Everything and Nothing ~ By Voodoomaster [Campaign Fiction]

[Voodoomaster]

[authors note: this is a piece i have had in my mind for a year or two now, and finally managed to write so enjoy, its shorter than our usual pieces.
also i will get onto a Loyalists of Malekith piece soon
VM]


Everything and Nothing

Arcanus Firestorm silently cursed as the Druchii patrol moved past above him. Dozens of heavily armoured elves from the retinue of the Queen Mother, armour clinking and weapons ready, and all of them watching for any movement. Arcanus would have been a source of that movement had he even moved just an inch, the black cloak he wore pinned against the rocks of the cliff. His breathing was controlled, his emotions in check. His mind, however, was frantic and racing, trying to work out what had happened at Lasgalen, the mighty fortress of the Vraneth family. He had felt the air… vibrate… hours ago, and had even seen the sun blocked out in Tor Tiaonna. He alone had ventured from the city to investigate the rumours now emerging from the Vraneth stronghold. Rumours that already he had begun to dread.

“Here is far enough,” the voice said. “None will find it here in this crevasse.”

Arcanus dared to look up slightly, towards the cloaked feminine figure above. She looked down into the dark depths of where he was hidden. He knew her voice. He had heard it months ago in Lasgalen. It was the voice of the sorceress rumoured to be Queen Morathi’s second, Lonicera. This… dark princess… was perhaps the most dangerous member of the Cult of Pleasure he knew, and here she was just a short distance away from him. Arcanus could hear his pulse quicken as Lonciera looked directly at his location. Her eyes seemed to pierce the gloom for a moment, but then she was looking elsewhere, turning away as two other elves flung a large bundle into the crevasse. It glanced off a rock near to Arcanaus before rolling down the softer sides and settling near the bottom. From above, Lonicera’s voice could be heard once again, and tears began to fall as he struggled to keep control.

“We return to Lasgalen,” she instructed those in her entourage, “for I am certain the Lady Morathi wishes to congratulate the new High Prince of Saphery on reaching his exalted position.”

Their laughter seemed cold and harsh as Arcanus stumbled down the slope, tears obscuring his vision as he reached the black robed bundle, pulling out a knife and cutting the cloth away from the figure. He hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong. Anything but this. This was not how it was meant to be.

The knife fell from his lifeless fingers as Arcanus looked at the face of the figure, a look of shock still upon the now partly blackened face. His face fell and the tears continued to fall. His teacher, his enemy, his friend, his saviour. Drukh Vraneth was dead.

***

Before.

***

“I still don’t understand why you are doing this, Vraneth.”

“Firestorm,” the High Prince of Saphery replied, “for the benefit of both yourself and others, it is Prince Vraneth until I say otherwise.”

Arcanus frowned. He couldn’t work out what was going on. It had been several weeks since that fateful day in the canyon, fleeing Sarthailor as it burned in fire behind him. Since then he and his three companions had been forced to drop their armour and robes, donning the attire of Druchii warriors. Although initially they had been disgruntled, even angry at first, Arcanus saw the benefits, begrudgingly admitting that the armour was exceedingly useful. Sarthailor had little ithilmar, most of it remnants from before the Exodus. They stood together, the High Prince and the prisoner, upon the deck of the graceful Eagleship as it moved towards the capital of Saphery, Tor Tiaonna.

“Prince Vraneth,” Arcanaus chose his words carefully, “I can understand you saving us to serve you as slaves. I do not understand why you let the others live, though. From our tales, you are a barbaric warlord who delights in torturing any living thing. Yet here I am, standing beside you armed and speaking freely while my kinsmen below are cooking with your own warriors. What are you?”

Arcanus looked as Vraneth continued to stare to the north, as if looking for something. Abruptly, he turned, his sharp blue eyes – much like those of his second son, Arcanaus recognised – a contrast to his black hair. But it was the eyes that held Arcanus. They held power and wisdom in them as they looked through him. There was something different about this one. Then Vraneth looked away, as if lost in thought once more.

“Firestorm, you have only ever seen and heard of the extremes of Ulthuan,” he finally said, in the tones of one who chose his words carefully. “The ones who are willing to go to war for what King Malekith believed right and good. Yet many of us simply work, and live our lives. I have done the things you speak of, in my time. Perhaps I will be called on to do such again. I have learned, though, that some things are necessary evils, and I can at least understand and regret the choices I have made. You may prefer not to admit it, but we are not all the brutal, uncaring murderers that your people have portrayed us as, fellow Druchii.”

Arcanus opened his mouth to respond but the look upon Vraneth’s face, turning back to hold him captive, caused him to close his mouth once more. Again the eyes stared through him. Perhaps he was right? It was clear, whatever the reasons – he wasn’t sure that he understood them himself – that Prince Vraneth was not like those he had killed on the battlefield. Arcanaus idly wondered when he had begun to respect the High Prince.

“I called you fellow Druchii, Firestorm, because that is what we both are,” Drukh continued. “Druchii. Dark elves. We are elves who have lived without the light of Asuryan for ages now. It was Malekith who christened us as millennia ago. Your people in their arrogance may never have accepted or admitted it to themselves, but that is the truth.”

Arcanus looked north. He could see a dark tint in the sky to the north, and he knew what it was, though there existed only stories of the place. The Isle of the Dead. The High Prince was right, he recognised, in his assessment of Arcanaus. They were all Druchii. They had been living a lie. They had thought they were protected by Asuryan, but instead they been ignorant. Asuryan didn’t protect them. Did Asuryan even know or care that they existed? He looked back at Drukh, his eyes sad.

“What can we do?” He asked the question more to keep himself from despair than anything else, but the High Prince answered him.

“Everything and nothing, Arcanus Firestorm. I want you to travel Ulthuan in my name, doing everything and yet nothing at the same time. I want your word that you will obey me and that you will keep your silence. I warn you that this oath, should you utter it, will be one that you can never break. It cannot be broken except by your own death. We will teach you in everything we know. The Beast will turn his eyes here soon, and we must be ready.”

Arcanus nodded and looked at Drukh. He looked the part, aged but strong, his eyes seeming to flicker slightly, as if there was a chance – no more than a chance – that hope remained. Kneeling, he looked down at the deck, his mind unsure and even amazed at his reason for doing this. Weeks ago such an act would have made no sense to him at all, but now, something was different.

“I will serve, my lord.”

The dull thump of an amulet near his feet caused Arcanus to look up slightly. It was a talisman, a small golden box. It meant something, he knew. Rising up, Arcanaus grasped the box, feeling a strange warmth coming from inside. Turning it over and examining the symbol, suddenly everything became clear. He realised what Drukh Vraneth was doing, and he nodded, handing the talisman back to the High Prince, who once more looped it over his neck and tucked it under his clothing. Closing his hand as if to hold the last bit of lingering warmth in his closed fist, Arcanaus looked at his former enemy, understanding now in his mind. Drukh simply walked away, his midnight blue cloak billowing with the wind.

***

Now.

***

Arcanus stood beside the mound of stones and rock that now formed the tomb of the one who was – in his mind – the noblest elf upon Ulthuan. The tears and anguish were gone, and in its place grim determination. The joy of returning to his ancestral home, the home where his forefathers had dwelt and fought, was gone now. His kin were dead, and he was the last of his line. The last fighting elf of Sarthailor. Perhaps the gods were dead, and the world would surely fall.

“Do not give up hope so quickly.”

Arcanus whirled around to find the darkness gone. His eyes squinted in pain at the whiteness that now surrounded him. It extended in all directions, seemingly infinite, and while he could not see any light, there was no difficulty seeing. Reaching for his sword, his hands fumbled at the realization that his weapon was gone. Arcanus opened his eyes fully as looked towards the figure that had now appeared, standing perhaps a half-dozen paces from him. It was an elf, of that he knew, clad in plain grey robes with cowl thrown back. His hair was white and his eyes glittered with blue, but more than that, there was something strange about this one. Different. More, even.

“Perhaps Drukh was wrong in rescuing you,” the elf continued, “and perhaps choosing you for this role was a mistake. His loss saddens us, for he had grown to become a lynchpin for what we worked to achieve. You do well to honour his memory despite his ancestor’s persecution of your people.”

Arcanus was silent as he looked at the elf. It was as if he knew him, but more importantly, he knew Drukh. This elf could read him like a book, much like Drukh had done.

“Who are you?” His voice was steady, questioning. “Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”

“To the first, my name is not important. To the second, something you don’t need to know. The real question you should be asking is who you are, not who I am.”

“I am Arcanus Firestorm, formerly a Prince of Sarthailor.” What sort of a question was that?

The elf seemed to almost roll his eyes. “Why must they all be so… stupid?” he muttered to himself, before addressing Drukh once more. “Wrong answer,” he continued. “Who are you?”

“Arcanus Firestorm, Sentinel of the Cult of Asuryan.”

The elf drew an amulet from beneath his robes. A small golden box. Drukh’s amulet. Holding it out, the amulet lifted from his hands as if levitated by some unseen force, drifting across to hover in front of Arcanaus. “Who are you?” he repeated.

Arcanus paused and looked at the elf. The weight around his neck suddenly became real. The world became real. Around him the whiteness seemed to flash with sudden colour, and grasping the amulet, the warmth within it grew until it seared his hand. Images flashed before his eyes, of wars, of travel, of magic, of time, of space. Finally, they focused on two figures standing tall. Each was the opposite of the other and yet they stood united. Beyond them he could see ten empty chairs – ten empty chairs and a space where an eleventh chair should have been – facing outward towards him. He couldn’t see anything of the figures in the chairs, he realised, but he could feel their presence. He knew that they were watching him. Releasing the box, Arcanus looked up into the elf’s eyes, his memory of their previous meeting – and the oath he had sworn – restored. He remembered the oath he had sworn. I will serve, my lord. Spoken in this whiteness, before Drukh and the one who stood before him now. He knew the history, the true history, as Drukh had before him. He knew what Drukh had known.

“I am Arcanus the Grim,” he declared. “Sarathai of the Cult of Asuryan and Keeper of the Flame. You are Tathel. You taught Drukh Vraneth, long ago.”

Arcanus watched as Tathel nodded, a satisfied expression on his face. Walking forward, he motioned that Arcanaus should look down. His sword was returned to him. The odd elf had a curious smile on his face, as if he knew more than he was letting on. Arcanus dismissed the thought thought. He would know more when he needed to and not before, but there was one final thing.

“I am not an Asur,” he said. “Perhaps I never will be, but I will do what must be done. And I can only hope that there is hope remaining.”

Tathel nodded and looked at him, something resembling sadness in his eyes. He knew that nothing could persuade Arcanaus to go down another path. Drukh had chosen Arcanus wisely, for this successor would continue the role that the High Prince of Saphery had carried out for centuries. His son, though… his son would surpass him in every way.

“Go, Arcanus the Grim. Prepare the Cult for war.”

[Lady Gieselle]

Ah so now the CoA has a new leader ! I am certainly sad to see another of the house of Vraneth to pass.

I look forward to seeing who will stand beside Malekith at the head of his army.

[Elaithnir]

Arcanus...it seems we are destined to fight side by side! You will learn...the fighting Sarthalirim live yet!
Excellent fiction Voodoo. Gives me a few ideas for the development of my own character...

[Eldacar]

I am certainly sad to see another of the house of Vranth to pass.

Drukh died in the "Asur" fiction. This is more or less the aftermath of that.

[Lord Marixis]

Arcanus will be even more grim when Chaos devours his soul.

[Spartan]

Great stuff Voodoo!

So it seems that the leader of the current Cult members on Ulthuan is Arcanus, and that Bel-Saarin is the leader of the Cult forces overall. Would that be correct?

[Prince Eldarion]

Looks like im serving Arcanus!

[Lady Gieselle]

I am certainly sad to see another of the house of Vranth to pass.

Drukh died in the "Asur" fiction. This is more or less the aftermath of that.

Yeah,
I recall him being left on the roof top stabbed. I got so wrapped up in Bel-
Saarin that I didn't realize it had resulting in Drukh's death. I guess the entire household is in the hand of the CoP now.

The house of Vranth sure has a talent for have glorious deaths, in the fluff. I think that's the Third or Fourth to date? Guess Voodoo doesn't like too much moss to develop under his character's feet.

Truely this is a harsh, dangerous world that we live in. Voodoo reflects that well. As do all the Lores actually

[Voodoomaster]

The house of Vranth sure has a talent for have glorious deaths, in the fluff. I think that's the Third or Fourth to date? Guess Voodoo doesn't like too much moss to develop under his character's feet.

Truely this is a harsh, dangerous world that we live in. Voodoo reflects that well. As do all the Lores actually

the third yes, their killers to date are, VictorK (Khalir Vraneth), Me (Idril Vraneth) and Eldacar (Drukh Vraneth)
Dark Elves tradtionally meet up to Hobbes view on human (elf) nature of "Nasty, brutsh and mercifully short" in this universe though they have the same dark nature, just significantly softer with the unnamed masses and some observe greater codes of honour than GW's Druchii.
The Vraneths have gone full circle really, from Loyal Warrior of Malekith, Psychotic War-General of Khaine, Cautious and Secretive but Loyal to Ulthuan High Prince, and now split in two again.

[Elaithnir]

It's an interesting development Voodoo. Especially since the Druchii players now have a chance to play the noble heroes for once.
Oh. Off topic. Is that the philosopher Hobbes or the Kilrathi Hobbes?

[Lady Gieselle]

It's an interesting development Voodoo. Especially since the Druchii players now have a chance to play the noble heroes for once.
Oh. Off topic. Is that the philosopher Hobbes or the Kilrathi Hobbes?

I don't know about you but my Druchii, and my character Lady Gieselle, have always been noble hero's. (Your thinking still remains too rooted in the GW druchii)

I hope to keep that theme going when one of Lady Gieselle's progeny, (Lady Aryel) emerges to take up arms in the name of High King Malekith

[Elaithnir]

Shrug. Sure, in this universe, for a given value of hero the Druchii may qualify...but still. Working alongside Chaos. Slavery. Cults of Excess. A Society based on murder and deceit...yeah. It's all there. Forgive me if that doesn't fit my definition of noble or hero.

[Eldacar]

So it seems that the leader of the current Cult members on Ulthuan is Arcanus, and that Bel-Saarin is the leader of the Cult forces overall. Would that be correct?

Arcanaus has succeeded Drukh Vraneth as the Sarathai (leader, "world dragon") of the Cult of Asuryan. As such, Tathel informed him (as all leaders of the CoA are told, but only the leaders) of the existence of the gods and that the Asur survived (the elves from Elithis). He also gave Arcanaus what you would term the 'true history' of the Dark Empire world, as he did with Drukh and many other leaders of the CoA. Arcanaus would probably serve as Bel-Saarin's lieutenant, of sorts, in the coming war.

As Phoenix King, Bel-Saarin commands the armies of Elithis (though, being a symbol rather than a warrior/mage, he does tend to leave a fair chunk of the generalship to Auralion and the magic to Korhadris, Cyeos and Belannaer, the three senior Loremasters of the White Tower in Elithis). Auralion (and other elves from Elithis) gained quite a bit of experience fighting Chaos in the south, so they know what he's doing.

You'd be right in that Bel-Saarin leads the Cult overall (technically, it's the Cult of Asuryan and the armies of Elithis together, but we've just subbed it all into the "CoA" moniker). Arcanaus is the leader of the Cult of Asuryan (i.e. on Ulthuan - he's never been to Elithis, or even seen it, but he does know that the Asur survive somewhere in the world). In the coming war, he'll probably end up as an advisor to Bel-Saarin, and the CoA will work alongside the armies of Elithis.

Yeah,
I recall him being left on the roof top stabbed. I got so wrapped up in Bel-
Saarin that I didn't realize it had resulting in Drukh's death.

I didn't really get a chance to give him a proper send-off, as it were. The published version of the Asur story is actually my first draft of it - since I was away for five weeks, I was doing it and sending in bits and pieces of stuff to VM or whichever Lore I could reach. I would have liked to do more work with Asur (since there were a number of things in the current form that I would have liked to fix, plus stuff that needed adding), but c'est la vie.

I guess the entire household is in the hand of the CoP now.

Yes. Kurl becoming the new High Prince of Saphery also gave Morathi a majority on the Council of Princes, leading to the events that were going (i.e. that she planned) to take place at the Shrine of Asuryan. Of course, it didn't quite turn out the way she expected (what with Malekith returning and Morathi getting herself burned and all).

The amusing thing is that some of the story team were pretty much lining up to be the one who got to burn Morathi. Torkles was lucky enough to get the job.

The house of Vranth sure has a talent for have glorious deaths, in the fluff. I think that's the Third or Fourth to date? Guess Voodoo doesn't like too much moss to develop under his character's feet.

I picked the Vraneth family when I was choosing the one that Saarin would be from. Being the son of the leader of the Cult of Asuryan (the "Sarathai" - i.e. the highest position in the CoA) made becoming Phoenix King a bit more... believable, perhaps? I'm not quite sure what the word would be.

And, incidentally, to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised people weren't asking questions about Elithis before Asur was released. The biggest hint that there was something going on was probably when VM published a map of Malekith's holdings across the entire WH world (minus Lumbria, admittedly) just prior to the start of the HotW campaign, and Elithis wasn't even on the map in the first place. An entire continent was gone, but I don't think anybody realised it.

[Lady Gieselle]

And, incidentally, to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised people weren't asking questions about Elithis before Asur was released. The biggest hint that there was something going on was probably when VM published a map of Malekith's holdings across the entire WH world (minus Lumbria, admittedly) just prior to the start of the HotW campaign, and Elithis wasn't even on the map in the first place. An entire continent was gone, but I don't think anybody realised it.

No I remember specifically some discussions break out about that. I think I also kind of remember some Lore coming out and making a statement to basically "Drop It!". Which I think shortly after it ended up getting swept along with the tide as the campaign kicked into a fevered pitch.

[Eldacar]

No I remember specifically some discussions break out about that. I think I also kind of remember some Lore coming out and making a statement to basically "Drop It!". Which I think shortly after it ended up getting swept along with the tide as the campaign kicked into a fevered pitch.

Don't recall that happening. I've been told that one person did certainly notice, but must have missed that thread.

[TimmyMWD]

It *was* noticed, someone figured it out looking at Voodoomaster's map, but no lore told people to quiet - it was just in the jumbled speculation after the two pieces were released that revealed Asur were hiding somewhere.

[Gilead Lothian]

Your writing is as exquisite as ever Voodoo!

It will be nice to fight by your side this time around my good lady Gieselle, rather than trying to kill you. I just hope us lowly Sarthailorim survivors won't seem too distasteful to fight alongside.

[Ediblespread]

Yes indeed, one very clever young fellow did indeed take note, charming and brave that he was...

Why, if I could meet that fellow, I'd shake his hand and tell him how bloody awesome he was...

=D

-Edibles