Englanniksi - Zeldiriel Lasdariólin tarina

[Executioner]

Tarina on fluffia Arena of Death-hahmolleni Asur.Orgissa.

Zeldiriel Lasdariól
A Dark Elf Highborn


THE PROLOGUE:

“M’Lord! Oh, Dread Lord! Look, what we have found!” shouted on of Zeldiriel Lasdariól’s retainers.

The Dark Elf lord turned around, curious to see what it was this time. For a multiple times now, they had been attacked by Chaos warbands. They were the raiders, and *they* should be the ones to raid. And raiders shouldn’t meet resistance. But, this *was* Chaos Wastes, Zeldiriel thought and shrugged. He turned around to see his retainer.

“What now, Eldasyél?” he asked from his retainer, his tone kept calm and friendly. He had no reason to be spiteful to his loyal retainers. That way they stayed more loyal.

“A Chaos warband. Again”, the retainer, Eldasyél, informed and sighed. “And this time, they have an Exalted with them. It’s going to be one hell of a battle!”

“Sure it will, Eldasyél of house Finmór. Tell the other to prepare for battle. Then, let’s gather on that hill over there. It’s a defendable place. We might even survive with minimum casualties”, Zeldiriel instructed his retainer and gestured him to carry on his orders.

Zeldiriel was a fair looking elf, there was something very noble and charming at his person. He had a long, silky hair that flowed unbound to his shoulders and below. His eyes were calming, dark blue, and shine like stars. His face was like a finely crafted statue of some ancient warrior, proud, strong but still beautiful like none other. The Druchii wore full-plate armour, enchanted to be extremely light and offer the best manouverability, while still protecting him from enemy blades.

The Druchii looked the desolate landscape all around him. This god-forsaken land was full of plunder and glory if one was brave enough to claim them for himself. And Zeldiriel surely was. He sighed and joined his comraded, embracing himself for the coming battle.

***

They were waiting. Over 40 elves, all armed with full platemails, chainshirts, drannachs, shields and swords, their repeater crossbows pointed out at the Khorne warband that thundered towards them, screeching and shouting battlecries. “Blood for the Blood god! Skulls for the Throne of Khorne!” was amongst the most popular.

“FIRE!” Zeldiriel yelled. A hail of bolts whirled all around him, striking at the Chaos Warriors. Many didn’t seem even to notice the bolts, but a few fell, the missiles hitting them on those few open spots on their armour, eyeholes and joints. The Dark Elves forsake their crossbows, threw them on ground and picked up their spears which were lying on the ground, patiently waiting.

“Dranach! Now! Cast your damned magic, sorcerer!” Zeldiriel commanded his hired mage, a renegade sorcerer known as Dranach. The Dark Elf outlaw just glanced spitefully at the Highborn and started making gestures, speaking powerful incantations of arcane might.

A bolt of dark energy lashed out of the Sorcerer’s hands, striking at the nearing Chaos host. Many of the assaulters were engulfed by the dark flames and consumed by the unholy magic, leaving only empty suits of armour behind. Now the Chaos Warriors were dangerously close. Zeldiriel draw his sword, the accursed Blade of Midnight and raised it high in the air.

“Let’s show these weak mortals what the Druchii are made of, shall we, my brothers and sisters? BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! KILL THEM! BUTCHER THEM TO THE LAST! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD, DAMN IT!” Zeldiriel yelled and brought his sword down, pointing at the Chaos Warriors and charged. His elves roared, their warcries ghostly entrancing, as dozens of beautiful elven voices were raised in anger to shout the same phrase: “For the Lord of Murder!”

Zeldiriel’s expression had turned, from the calm, emotionless face into a feral rage, as he slashed first of the Chaos Warriors in two from it’s waist, his enchanted blade going through the Chaos Armour like it was air. He could heard Dranach the Sorcerer casting his magic from somewhere behind him, but didn’t care anymore. Everything had become so distant, like the whole world had slowed down. The warrior’s instinct and the adrenaline, Zeldiriel thought afterwards. Everything moved slower, he could easily drop to his knee to evade the sluggish blow of the Chaos Warrior and stab him on the chest. He felt how the sword ignored the Khornite’s armour, it’s blade drenched on the tainted blood of the warrior.

He stood up again, looking for another foe. Then he saw it. The Exalted Champion of Khorne, marauding amongst his elves, the beast’s twin axes whirling in a maelstrom of destruction, shredding his fellow kin to pieces. Zeldiriel roared and dispatched another of the weakling Khornites, heading towards the Champion..

“Challenge! I challenge thee, Great Warrior of Khorne! Heed to my call!” Zeldiriel yelled to the Exalted Champion over the noise of battle. The warrior halted it’s slaying, and turned around. The man stood over fifty centimetres taller than Zeldiriel, his.. it’s scar-covered face twisted in a battle-expression, with one eye missing.

“Do you dare to challenge me?!” The Khorne Warrior yelled. The other Chaos Warriors halted their slaughtering, as they heard their leader’s call. So did the elves, and both sides turned their heads at the two leaders. The Khorne’s Champion glared at the elf firmly, who stared back, his eyes full of hatred, despise and rage.

“I dare much, Khornite! And the least thing in the world I fear, is you and your pathetic warband!” Zeldiriel spat the words out of his mouth. The Exalted Champion looked furious.

“If challenge is what you want, it you will get!”, the Champion yelled and roared in fury. The Champion raised it’s axes and tried to cleave Zeldiriel in two with to reversed slashes.

Zeldiriel jumped gracefully backwards, and changing the way he held his blade, now grasping it with one hand from the hilt, and only pressing the palm of his left hand against the blade, it’s edge pointing out from his enemy.

“Taste cold steel, Khornite slave!”, the Druchii boasted, dashing towards the Exalted. He draw his blade along the ground, ready make a finishing blow of great strength. The Khorne Warrior raised his axes again and brought them both to the ground with awesome force.

Zeldiriel was surprised by the quickness of the massive Exalted Champion, and just managed to evade the twin axes of the Khorne’s Chosen. He rolled to his left, but lost his sword in the process. “In the name of Khaine!”, the Druchii cursed and draw his dagger from his belt. He needed to recover his sword, or he would be finished.

The Khornite calmly walked at the Highborn’s weapon, picked it from the ground and tossed at Zeldiriel’s feet. “Khorne appreciates honourful battle. What glory is in butchering an armless weakling?”, the Khornite asked and took his battle-stance. Zerdiniel reclaimed his blade, now surprised. He didn’t except these frenzied fools to have honour at all!

As the Druchii stood up once more, he studied his opponent more carefully. This one was cunning, agile, strong and honourful. A dangerous combination, as luck always seemed to favour the honourful. Zeldiriel knew this: he himself had been miraculously saved from hopeless-looking situations by his awesome luck.. or then, it was just Khaine’s guidance.

The Dark Elf charged his foe once more. This time, as his foe swung his axe, the Highborn first dodged a blow, then stepped aside to evade the other one, which came from above. He parried a vertical blow with his draich, dropped on his knees to parry a second blow, made a swift roll to the Chaos Lord’s left side and slashed him at the hamstrings, felling the Khornite on his knees. Then, before the Exalted Champion could do anything, the Dread Lord cut off his head with a single, mighty blow.

He picked the head up by stabbing it with his draich and raised it high in the air.

“Blood for the Blood god! Blood for the altars of Khaine!”


The Story:

Zeldiriel was a successful and respected Dark Elf Highborn, until one day he twisted too deep into the Convent’s business. He had found a magical talisman from the Chaos Wastes when he was on a raid, and the Convent *wanted* it. Unlucky for them, Zeldiriel was not stupid. He knew that mighty powers were bound to the amulet, so he chose to escape from Clar Karond rather than stay there and give the magical trinket away. Escaping only with a dozen trustful retainers, his loyal Dark Steed Ydrassíl and the amulet, he set out for Lustria.

After many months oh heavy riding, his small party came upon a landed Marauder ship, which was raiding a small human settlement somewhere in northern Lustria. Zeldiriel’s force butchered both, the Marauders AND the village, plundered everything useful and set sail for the Old World.

Unfortunately, gods seemed to have other plans for Zeldiriel. His ship was lost on a storm and it crashed on somewhere beyond the World’s Edge Mountains, likely close to Nippon.

With only a few of his retainers left and Ydrassíl dead on the shipwreck, Zeldiriel grimly decided to go for the Empire he had seen on multiple maps of the Old World.

As he reached to the World’s Edge Mountains, he was halted by a tribe of Ogres, their warpaint was red and was made to look like cages and keys. They stood firmly on the road as Zeldiriel and his three last living retainers travelled towards the Emprie.

“What do you want?” Zeldiriel asked unfriendly when the Ogres stopped them.

“We wants yer gold and trinkets. We sell you slave”, one of the Ogres said and pointed at Zeldiriel.

“You dream, fool! No-one sells me as a slave, brute. No-one will ever insult me like that and live!”, Zeldiriel said, rage pouring inside him.

“Elves make poor slave. Eat them”, said another of the Ogres. The first one looked at his companion and seemed to agree.

“Yes. Weak and fragile. Won’t last in the Festivities. Eat them”, the first Ogre said, nodding.

Zeldiriel roared furiously and draw his draich, the Blade of Midnight, which had been enchanted with the darkest magic and carved full of evil runes. Then the Dark Elf dashed over the empty space between him and the first Ogre.

As he jumped into mid-air and landed his great Draich at the head of the first of the Ogres, a swarm of Gnoblars appeared from the bushes alongside the road. The massive Ogre fell to the ground, it’s skull crushed under the weight of Zeldiriel’s blade. His three retainers draw their weapons and charged the Gnoblars, killing zounds of them, though they were one by one dragged to their death by the small goblinoids.

The four remaining Ogres seemed to be confused, as they had never seen such an act of martial prowess Zeldiriel had just performed. And indeed, it was pretty sure they hadn’t.

Zeldiriel skilfully dodged a blows from one of the Ogre’s clubs, jumping aside. He rolled on the ground, quickly jumped up and hopped at the back of the Ogre who had just smashed his club at the ground. He raised his draich with his both hands, his knees bound around the Ogre’s neck. Then, he stabbed the Ogre through it’s skull, piercing it’s brains, skull and the blade’s end coming out of it’s mouth. As the Ogre fell, Zeldiriel jumped into air, performing a backward sommersault in the air and landing on his feet. The second Ogre was dead.

The Gnoblars swarmed over him, but no use. He either dispatched them, or their attacks bounced off from the magical shield his amulet generated. He had been right: the talisman he had found from the wastes was the fabled Amulet of Azdralych, a potent protective item once belonged to a great Nagarythian Warlock.

The two remaining ogres closed in. The Gnoblars still tried to overwhelm him, but run away as Zeldiriel roared like a Khorne Berserker, raised his blade and killed dozen with a single, wide cleave.

Zeldiriel’s face was twisted in a bestial snarl as the third Ogre brought his flail up, ready to strike. The Dark Elf rushed towards the Ogre, slashed it’s stomach open, made a swift whirl and landed another blow from his great sword.

The dying Ogre gasped for air, but in vain. Zeldiriel looked at the third Ogre, hate in his eyes.

He waited until the third Ogre fell to the ground, cut off it’s head and let his blade to drank deep the blood of the great brute.

“Now”, he said, pointing his bloody draich at the final Ogre. The runes on the blade’s edge were glowing with dark, unholy light, enjoying of the bloodshed. “Is your turn!”, Zeldiriel yelled and raised his blade above his head with his both hands and walked towards the Ogre slowly.

The brigand dropped it’s club and took two steps backwards.

“Don’t kill Mahlug! Mahlug’s shows elf a great tournament! Warriors! Prizes!”, the Ogre tried. Zeldiriel only came closer. The Ogre knew it couldn’t outrun the warrior, having seen how fast he moved. Zeldiriel was like a wolf: gracious, deadly and feral. His noble looks were a masquerade, hiding a berserker warrior behind, a beast who enjoyed bloodlust and slaughter. A perfect warrior. A true Warchild. He was truly the Chosen of Khaine.

“Battle! Blood!” The Ogre yelled. “Many warriors! Much blood! Mahlug begs, save his life”, the Ogre shouted in despair. Zeldiriel halted. He lowered his blade and walked to the Ogre.

“You belong to me, now, brute! Lead me to this tournament!”

[The Captain]

Laita vaan rohkeasti viestin aiheeksi tarinasi nimi äläkä kieltä, jolla se on kirjoitettu.

[Executioner]

Laita vaan rohkeasti viestin aiheeksi tarinasi nimi äläkä kieltä, jolla se on kirjoitettu.

Lisäsin otsikkoon jonkinlaisen nimen tarinalle. Ehkä kirjoitan tälle vielä joskus jatkoa, jos jaksan.

[Rotten sound]

Laita vaan rohkeasti viestin aiheeksi tarinasi nimi äläkä kieltä, jolla se on kirjoitettu.

Lisäsin otsikkoon jonkinlaisen nimen tarinalle. Ehkä kirjoitan tälle vielä joskus jatkoa, jos jaksan.

*SHOK* Täysin mahtava tarina ja kerrankin erillaista soppaa. Älä murskaa tarinaa lopetamalla sitä