikhen encountered. As they moved inland the mists choked out the sky above, sealing the small party within the world that it created. For now Aikhen walked on his own two feet, the lioness beside him and the ferryman leading the way through the rock strewn hillocks that barred their path. The final leg of the journey over the water resembled the first steps on the new shore in that both were filled with a tense silence. The mist deadened all sound, so that the crunching of gravel under a passing foot almost startled the person walking with its rudeness. No more answers had been forthcoming to Aikhen, though he continued to brim with questions.

Time, again, was an illusory thing. The mists swallowed it in the same way the endless twilight of the wilderness had rendered such a thing as the passing of days or hours meaningless to those passing through it. But even if time was gone life had persisted, the wilderness though at times appearing empty served as a lens to view the chaos that swirled around it. But this new place was not like that. “Does anyone live here?” Aikhen wondered, peering through the mists for a sign of the familiar lights that once he was aware of them seemed to dog his every move in the wilderness.

“Not for a very long time.” The lioness replied. “This place is a crypt, Aikhen. We walk over the graves of the greatest of us, now passed. Grass has grown over where they lie, and the stones that marked them and told of their deeds now lie scattered around, indistinguishable from normal rocks.”

Aikhen reached for the lioness and entwined his fingers into her fur. “So why have we come?” He asked. He kept pace with her, or she slowed to accommodate him, but they walked side by side, sharing the same somber look despite the differences in their visage. Both found the contact reassuring.

“We’re here to meet someone!” The ferryman broke the silence, spinning on the ball of one foot and gesturing grandly towards the fog. “Isn’t that what it always is, master Aikhen? A long walk to nowhere, another face that you won’t recognize to tell you things that make no sense?” He laughed, spinning forward again. “My maiden, you do him a disservice with that glower! Why, I remember when you smiled! When we all enjoyed good dreams.” He hopped form rock to rock, leading the way. “Ah, but you buried those dreams, didn’t you? Buried them as you were commanded, or did you simply forget to bring them with you?” The lioness regarded his jeering impassively and simply continued to lead Aikhen up the gradual slope that they soon encountered. “We are not far now, master Aikhen.” The ferryman whispered in his ear as the two passed him by. “I am really going to cherish the look on your face.” His jovial tone almost turned malicious, and then he bounded away.

The walk over land turned into a hike. The rolling hillocks and sparse rocks became a steep slope choked with boulders. They picked their way through, the ferryman light as a feather and the lioness as surefooted as any mountain cat. It was Aikhen who struggled, who always seemed to struggle no matter the terrain. He scrambled over the smaller rocks and leaned against the moss covered boulders for support. The climb was turning vertical, and just when it seemed that the hike up the slope would become impossible the mists parted and revealed the plateau that terminated the sharp incline. Aikhen pulled himself atop it, and lay in the cloying damp for a few moments as he stared into the grey, wispy sky. The lioness appeared over him, her pale face staring into his. “Get up.” She said softly. “We don’t have much time to spare.” She lowered her head, and allowed him to grab it, to use her to pull himself up one last time.

A platform, made from carved stone blocks now cracked and crumbling, stood at the center of the plateau. They all advanced towards it. Perhaps the stones had once been grey but now they were a sickly green. Pieces of the platform littered the area, blocks large and small that once made a greater structure. Of them two small towers remained, each barely taller than Aikhen and held in place more by the vegetation that clung to them than the masonry that had erected them. Together they framed a window looking west. Aikhen ascended the few steps that were needed to reach the modestly elevated stones. The ferryman and the lioness soon followed behind him, and then moved to either side. They stopped at the edge of the platform; he continued to move forward until he was at the center.

“We have defied you!” The ferryman declared. The sudden outburst rooted Aikhen to where he stood, at dead center. “Not only have we returned, against your most *sacred* edicts, but we have brought another, as well!” The ferryman almost sounded triumphant as he egged on whatever presence lurked behind those mists. “Come then, old man, will you not judge us? Is that not your function?”

Silence prevailed. The mists rolled with the passing of a breeze that had not been present before. Aikhen could not help but feel an uneasiness after the provocation. He was reluctant to face whatever it was that the ferryman was calling out. The mists began to swirl in between the two pillars, turning about in a corkscrew until a long cone was carved out of them. The light which lingered o the horizon was now visible at its source for the first time since they had set out. That stillborn dawn cast its rays onto the platform, onto Aikhen. A golden light, distinct from that softness, started to manifest in the turn of the spiral that channeled the dawn. Aikhen tried to step back, but the moment he moved from the central spot the golden light flamed to life and became a roaring flame that burned away the mist in its vicinity. It expanded, pushing back more of the obscuring curtain while keeping the point of the dawn as its focus. Concentric circles of golden fire now loomed over the party, utterly dwarfing them and the platform they stood upon. As the light from this array flowed over the plateau the lioness adopted her old regalia, the streaks of crimson and multicolor flowing from her body on the grace of the gentle wind. The power that she had displayed against the Harlot was restored, and to Aikhen it was a reassuring presence.

“Tell him why you have come here, Aikhen.” The lioness urged, sitting on her haunches as she regarded her charge. “Tell him what I have shown you.”

“Him?” Aikhen asked as he regarded the circles above him, trying in vain to wrap his mind around the concept of such a display as a…being.

“Yes, him.” The ferryman chimed in. “You look upon the greatest of us. I imagine he’s quite furious, you see we have disobeyed him quite egregiously in doing what we have done. Ah, well. Such is life, to dare to cheat the powerful!”

Aikhen nodded slowly. He didn’t quite feel up to cheating this entity. “I am Aikhen.” He told the thing above, even if his confidence in that name was shallow. “I come to you, mighty one, from the wilderness far away. I do not know how I got there, or why. There is much about me that I do not know.” He looked over his shoulder at the lioness. “But I have been educated. I have seen a world in pain, mighty one…though I do not know how to fit into it. Aside from my own I have learned only one name, the name of Malekith.” He was focused now on the light at the heart of the rings. “I have learned much about his evil, of the sorrow he has brought to this world. Most of all I have felt, within me, the emptiness that he has unleashed. I have seen, first hand, those he let in by opening up that void. I have seen the light from his son, the light that I am told will end the world. Mighty one, I do not know why your servants have looked so kindly upon me. I do not know why the lioness, who has been my protector and my only friend, has taken pity on such a wretched one as I. I want to repay her, mighty one, and all others. My only desire is to undo what has been done, so that I need never again feel the emptiness that has inspired so much hatred. Let me confront the legacy of Malekith.”

The great being did not immediately reply. He seemed to consider the wretched one before him. His silence persisted.

Aikhen held up his left hand, noting that blood now oozed from the folds in his palm. “I do not know why my hand bleeds.” He whispered, feeling that the being’s silence invited more from him. “But I know that its blood threatens to drown me. I know also that it is a part of me, that who I am is in this bloody hand. Perhaps I bleed so that others do not have to. I bleed for the same reason that I can see, and hear, so that I can better understand the education given to me by the lioness. Please, mighty one. I have a destiny, I can sense it. Let me use it, let me know who Malekith was, and let me learn from him, so that I may correct the great evil that he has perpetrated.”

The reply from the great being was swift and immediate. “YOU ARE MALEKITH.” His voice threw back the mist in all directions and staggered the wretched one standing before him. The tone of his words was not merely declarative but carried with it a final judgment, as if those three words contained everything that was relevant and portended all that was to be. No other words were necessary.

Aikhen was silent. His chest rose and fell as his breathing quickened. The words did not sting him, they were simply incomprehensible. They jarred against his entire experience, everything he knew himself to be. He looked at the lioness, though her head was bowed and her gaze considered the mossy stones.

“Well, didn’t you hear him?” The ferryman’s voice was tinged with glee. “I’m surprised that he even said it. I had a whole speech worked out, you see. It was quite brilliant, and likely would have explained more, but his speech is so rare that all my rhetoric looks pathetic by comparison. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“What can I say?” Aikhen replied softly, his shoulders dropping. “But that I cannot be that person.” He turned back to the great fire being. “What is your test, then? Am I supposed to see the weakness in myself, to see that I too am touched by this evil? If you want me to be humble, then I can assure-“

“No, Aikhen!” The lioness cut him off. She raised her head to regard him. “You are Malekith. I knew it the moment I looked into your face, as did all the others you have come across. You are responsible for the evil I shown you.”

Aikhen’s face fell. There was no trick behind this. The last, greatest question had been answered. All that was left for him was to throw up other questions to disguise the gnawing doom that had filled him. “Why…why did you save me, then?”

“Ah, there it is!” The ferryman laughed with glee. “I have waited sooooo long to see that face on you, betrayer! Usurper! Traitor to your own people and your own blood! Save you? We never *saved* you! You did this yourself! You knew that the bargains you had made throughout that miserable catastrophe you called a life would tear your soul to pieces when you passed on, and so before the blade could steal your last, rasping breath you sent yourself here. I saved you because I wanted to see your face, just when you had found some last bit of hope…and see it squandered! I wanted to see what you looked like the moment you realized who you really were, who you have been for eons! I am glad that you had one last trick up your sleeve, Malekith. While watching you be torn apart by the demiurgi would have been satisfying this…this is more than I could have ever hoped for!”

“Oh lord!” The lioness called to the great god above. “Show us as we truly are!”

There was a second pulse that emanated from the circles, but Aikhen barely felt it. “Look upon us, Aikhen.” The lioness wheezed.

He turned to behold his companions. The lioness was not mighty, nor was she cloaked in divine raiment. She was covered in wounds, some festering, others healed over into scars that twisted through her dirty fur. He could recognize the wounds she had received from the harlot, wounds that still oozed with blood. His handprint was visible on her side. But despite this, her golden eyes burned with determination as they stared into him. Aikhen glanced towards the ferryman, who while not as injured was still ragged. His charm was gone, and his mask was cracked.

“We are dying, Aikhen.” The lioness told him. “For now, we are sustained. But that will not last. Not when the demiurgi find us, not when the light that we saw reaches here. Soon it will all be gone, Aikhen. What you felt will be even worse. What happened in the wilderness…it is nothing…nothing compared to what is going to happen.”

“He has chosen one to stop it.” The ferryman remarked to the lioness.

“Do not speak for him!” The lioness shouted. “If our lord wishes to speak he can do so for himself! You know as well as I that it is too little, too late! The power…the sheer power arrayed against his chosen one…He will perish, and so will we.”

“Better to perish, than to trust this traitor again. Do you think that he will give up his pursuit of power, just because you showed him some kindness?”

“I will give up power because she has shown me forgiveness.” Aikhen replied, cutting off the ferryman. “I am Malekith.” He declared. “Whatever rationalizations existed in my old context…They are gone. I am laid bare.”

“Aikhen…” The lioness began, concern in her voice.

“Your hand bleeds because you are a murderer, Malekith.” The ferryman continued. He would let no comfort come between him and the wretched one. “You bear a fragment of our brother, though he is no longer capable of manifesting himself. Do not pretend that there is a core of goodness you can rely upon to save you, Malekith. Do you think that a moment of self reflection acquits a lifetime of the most heinous crimes? It does not. It cannot. Our lord has passed his verdict.”

“But he has not declared his sentence!” Aikhen cried. He turned back to the great being that stood watch over them. “I do not know who you are!” He cried at the rings. “But I now know who I am! I am Malekith!” He declared. “I am the greatest criminal that the world has ever known, the greatest evil that has ever been perpetrated on any people. I have seen that in a way that lays it bare to me. There can be no excuses.” He lowered his head. “But in spite of all that, one of your own, who I have wronged, has forgiven me. There is nothing left, then. It has come full circle.” He fell to his knees. “I can’t believe in my own promises. I want to prevent their destruction, I want to end the emptiness…but how can I craft a promise to do that, now that I know who I was? I am truly wretched.” He balled his hands into fists. “Annihilate me, then!” He finally looked up into the heart of the great deity, staring down into the depths. “If doing so means that you can focus on helping those that might still have use of your aid, then annihilate me!” He was shouted. “If I am just an amusement, destroy me! Leave me to rot in this place. I want nothing from you but that my infamy is laid to rest, that I become nothing. Let me perish. I have cheated death enough.”

There was a blinding light from within the center of the rings, and Aikhen’s pleas were heard.

***

The Prince of Eataine frowned at Morathi’s words. He stepped forward; the charge of ‘blasphemer’ on his lips before the Black Guard next to him grabbed his arm and pulled him back into place. It was then that he realized that he was going to die.

“Khaine is dead.” Morathi said again. “And we have destroyed him. This is the greatest deed that has ever been accomplished by our kind or any other. It alone makes us masters of the world.” She looked around the room and read the discomfort on the faces of a few select princes. “How is that possible, you ask? It is possible because Khaine was always weak. Khaine, the god of murder…Should he not be strong, for all the murder of my son’s regime? For all the death that his machinations caused?” She smiled slyly and began to walk around the central depression, hips swaying with each step. “Ah, but my machinations go deeper. What is Elthin Arvan, but an altar upon which the greatest sacrifice in all of history has been offered? Khaine and his followers rushed to war, but it was I who was waiting in the shadows.” She chuckled darkly. “I have pulled Khaine in so many directions, through so many acts of perverted slaughter…that as he grew in power he grew closer to the Four who always threaten to engulf the weaker gods. And it was upon recognizing that this barrier was weakened, that his doom was near, that I drove a god to *madness*.”

A look of horror crossed over the faces of the princes who were slated to die. The ultimate heresy unfolding before them shocked even Druchii ears. “We razed communities. Slaughtered entire peoples. Merged with the forces of the Everchosen to contribute to his murderous rampage. How could a god of the elves remain independent, remain a god of the elves, if the elves engaged in such a project? He could not. It is impossible. The locus for his worship lies before you, dead before that final war even began. It is impossible, now, that the elves maintain their own gods. We have walked down a different path. I call for a universal pantheon, but we shall not be slaves!” Her declaration rang through the chamber. “We shall be kingmakers, the gods of the gods. My son has held us back from the support of one of the great powers, and now, flush with the power that only we can deliver, we will transform Four into One, and reign supreme over all that is and ever shall be.”

“To all of you who say that this is impossible, that the people will never abandon Khaine, or that the Vortex so coddled by my son will never fall so long as the elves guard it, I tell you that we are in the eleventh hour. In a few days, or perhaps in a few hours, Alith Anar, the Everchosen, will arrive on these shores with an army that has not been seen since the time of Aenarion.” The loyalist princes, who now understood that Ulthuan no longer belonged to them, recoiled in shock. Even those who had sworn fealty to Morathi and her Cult of Pleasure looked uneasy. “And when he arrives the body of his greatest foe will have been reduced to ashes. The last locus of Khaine, the last center for his continued worship independent from the Ruinous Powers will be gone. Today I do not just bury my son, I bury a god. I do not care if he lingers, waiting like the other weaklings for the final stroke to snuff out his existence. Khaine is dead. We have killed him. I tell you this because soon we will be gods ourselves, we will shape the world from the ashes of Alith Anar. He is a tool, nothing more. Ours are the hands that shall guide him; we are the ones who shall crown a new king of the gods.”

Morathi’s attendants stepped forward and replaced the Black Guard around Malekith’s body. They laid around him fuel for the fire that Morathi was summoning as she called upon the winds of magic. “Oh, my son.” She said, returning to her position before Malekith. She knelt before him. “I truly did love you, but I could never teach you that true power lay beyond an earthly crown.” She leaned over his body and kissed the metal plate that covered his face. The flames, dark and purple, issued forth where once the pure flames of the emperor of the gods reigned supreme. Morathi was not touched by their heat, even as smoke began to issue from the cracks in the Armor of Midnight. “I love you, son of Aenarion. Go, now. And complete the greatest task before you.” She sat back and knelt, praying over the burning corpse of her son.

The princes unlucky enough to stand outside of the Cult of Pleasure watched with horror as mother burned son. They all wanted to cry out, but all still feared the blades being leveled at their backs.

“From fire, to fire…” Morathi murmured, “Scorched so that not even rot would take hold of you, let fire free you, my son.” The runes on the armor, carved by Hotek thousands of years ago, flared once and then died, undone by the magical heat conjured by the Queen Mother. Bits of orange began to lick at the purple flames as the flesh beneath the armor caught fire and burned. Smoke, acrid and thick, curled up towards the ceiling of the shrine. “Sleep, and rest eternal.”

The Shrine of Asuryan shook as if its foundation had been seized from below. A cry filled the room, a bird’s call filled with pain and rage. The purple flames conjured by the high priestess of the Cult of Slaanesh were chased away by a surge of white fire that engulfed the body of Malekith. The heat burned away the diaphanous material that covered Morathi’s body. The rings that had held it place glowed white hot and burned circles into her hips that could never be removed. The fire seemed to seek out the body inside the armor, and once it found that scorched flesh it burned all the brighter and more furiously. It was a mad flame, utterly reckless as it had been held back for far too long and now that it was free to rampage took any opportunity to do so. The cracks in Hotek’s armor were burst asunder as flame spilled from them, and at last the enchanted metal began to melt. Morathi watched in stunned silence, her magic lost to her as the fire sucked up the winds as fuel. No eyes were wider than hers when the figure at the heart of the flame sat up and his hand reached for her.

Morathi screamed when Malekith’s fingers, encased in the white hot metal, closed around her face. She howled as she never had before. The molten metal dripped from her son’s hands and hissed against her perfect body, forever marring her flesh. The crown on her head shattered from the heat and was lost forever. The princes, no matter what their creed, watched in horror as the Queen Mother was mutilated by a ghost. The Shrine shook again, and the fire now out of control at its heart began to burst through the marble of the floor. Stones began to fall from the ceiling, one crushing a Black Guard soldier. As Morathi screamed they decided to save their lives and flee the sacred chamber.

Outside the Shrine of Asuryan the common people and the retainers of the High Princes watched in confusion as the temple shook. They saw their lords spill out of the temple’s opening and flee towards their camps. White fire began to lick at the space between the stones, gradually pulling the temple apart. The commoners edged back, but they were still fixated on the awesome sight before them. The last figure to flee the temple before a gout of flame rushed from the entrance was an elf woman, naked, holding her face as smoke trailed behind her. None of them would ever guess that it was Morathi they had seen fleeing the temple. At last, a pillar of flame burst through the top of the Shrine, and fire poured from every crevasse and every entrance. Stones began to crumble, and some exploded under the heat. Every elf who witnessed the spectacle would claim that they saw a pair of wings made from the flame unfurl behind the doomed pyramid, before collapsing with it.

When the flame died, as suddenly as it had appeared, a figure emerged from the ruined hallway that lead towards to heart of the temple. He was tall, and crowned with a mane of unruly black hair hat fell down to his back. Even from a distance any elf in the crowd could perceive his piercing stare and his gaunt, sunken face. He was naked, but soon wrapped himself in a purple banner once he had descended the ruins of the shrine. He walked with purpose through the crowd, and there was not an elf, commoner, Black Guard, or noble, that dared to approach him. The Cultists who had come to crown their final victory now fled in all directions, but this figure, this unapproachable elf, paid them no heed. He approached a single elf, the captain of the Black Guard who had rushed to the site of the emergency, and who now stopped dead in his track as he fell under that icy blue stare.

“Kaellkillath.” The elf spoke. “I have returned to lead my people. Spread the word to every corner of Ulthuan. Malekith is restored, and as king he calls for war.”

***

With the coast of Cothique visible in the distance Alith Anar could not bring a smile to his lips. The future was now closed to him. What had seemed certain was now in doubt. “I can feel them.” The Everchosen muttered. “What luck, that I will be able to kill him again.” The invasion proceeded.

[TimmyMWD]

I'm not afraid to say that this and Adam's piece on the Asur make my writing look rather plain . An excellent piece.

[Lord Marixis]

Looks like all the pieces are in place for an epic campaign.

[Lethalis]

Not yet, but Voodoo has finally supplied me with enough information that I can pretty much rewrite my entire story from scratch to provide you with one of the final pieces.

Which is a good thing in hindsight, since it gives me the opportunity to try and produce something that's not entirely dwarfed by the past stories o.O

[Elaithnir]

Congratulations Victor. I'm astounded as always...this will be a campaign to end all campaigns!

[Mathurian]

So am I correct that Druchii and Asur are both good guys now, allied with each other, and they're fighting against Chaos? That's a bit of a twist, assuming I followed correctly. Sorry if I seem confused, but I missed the earlier campaigns, so I'm still playing catch-up.

[Uther Di Asturien]

Dammit VictorK, you are just too good a writer

[Anarion]

So am I correct that Druchii and Asur are both good guys now, allied with each other, and they're fighting against Chaos? That's a bit of a twist, assuming I followed correctly. Sorry if I seem confused, but I missed the earlier campaigns, so I'm still playing catch-up.

Degrees of good and bad are much changed in our alternate history compared to the official GW timeline.

[Mathurian]

So am I correct that Druchii and Asur are both good guys now, allied with each other, and they're fighting against Chaos? That's a bit of a twist, assuming I followed correctly. Sorry if I seem confused, but I missed the earlier campaigns, so I'm still playing catch-up.

Degrees of good and bad are much changed in our alternate history compared to the official GW timeline.

Yeah, I followed how it happened, I just wanted to make sure I had it right. I hope the DE players don't mind being good guys (personally I usually play Dwarves or TK, so no real Dog in the fight yet)

[Shadow]

So am I correct that Druchii and Asur are both good guys now, allied with each other, and they're fighting against Chaos? That's a bit of a twist, assuming I followed correctly. Sorry if I seem confused, but I missed the earlier campaigns, so I'm still playing catch-up.

Degrees of good and bad are much changed in our alternate history compared to the official GW timeline.

Yeah, I followed how it happened, I just wanted to make sure I had it right. I hope the DE players don't mind being good guys :shock: (personally I usually play Dwarves or TK, so no real Dog in the fight yet)

We were always the good guys, it was clearly the forces of the Usurper who were the wrong in all this.

Anyways, long live the king I suppose.

[Lady Gieselle]

Degrees of good and bad are much changed in our alternate history compared to the official GW timeline.

Yeah, I followed how it happened, I just wanted to make sure I had it right. I hope the DE players don't mind being good guys (personally I usually play Dwarves or TK, so no real Dog in the fight yet)

We were always the good guys, it was clearly the forces of the Usurper who were the wrong in all this.

Anyways, long live the king I suppose.

The enemy of my enemy per se. Both obviosly opposed to Chaos.....will be an interesting "alliance". We Hail the King of All Elves......once more.

[Ramesesis]

Awesome! Splendid!
Having Asuryan restoring Malekith like that! The sheer awesomeness!

Hmm... so will I fight for Asurs or Malekith... Well, I think I shall stick with my original idea and follow Cult of Asuryan... or Malekith. Whatever, The king is dead. Long live the king!

[DarkTyrany22]

Simply amazing writing and plot.

I concur that this campaign will be epic.

[Lady Gieselle]

Reading through the new current campaign stories I am beginning to develop some fluff concerns from the Druchii stand point. Currently their doesn’t really appear to be what I would call a “true Druchii” side.

Clearnly you have the Chaos side, which if you’re a CoP person you can certainly get behind. However I don’t think it’s really unknown that a significant portion of the Druchii community reject the Cult of Pleasure.

There is also the clear Asur (Usurper) side. The first group of elves that fled at the Druchii victory of the Sundering. They are now returning to save the day it appears, along with a mear handful of “pure bloods” saved during the HotW. This is absolutely the best that an Asur could hope for. The Asur are 0-3 in these campaign’s and yet it is they that are coming to save the day. Politically I guess this is almost mandatory. I mean this is an Asur site and politician’s have to appeal to their base after all.

There is also the Malekith side. However it seems this is not going to be the glorious High King of All Elves. (this not your pappy’s Malekith) No, it seems the Malekith we are getting is going to be more Bel Shanaar, the Navigator, or even Aethis the Poet. Certainly not the Malekith the Druchii have been following since the start of these campaign’s.

So I ask “What is a true Druchii to do?”. Seems no matter what, even though having gone 2-1 in these campaign’s the Druchii of these campaigns is going to be no more. We are either going to be fully consumed with Chaos, or we will be magically transformed into the Asur of the GW realms, the Druchii will seem to be no more.


Now I do this purely for open discussion and debate. I look forward to the coming campaign, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it regardless of what side I join. I’ve also been very pleasantly surprised before in previous campaigns with sudden twists and turns and I’m sure it will happen again this time. This is not a critism just a wish to engage in debates on what time threads might emerge from this. Kind of like a Dr Who episode….LOL

[TimmyMWD]

I'd say wait for the next story or two. We've just introduced the returned Malekith, and Bel-Sarrin was a Druchii after all before his coronation. I hate to use our old adage, but .... wait and see

[VictorK]

The set up of this campaign presented some challenges. On the one hand, we had a clear leadership vacuum on the Druchii side, and on the other there was the unfinished plotline going back to the Sundering about the Asur and their gods. The chaos side was always in good shape, we just had to get them to Ulthuan, hence the focus on this pre-campaign on the side of the defenders, whereas the HotW lead-up definitely had more of a focus on Chaos, Khemri etc.

Unfortunately the nature of this piece did not allow for a more extended treatment of the restored Malekith. My job, as the writer in this trilogy of sorts, was to provide more than anything a plausible explanation for why Malekith would return. There's more to that than simply hooking him up with some gods. Malekith has a history of duplicity, there's simply no way that any power, anywhere, with the possible exception of Khaine, would trust him to do anything. It's up to you guys to decide whether or not that was successful.

But perhaps this is a classic "you can't please everyone". One of the major complaints going into this fourth campaign was that there was no good side. The decisions we made behind the scenes were designed so that players from previous campaigns could find a niche for themselves and enjoy themselves, while still maintaining a coherent story. And I think we've succeeded.

What you see in this campaign are four competing interpretations of what it means to be an elf. That might sound a little hokey, but you have four very different players with different backgrounds and goals. Bel Saarin, Malekith, Morathi and Alith Anar each represent a different aspect of the elven warhammer experience. I won't go into detail, but it should be clear in most cases, and you can tease out Morathi's Manifesto from my piece. Malekith is not Bel Saarin, he is not magically become a high elf. Such an ending would be unsatisfying and incoherent. I don't think that you'll be disappointed in the Druchii faction for this campaign. I disagree with your assessment that the Asur are riding to save the day. Alone the Asur and their young Phoenix King are no match for Alith Anar and his forces. It is the empire built by Malekith that must ultimately rise up to the challenge and defeat him. If that makes the Druchii good guys, then so be it.

[Prince_Asuryan]

Interesting.

A true HE should not ally with a Druchii - though in this case the situation may call for it. The real question is if Malekith has 'converted enough' to be a better elf - will he save Ulthaun and make it a different kingdom, or will he revert to his old ways?

Bel Sarrin is a HE. Will they, and the remnants of Sarthailor be able to ally with the DE? Similarly, will they gain Ulthuan back at the end of the campaign, or will they share it with the DE? or be forced out all over again.

Finally, AA and Morathi both want to destroy Ulthuan, but for different reasons (I think). Or does AA want to take it for himself? If he does, will he be able to reject the Chaos Gods? Especially if Malekith and Morathi dies and Bel Sarrin commands him to...

As a matter of interest, can we see the factions? Obviously DE, HoC and HE/Sarthailor. But will the DE split in two? the loyalists under Malekith and the rebels under Morathi? In the same vein, how will allies work? Will Malekiths forces be programmed to be allies with HE, or is it up to the players...?




Finally, when will a general Forum be opened? I have my fluff planned, and will be written tomorrow. I need somewhere to post it I sadly didn't know enough to make a solid contribution to HotW.

[Lady Gieselle]

Oh, I very much did not envy the round-peg/square hole problem you have with the DE/HE alliance. I mean lets face it this is an Asur site. It’s not D.net, or anything else like that. The HE had to find a way in here. I think you pretty much did as well as you could. It will be interesting to see what will happen if you decide to use some faction specific goals in this as well. As they have caused difficulty in the past.

One could easily see where the forces of the Everchoosen and Morathi may have conflicting sub-goals. As well as the subgoals between Malekith and Bel-Sariin. Do they choose to put the mega-goals first or do subfaction goals come first? In the HotW the choice each side made had an impact on the final outcome, both from a victory stand point as well as from a fluff standpoint.

Faction wise my guess would be 1) Everchoosen and Cult of Pleasure. I think these guys are very clearly together in the Mega Goal which would probably be destroy/control the Vortex first and formost. Then kill the other second.

2). Malekith, Cult of Asuryan, and Bel-Saarin/Elithis. This one certainly is more interesting from a story perspective. All the questions Prince_Asuryan raises being valid. Lord Malekith has been known to make false promises before. Has to truly reformed and will shape himself in a more “Asur” manner or is he simply uses the forces of “good” similarly as he did with the forces of Chaos in the past? Eldacar’s story “Asur” seems to indicate that the forces of Elithis are only interested in keeping the Vortex safe and would be happy to return to Elithis afterwards, hoping the two nation will get along after. Cult of Asuryan not sure weither they will be more Druchii leaning (Malekith) or more Phoenix King leaning. Structuraly they would be Druchii as not having access to Swordmasters and the like, but they may be alliance with the Phoenix King as far as sub-goals go.

It will all be very interesting.

[Prince_Asuryan]

LG's post has raised a question:

Are the members of the Cult of Asuryan High Elves? Obviously they are of the Dark Elf people, but would they follow the same principles as HE or DE.

I ask, because my character is the descendant of a Caledorian Prince. I've decided that while my previous commander escaped the defeat of Sarthailor, it would be unlikely that he found his way to the boats.

[Lady Gieselle]

LG's post has raised a question:

Are the members of the Cult of Asuryan High Elves? Obviously they are of the Dark Elf people, but would they follow the same principles as HE or DE.

I ask, because my character is the descendant of a Caledorian Prince. I've decided that while my previous commander escaped the defeat of Sarthailor, it would be unlikely that he found his way to the boats.

I think that both the character of Drukh Vraneth and Voodoo's excellent "Chronicles of Imperial Ulthuan" demonstrate that either is possible. One thing is for sure though, to have remained alive long enough, a person would need to outwardly portray a Druchii-like nature, but internally they could go either way.

I would say in the beginning that they would be almost purely DE, but with they idea of still maintaining a full pantheon of gods as opposed to just Khaine. However once they start merging with the people of Elithis, they could move furhter down the line towards HE. But it would be difficult having lead a Druchii-life for so long

[Voodoomaster]

are the high elves and dark elves of this universe the same as the GW universe?

Short Answer, No
Long Answer, They are not rather than black and white they are simply more subtle shades of grey, there is only some differences not all.
Remember the Druchii name came about in this universe when the flame of asuryan went out on Ulthuan, as they lived without the flame. The People of Elithis can be called Asur as they live in the light of the flame, but these are Morelion's people, descendants of Aenarion, perhaps more close to the people of Nagarythe than you think.

and as for Factions, well i think we can announce them now.

[Lord Marixis]

and as for Factions, well i think we can announce them now.

Now that's what I like to hear.