OOC

Disclaimer: the following pieces of writing are not all my work. Some of it has been taken from the stories and such that make up the lore of the Warhammer world. Most of the character interaction and the character stories themselves are of course mine. The three stories (so far!!) are an attempt by me to tell the story of the Elves of Ulthuan as well as to write about my characters and is set at a time shortly before the Age of Reckoning.

IC

EPISODE ONE – THE WAR OF THE BEARD

Dragan Heartfelt led his two children along the forest path towards a quiet clearing. The clearing seemed to be well kept in the sense that other travellers had made a stop on other days and as was the elven way had not only used the spot for a meal or a rest or both but had also taken the time to tend to the surroundings in a way that showed respect for the forest and for future travellers.

Dragan gave the clearing an approving nod and indicated to his eldest daughter, Ember to unpack the satchel that contained the meal for the three travellers. Dastarie, the younger daughter unslung the bow from her back and began a stealthy circuit of the tree line surrounding the clearing.

Dragan smiled at his younger daughter, he knew they were quite safe here in the depths of Averlorn forest, This was the Everqueen’s own realm after all, Yet Dastarie’s instincts where those of a ranger born and she took every opportunity to practice the skills of the hunt. Ember on the other hand was more introspective and studious and she had the gift of the raw magical talent of the Archmages of Saphery.

Dragan was fiercely proud of both his children and though both were not yet of adult age he knew that they would both excel in their chosen path and in life in general.

Presently Ember finished her preparations and the three companions settled down to enjoy their meal in comfortable silence. Dragan retrieved a small keg of dwarven ale from his own satchel along with three tankards.

Dastarie’s eye lighted up, and the look she gave her father was that of ‘How did you come across that?’ For ale from the old world was very rare and much prized. Dragan poured a full measure for himself and a half measure for both his children. He then stowed away the now empty keg and leaned back to enjoy the fine brew.

Dastarie drank the brew like a dwarf of old! Savouring each swallow with a look of rapture on her face. Ember took a few tentative sips and then looked thoughtfully at her tankard.

‘Father, have you ever met a dwarf?’ she asked. ‘Are they as foul tempered and foul mouthed as they say? Are they evil?’

‘Hush child!’ Dragan admonished his daughter. ‘Dwarfs can be foul tempered it is true and they hold a grudge like no other, but they are not evil’

‘Then why do most Elven folk speak ill of the dwarfs then? And why are there no dwarf visitors to Ulthuan.’

‘Dwarfs hold grudges as I’ve told you and they never forget a wrong that is done to them. They have never forgiven our people for the War of the Beard.’

‘War of the beard?’ asked Dastarie, ‘I’ve never heard of that.’

‘It is not taught in schools young one.’ said Dragan ‘For it is a shameful part of our history. Yet it is a story we should all take a lesson from. Pride, arrogance and anger, these are shortcomings that we share with the dwarfs. They are alike us in many ways, and they never forget’

‘At the end of the great civil war that tore our people in two, King Caledor the rightful Phoenix king finally drove the rebels under Malekith from the shores of Ulthuan. Malekith and his people fled these shores and settled to the north and are now generally referred to as Druchii or dark elves.’

‘But what about the dwarfs father?’ asked Dastarie with and impatient tone in her voice. Ember looked at her sister reproachfully.

‘Patience, Dastarie!’ Dragan continued his tale. ‘King Caledor was left with a large battle hardened army and a warrior culture that survives in our people today. Our navy was also very powerful and our lands stretched from Ulthuan as we know it today all the way across the sea into the old world into what is now modern day Bretonnia.’

‘Caledor I was wise and just and he ruled our people well but his son, Caledor II who succeeded him was everything that his father was not. The old king left his power, armies and ships to a son who was vain and arrogant.’

Dastarie’s eyes were now on her father and she was engrossed in the story, Ember was no less attentive but was thinking of deeper dangers of power in a fool's hands.

‘Not long into the reign of the young king trade routes between the elven and dwarven realms that had been closed during the war reopened. The dwarfs where also at the peak of their power. Dwarven Runesmiths had knowledge that is the envy of even the most accomplished Runesmith today and Dwarven engineers had unsurpassed mastery over their trade. Finely crafted Dwarven goods where highly sought after by our people.’

‘As we formed friendships with our Dwarven neighbours through trade, Malekith continued to plot against us. Disguised as warriors of Ulthuan, bands of Dark elves struck brutally against the trade routes, slaughtering many dwarfs and seizing their wares.

‘Malekith’s plan worked, as suspicion naturally fell upon the High Elves. King Gotrek of the dwarfs was furious and he sent an ambassador to the Phoenix king demanding immediate recompense. Proud and arrogant King Caledor II replied that he didn’t answer demands but listened to pleas. Now dwarfs are touchy and easily offended and to suggest that King Gotrek plead and beg for compensation was nothing less that outrageous. Gotrek now angrily demanded twice the amount in compensation because of the implied insult. Caledor II sent the Dwarven ambassador home with his beard shaven off and a message to the King Gotrek, that if he wanted compensation he should come to Ulthuan himself to collect it!’

‘The insult was more than any self respecting dwarf could bear and there was only one course of action left open to the Dwarfs of the old world - War. King Gotrek swore that he would either have his money or its wergild price in Elven blood. Dwarf armies marched on the trading city of Tor Alessi, (present day L’Anguille in Bretonnia) and laid siege to the city.’

‘Upon hearing of the attack King Caledor II was outraged. He immediately dispatched an expeditionary force to relieve Tor Alessi. It was a mighty force and there where fears that the defences of Ulthuan were left too light. Caledor II instantly dismissed these fears as foundless.’

‘Meanwhile in the Old World the war dragged on, neither side was strong enough to overcome the other. Dwarven strongholds were virtually impregnable. The dour stalwart dwarfs were unlike any other foe the Elves had faced before and they simply refused to give up or admit defeat, even when hopelessly outnumbered.’

‘For the dwarven part they were astonished by the Elven military machine. Column after column of mailed spearmen and heavily armoured knights were not what they had expected at all, but in true dwarven style, they refused to admit they had underestimated their foe and stubbornly fought on.’

‘The war dragged on and on and boiled down to a stalemate while the opposing armies bled their strength upon each other. The dwarven people of the Old World where decimated and the Flower of Elven Chivalry was used up fighting a futile war.’

‘Finally King Caledor, frustrated by the lack of success, dismissed all his generals and took command of his armies personally. It was the last foolish act of a foolish king for at the fourteenth siege of Tor Alessi he led a suicide charge against the centre of the dwarven line and was cut down by King Gotrek himself. The dwarven king snatched the crown of the Phoenix king of the corpse of Caledor II and gripping it in his hands claimed it as payment for the insult.’

‘The dwarven army then quit the field, claiming that honour was satisfied and refused any and all elven pleas for the return of the crown. Gotrek went as far as to even send a message that if the elves wanted the crown back they should bring their army to the stronghold of Karas-a-karak and retrieve it.’

‘Even as the remnants of the once proud Ulthuan host were mustering for a suicide attack on the worlds most impregnable fortress desperate word came from Ulthuan itself, the Dark Elves were invading. Malekith’s plan had come to fruition.’

Dragan fell silent and drained the last of his ale. He sat silently and pondered the tragic story.

‘Well! What happened then? Did the Dark Elves win?’ said an excited Dastarie.

‘Foolish elfling!’ Said Ember to her sister. ‘Of course they didn’t win, we are still here aren’t we?’

‘No they didn’t win.’ Said Dragan with a sigh, ‘No one really won. We all ended up losing, Dwarf and High Elf and Dark Elf alike.’ The Dwarfs are now a shattered remnant of what they once were and we lost all of our lands and cities in the old world. Many of our people were left behind to fend for themselves when the armies of Malekith attacked and they no longer pay fealty to the Phoenix king. They are the Wood Elves of Lothern forest and they are now wild and their path is not the same as ours.’

‘The Dark Elf attack on Ulthuan failed in the end, but that’s a tale for another day.’

IC

EPISODE TWO - MALEKITH

Ember ascended the main stairway of the tower of Hoeth in Saphery. The recent journey through the forests of Averlorn had left her troubled. It was not the land itself that had unsettled her. For the domain of the Everqueen was as verdant and peaceful as ever. It was the tale her father had told her of the War of the Beard. But no! it wasn’t the tale itself that troubled her, it was the unanswered questions that lurked around the story like shadowy demons on the edge of thought and memory. Why were the Dark Elves so bent on destroying Ulthuan? Who was Malekith realy? Her father had talked about the civil war in Ulthuan, such a thing seemed preposterous, yet it was clear that the two peoples were once one people. Dark Elf and High Elf? What could have happened to drive such a rift through Elven kind? She must find out.

Presently Ember stopped to assess how far up the main stair she was. Her candle cast flickering shadows against the inner wall of the tower, she was only a few levels below the main library. Ember pushed a stray hair away from her face and moved on. Her father was away in Caledor on a diplomatic assignment she thought to herself and with Dastarie off studying the ways of the Shadow Warriors in the north this would be an ideal opportunity to find all the answers.

Ember entered the main library of the tower of Hoeth. Here stood the greatest repository of written knowledge in the known world. Room after room held countless tomes and scrolls with every type of knowledge imaginable. Ember felt privileged to be one of the few who had almost unlimited access to the library. As an apprentice Archmage she could come and go here as she pleased, and she come here often!

Ember made her way to the cluster of rooms that held factual accounts and histories. She scanned some of the shelves and pulled down several dusty tomes. She set herself up at the nearest reading table and began with a compact book entitled ‘An account of the reign of Caledor I’

Ember became immersed in the reading:

“-Imrik of Caledor as the Third Phoenix King, who assumed the title Caledor I upon his coronation. Caledor and Malekith gathered their supporters and battled each other for the throne of Ulthuan. Time proved to be Caledor's ally, as Malekith's treachery became more evident and more Elves flocked to Caledor's banner. In a climactic showdown, Caledor defeated Malekith in single combat over the Field of Maledor.”

Malekith’s treachery? Malekith must have been someone in power, a prince or important lord. Ember studied the volume for several more hours but to no avail. The only other thing that she noticed that was odd was that there was an entire chapter missing from the book, turning to the front pages she sought the relevant chapter number, it was entitled “The Sundering”. A shiver ran down Ember’s back. The word Sundering gave her a feeling of primal dread, unexplainable yet unmistakable.

Tired and frustrated Ember sought her chamber. Time enough to begin the search anew the next day….

…morning, and with her Father and sister still away Ember climbed the main stair to the great library once more. Ember thought to herself, Civil war was upon Ulthuan at the time of Caledor’s coronation so something must have happened in the reign of the second phoenix king. Ember began her search.

After spending several fruitless hours skimming through many volumes a chapter entitled Malekith of Nagarythe caught Ember’s eye. Ember thought Nagarythe was an antiquated spelling of Naggaroth the Land of chill and the domain of the Dark Elves

“After his father's death, Malekith succeeded his father as Prince of the province of Nagarythe and considered himself the obvious choice to be Phoenix King. Assuming that the legacy of his father would guarantee his ascension to the throne,”

By Isha! Malekith was the son of a prince of Ulthuan! Not only that! He had to be the son of the first Phoenix King himself! Ember stared at the words a moment longer… The province of Nagarythe? That seemed unlikely..In a spark of insight she suddenly knew that Nagarythe was in actuality the Shadowlands. Still a modern province of Ulthuan but now home to the angry and hard bitten shadow warriors…. Dastarie was haeded there now!

“Malekith agreed to let the council vote on whether he should rule. But many amongst the Elf court felt Malekith was unsuited to rule. They preferred a les hot-headed leader now the war with Chaos was over and elected Bel Shanaar, Prince of Tiranoc, in his place. Malekith was instead appointed Commander of the High Elf armed forces. On the surface, Malekith seemed to be taking the turn of events very well. Indeed he was amongst the first to pay homage to Bel Shanaar upon his coronation as the Phoenix King.

Malekith proved to be a brilliant general, gaining power and allies all over the world. At one period of time he was appointed as the ambassador of the High Elves to the Dwarfs in Karaz-a-Karak. In the colonies he continued to lead successful armies against the Orcs and the forces of Chaos. His expeditions took him to the cold colonies of the northern New World. In the rubble of an abandoned city he found the Circlet of Iron, a talisman of awesome sorcerous power. It was during this time that he, with his mother's guidance, started experimenting with Dark Magic. After many decades, Malekith worked himself into a position of power second only to the Phoenix King's, but he had become discontent. In his mind the Elves must be a warlike people to face the ever-growing menace from the forces of Chaos. He became increasingly critical of the nobles, who grew soft and complacent under the protection of his armies. Seemingly proving his point, the Cult of Pleasure, a society of poets and artists that was very popular with the High Elf elite, turned out to be a front for a Chaos cult of Slaanesh. Malekith took personal command of the investigation of the cult and used this power to secretly eliminate his political enemies.

In -2751 IC he executed a political masterstroke. In a dramatical session of the King’s court, he accused Bel Shanaar, Phoenix king of Ulthuan of being a Slaaneshi devotee. Shortly after his accusation, Bel Shanaar died of poisoning. Some say Bel Shanaar took his own life in order to avoid the shame of interrogation, others say Malekith had him poisoned. Malekith showed little hesitation in presenting Bel Shanaar's so called 'suicide' as proof of his guilt but the ruling Council of Princes was sceptical. The argument turned violent and Malekith and his followers ended up killing most of the Princes in the name of saving Ulthuan.

So that was it, Ember thought. This was the treachery refered to in the other volume, dark magic and poison, and in the end open slaughter. These were not the tools of the people of Ulthuan. Finding the Circlet of Iron must have been the turning point for Malekith. Ember read on with a mix of horror and fascination.

“Believing all he now had to do was crown himself as Phoenix King, Malekith confidently marched into the sacred flame of the god Asuryan, a trial that marks each Phoenix King as representative of the Elven creator god. Yet the flames refused to suffer Malekith's polluted presence. Horribly scarred and burned, Malekith managed to exit the flame on the same side he entered. He fled north to his stronghold in Nagarythe.

Morathi was able to nurse her son back to health. Malekith then gathered the sorceresses whom he and his mother had trained. Together with Hotek, a renegade Priest of the Elven smith god Vaul, the sorceresses forged a great suit of black armour to lend strength to Malekith's near-crippled body. The suit was fused to his skin while still hot from the furnace as after his torment within the flames of Asuryan, Malekith felt little pain. When the suit was complete, few could look at him without dread. From that day onwards, Malekith was known as the Witch King.”

Ember laid aside the volume and stared ahead of her, she found it hard to believe that a high elf of Ulthuan would be capable of such things. The dark power of the Circlet of Iron explained the Corruption of Malekith but what of Morathi? and what could possess so many elves to follow Malekith when he had so obviously and fully turned to Evil? And what was this ‘Sundering’ that someone had felt it so necessary to erase from the records? Did it have something to do with the Shadowlands, formerly known as Nagarythe. Ember feared for her sister who was travelling there at this time to be tutored in the arts of archery, stealth and woodlore by the shadow warriors. Das was very young and Ember feared that if she spent too much time with the bitter and angry Shadow warriors she would not know her sister the next time she saw her.

Ember thought about what she had learned. Each new answer brought new questions with it. Ember was determined to find all the answers. But that’s a story for another time….

WOW Dragan damn fine read you really know your way around the lore with enough little twists to make it your own. And the writing is damn fine as well. Keep it up

cant wait, i just couldnt sit down and write something like this out, enjoy reading it though

Thanks guys... that means a lot to me. Chapter three should be inc soon.
Peace!

IC

EPISONE THREE - THE SUNDERING

Dastarie crouched miserably under the dipping broadleaf. She was soaked to the bone. Her hood was pulled completely over her head but it no longer kept any moisture out. It had been raining so hard and for so long she scarcely remembered the warm touch of sun on her skin.

She had been travelling though what seemed like a forgotten wasteland. Huge rocky patches of barren ground littered with boulders randomly broke up areas of the wooded countryside. As if some enormous giant had torn up great areas of the forest in anger leaving great ugly patches of rock and dust behind.

She was cold and wet and she missed her family terribly. This was far from the beautiful and ethereal forests of Averlorn or the great rolling pastures and homesteads of Saphery or Lothern.

It was forever dark here, this was the Shadowlands, formerly Nargarythe and home to the Shadow Warriors. “I asked for this.” She reminded herself. She wanted to learn the ways of the ranger despite the misgivings of her father. He would have preferred her to be taught in Averlorn under the tutelage of the wardens of the Everqueen. She knew her father hoped that perhaps one day she might fully focus and hone her skills in sword and bow and join the Everqueen’s own fabled Maidenguard.

But Dastarie had never wanted prestige or fame and although she would no doubt receive adequate tutelage of tracking and forest lore in Averlorn, she knew she would not be content. She would always be restless in the Everqueen’s domain. For it was too safe, too sheltered and never wild enough.

For unsurpassed mastery of the ranger’s craft she knew there was no substitute for the teachings of the shadow warriors. Her father knew it too and that is why he finally let her go. She had argued so hard to persuade him and finally he had relented. How she regretted her decision now!

One of her company approached her now. He was typical of the warrior’s of Nagarythe. His hood was pulled close over his face much like her own and a fold of it was wrapped over his mouth so that his nose, eyes and high angled cheekbones were the only visible part of his face. A dull bronze scale surcoat lined with worn leather was visible under the folds of his cloak. Belted at his hip were sword and dagger and slung across his shoulder where bow and quiver carefully covered with oilskin to keep any moisture out.

“Come girl, we have made camp ahead.”

The promise of a fire and perhaps shelter stirred Dastarie from her universe of wet misery. Silently the Shadow warrior made his path towards the promised camp and as silently as could she followed.

Hours later and not quite as cold and wet as before, Dastarie sat in the company of the small war band of Nargarythe. The camp was made in the overhanging lee of an enormous boulder. The rain kept coming down relentlessly but the spot sheltered the huddled group from the worst of it. A small mean fire provided the only warmth and light.

All her attempts at conversation had failed. A silent Shadow Warrior had handed her a dented tin cup full of salty fishy broth and another silent Shadow warrior had pointed to where she should sit.

Sullen and angry she brooded over her cup. This group of silent and mean spirited ghosts of the shadowland were poor company indeed. Dastarie was used to raucous laughter and bawdy jests, somewhat unusual for a maid of the Asur. She often chafed as the stiff and stuffy company she found in her homelands of Saphery but at least she got a reaction! If all else failed she could usually find a tavern where others like her gave the social interaction she craved. This wall of silence was something entirely new to her. In fact it was unbearable!

Finally she gave in to her frustration.

“Well somebody say something! Did not Asuryan give you all tongues with which to speak?”

She blurted this out and she stood up. She stood so suddenly that she knocked her head against the overhanging rock face. With a muffled “oof!” she slumped back down in an embarrassed heap.

A shadow warrior was there a moment later helping her back onto the log where she was sitting. There was an amused smile on his face but his eyes were not unkind. Rubbing her sore head ruefully she smiled also and then laughed happily at the absurdity of it all.

The shadow Warrior who had helped her up laughed softly too as he settled back to where he had been sitting. Dastarie noticed how subtly the other warriors deferred to him. A gesture here and a look there and instinctively know that he was their leader.

“I am Filamar, sometimes called The Swift”

He looked at her directly as he spoke. There was a hint of warmth still in his eyes.

“No doubt our ways are strange to you young one. Yet here you are to learn them from us nonetheless. Normally we would not accept other Asur into our company for we are little trusted. Yet your father’s name is known to me and we of Naragythe always pay our debts. You wonder why we speak little and are hard to find trust in. You wonder why there is no easy conversation. Understand that you will find no high courtesy here, it is the shadow war we fight, naught else matters.”

“The shadow war?” Dastarie was pleased despite herself to get any
conversation from any of these taciturn warriors.

“Aye, the sundering brought destruction to us. This place was not always as you see it now. Malekith will answer for the crimes against our people. We have lost our families, our lands, and our innocence. Even our kin look upon us with suspicious eyes, for all they remember are the atrocities of Malekith and the traitors that followed him. They forget the nobility of those who remained. It is for these reasons we fight this Shadow War, for redemption can only come from tears and blood. Only when Malekith breathes his last, his heart pierced by Nagarythe steel, shall we ask Lileath for forgiveness. Until that day nothing will stand in our path. Nothing will deter us from this sacred task.”

“Revenge? Is that all there is left for you then?”

“There is little else for my people, as I’ve said. Look at us. Look at what is left of our homeland. We are a broken people living in a broken land. Yet there is strength in the shattered pieces that remain. Strength enough to perform out final task, to see the Witch king finally and fully brought to justice. For we hate Malekith and all the Druchii. Only when he and all of his people are defeated and broken will we find any sort of peace.”

“What did Malekith actually do?”

“You know nothing little one. Pampered as you are from the soft woodlands of the south and the safe towns and keeps of Saphery and Eataine. I will tell you what he did and in doing so teach you some to the darker history of Ulthuan.”

“Following the death of Aenarion, first Phoenix King of Ulthuan, the Asur faced a difficult choice. Some argued that Malekith, Aenarion's lone surviving son and prince of Nargarythe, should succeed his father. Others, however, feared what Aenarion had become after he drew the Sword of Khaine and worried that the dread sword's curse had been passed on to Malekith. In the end, it was Bel-Shannar who was chosen to lead the Elves, and not Aenarion's heir.”

“At first, Malekith concealed his lust for power and his hatred of the Elves who had denied him his birthright. Instead, he made allies and won great victories in war, rising to a position of prominence among his people second only to the Phoenix King himself. It was then that he made his move, assassinating Bel-Shannar and proclaiming himself the rightful Phoenix King. Only one thing now remained. Malekith would have to prove his quality by entering the sacred flame at the Shrine of Asuryan, to be judged by the greatest of the Elven gods.“

When he did so, however, the flame rejected him. Malekith was burned and disfigured, and his servants rushed the ambitious lord back here to Nagarythe in the north of Ulthuan. When truth of the assassination came to light, the High Elves made war upon Malekith and his followers. Most of the people of Nargarythe followed Malekth into treachery but a few, a very few opposed him. These were the ancestors of the Shadow Warriors today. We are descended from them and we still fight the Shadow War they began.

When he was defeated by the new Phoenix King, Caledor the Conqueror, Malekith hatched a mad plan to let the raw power of Chaos spill into Ulthuan, destroying his enemies. The attempt was only partially successful, but the results were devastating.

Violent and apocalyptic energies were unleashed, tearing the northern lands of Ulthuan apart. A wall of seawater a thousand feet high crashed into Nagarythe and drowned countless thousands. At the last moment, Malekith and the other surviving Sorcerers chanted spells to preserve their greatest fortresses, transforming them into floating Black Arks. These sailed westward, eventually coming to rest in the north of the New World. Malekith named this land Naggaroth and his exiled people, now called Dark Elves, made a new civilization for themselves.

What little remains of Nagarythe is a tortured and twisted land, blasted by fire and seared by destructive magical energies. Strange, mutated creatures stalk this gloomy, barren wasteland of gray earth and black stone. The High Elves of the south named this cursed place the Shadowlands, for it now seemed to always be in darkness.

Filamar’s voice trailed off as he finished his dark tale. Dastarie sat for a time and thought deeply as the full impact of Malekith’s terrible crimes sank in. Later in her blankets she found no sleep. In her mind a tiny spark of defiance was kindled. She silently vowed to do whatever she could to help these noble and yet misunderstood warriors of the Shadowlands in whatever way she could. She would become one of them. After all that is what she came here to do, to learn the ways of tracking, of bow and sword and stealth. She would do more she vowed, she would help bring justice to Malekith. She would wage the Shadow War herself.