Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

A place lacking friendly laughter and warm sunshine, a cold and silent tower that echoes with shrill screams and is filled with the smell of blood. Surrounding this gloomy spire are hundreds of cold and malicious spires, which stand and look down at the city that curls up on the plain and wanders in nightmare.

Black castles and spires surrounded the great tower in the center of the city. Gray dust rained down, traces of sacrificial victims turning to ash in the burning flames. Scavenger birds circled the city, chirping hungrily and anxiously in the leaden sky. The sound of hammers hitting and metal scraping came from the city, mixing with the cries and wails of the victims into an endless death wail.

A scream once again came from the Tower of Silence, as if the air itself was enjoying the pain. The screams had continued for several days. Although screams were not uncommon in Naggarond, the pain conveyed an unimaginable torture. The Duruchi who heard the sound thanked the gods, thankful that they were not the ones who suffered.

In a closed room lit only by charcoal fire, Isek unleashed his dark torture on a canvas. He was a human, but he had long given up any emotional ties to his fellow man after years of fighting revelry and worship of evil gods. He didn't care who the canvas in front of him was or which tribe it came from. These things were meaningless to him, because his torture was purposeless, and his only pursuit was to create pain.

What he had to do was to destroy such a beautiful canvas to the extreme, while keeping it alive and clearly aware of the destruction it had suffered. For him, this was both an art and the highest form of worship for the dark gods.

He was sturdy, with muscles as strong as iron, forged by the harsh climate and a life of indulgence in battle and pleasure. His skin was shiny with oil, and leather straps were tightly wrapped around him, fixing the pieces of armor that fit his body shape on his dark skin. Shiny golden hair covered a handsome and indulgent face, with a delicate and beautiful face.

However, beyond the beauty is cruelty. There is no mercy or sympathy in his eyes, only morbid enjoyment and unusual fascination.

When the final stroke is completed, a beautiful and twisted painting is completed.

Then, the canvas left, released by Issyk, its eyes blind, lips missing, its spirit broken. It staggered through the streets of the city, wailing for a long-overdue release, wandering through the alleys, becoming a feast for nocturnal creatures, and finally disappearing into the dark corners of the city with sounds of disgust and admiration.

Isaac stood up, threw away the needle, and picked up a long, sharp knife. The knife was delicate and had no other use except to torture the most sensitive parts of the human body. More screams echoed in the closed room, and his low roars intertwined with the wailing of the canvas. He roared with primitive joy while painting.

"Your pain brings pleasure to the great Slaanesh, and for that I thank you." After his desire was temporarily satisfied, Isek bent down, kissed the miserable and wailing canvas, and whispered praises.

He turned and paused, pulling down an ornately shaped sword from the wall. The blade had a beautiful curve and cruel spikes, and the bone guard pierced his palm, and the sharp edge of the hilt cut his palm, bleeding. But he did not scream in pain, but let out a gasp of pleasure, and then he hung the sword gracefully in the scabbard on his back.

After exiting the prayer room, a stone-paved passage curved and unfolded in the tower, extending left and right, and twisting along the arc of the spire. He took a step and walked gracefully in the direction of the chanting and crying.

There was a rhythm to the structure of the tower, thousands of years of pain and blood burned into its bones. He could feel the pain that had erupted here as clearly as if he could see it clearly before his eyes. Ghosts of the past paraded before him, and the torment that made this building stand was like wine brewed from the sweetest winery of blood.

Eventually, the passage curved to a broad portal of black steel, guarded by half a dozen warriors in tall helmets and fine mail, wielding massive halberds whose blades caught the light of torches.

Isek could feel the gaze behind the helmet, with eyes full of scrutiny and disgust, and weapons intertwined, blocking him in front of the stairs. He nodded slightly, feeling satisfied in his heart, he could feel the strength and loyalty of these black guards. He liked loyalty, more than one warrior of the Chaos Gods died because of the betrayal of his best friend, and the reason he was alive was not because he trusted his friends' loyalty.

"Your master would surely be proud of you, but I am here by invitation."

"Invited? ...Perhaps true?"

Isek smiled upon hearing the response. He turned to face the captain of the Black Guard. Kolan was a head shorter than him, but Kolan's presence should not be underestimated. He stared at Kolan and met his eyes. He did not see any trace of fear in Kolan's eyes.

"you do not trust me?"

"Should I?" Koulan smiled, with a hint of contempt and disgust in his smile.

"Yes, I will kill friends and allies when necessary," Isek admitted.

"Then how about we go together?" Kou Lan said calmly, but his tone was unquestionable and by no means a question.

Isek nodded and waved for the Black Guard Captain to move forward.

Nagarond was freezing cold, and frost covered Isek's armor, forming a thin layer of white frost. The oils on his skin condensed due to the cold, and his breath became blurred in the air. Koran led him through the mist and walked towards the tallest spire in Nagarond.

He had imagined in his dreams the journey to the Witch King countless times since arriving in Naggarond. Now, as Koran followed his steps, a thrilling excitement surged through him. Though he had killed and tortured for decades, he knew that the darkness he had wrought in the world was only a fraction of the shadow cast by the Witch King.

The creaking stairs seemed to go on endlessly upwards, and the fat on his body began to crack, and his muscles trembled slightly from the extreme cold. Finally, he reached the top of the tower, the worst place in Naggarond. Every sense of his was aroused by the power of hatred and bitterness, which permeated every breath and made it difficult for him to ignore.

The darkness in the throne room was a presence all its own, palpable and tangible. It clung to the walls like a disease, crawled across the floor, and scaled the tower walls.

Isek's body began to tremble. His heavy body had never experienced such an abnormal coldness. He had no fat to keep out the cold. He could only see the vague outline of Kolan, and the endless darkness around him seemed to be pressing down on him, making him completely lose his vision as if he was covered with a hood.

"No, that's not the case..."

Isek's senses had long surpassed those of other humans. He fought under the gift of Slaanesh so that he could more deeply savor the pain of his prey and the ecstasy of victory. At this moment, he could feel the heavy breathing of rust in his mind, as if some huge engine was roaring deep in the tower, and the roar echoed through the entire tower. He could feel that something had seized his mind, a claw-like touch, carefully searching through his memories and desires, and penetrating into his heart.

He knew he was being tested, but he was happy to accept this intrusion, and he firmly believed that he would be chosen to undertake the mission he was called to. The cold touch of thought receded from his consciousness, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He could feel that the powerful force had gradually converged, as if it was satisfied with him?

The darkness in the throne room lessened, and he saw a huge throne, on which sat a mighty statue made of black iron, one arm resting on the armrest, the other holding a strange sword, the scabbard flickering with flames. The power contained in this sword was far greater than he could imagine, and his own sword was nothing compared to it, and just being close to it caused the magic on his armor to gradually fail.

Even in Slaanesh's most sacred shrine, he had never felt the presence of a god so vivid and concrete. Druki was undoubtedly lucky that their god had such an amazing sense of reality. As he looked at the statue that frightened and amazed him, Koran began to speak something in the Elvish language that he could not understand. He had to suppress his urge to kneel and worship the statue, because Slaanesh was a jealous god and would definitely punish him for it.

"Will you not pay homage to my son? Is he not worthy of your submission?"

As Isek continued to stare at the magnificent and terrifying statue, a voice full of desire spoke. Before he could react, pale and slender hands wrapped around his neck, and nails touched his skin. He could feel the nails were thin and sharp. When the nails touched his throat, he felt his body responding to the touch of the nails, and a shudder of desire and disgust passed down his spine.

However, what he didn't notice was that the statue sitting on the throne shifted slightly and gripped the armrests tighter.

"Your son?" Isek felt and felt the hand sliding over the armor covering his chest, slowly moving down to his exposed abdomen, stroking the lines of muscle. He looked sideways, catching the beauty that fascinated him, the pale skin, the deep liquid dark eyes, and the plump lips that had wandered over his body more than once.

"Yes, my son." Morathi stepped around and stood before Isek. She was as beautiful as she had been when she married Aenarion, and she wore a long purple dress that was slit from the neck to the waist.

"Madam, it is an honor to see you again." Isek had to force himself to look upwards to avoid being overwhelmed by desire, and he bowed exaggeratedly.

"Indeed," Morathi said, taking a step back.

"I have received your summons, ma'am."

After Isek finished speaking, looking at Morathi's stunning beauty, he had already imagined in his mind the scene of playing with Morathi again if he had the chance. As he stared at the goddess in front of him, Morathi's face twisted in front of him, as if twisting in the heat wave, the traces of time appeared on his eyeballs, and the debris of time and the destruction of years piled up on the skin that could not bear it.

"The time has come to make war on Ulthuan," Morathi responded, interrupting Isek's perception.

"Is the blood about to flow out?" There was an unconcealable excitement in Isek's words.

"Indeed."

"Then we must set sail. I am eager to display my skills on canvas." Isek clenched his fists and slid his tongue across his lips.

"As I promised you, Isek, we will soon set sail with our warriors, but before that, there are some other matters and entertainment that need to be carried out."

"Then offer a sacrifice to your god and end it all quickly, witch. I long for the dance of blades and the pain that brings pleasure!" Isek nodded towards the huge iron statue and then said sternly.

Morathi frowned at first, but then she laughed as she realized what Isek had meant. The sound of her laughter was like ice, piercing the throne room and killing the scavenger birds that circled above the tower. Then she turned to the iron statue.

Isek stepped back, reached behind his shoulder, and grasped the hilt of his sword. He reacted so violently because he saw orange-red fire begin to flicker in the cracks of the statue's helmet, and he felt a terrible vitality awakening in the terrible armor, even though the armor did not move at all.

But soon he realized that it was not a statue at all, but the Witch King himself...

Malekith stood up gracefully from his throne, looking down at Isek, his hot breath whistling out continuously.

The evil brilliance made Isek feel ashamed. In front of the Witch King, what he had done before was just a trivial corruption. When the long sword with terrible power was swung, he felt a sense of fear, and he believed that this would be the moment of his death.

"Very good! Now, go back and prepare your army!"

After a long time, the throne room fell into darkness and silence again. Malekith sat quietly on the throne, thinking and thinking. After a moment, he murmured.

"A gift for Daxus!"
-
First came the light, then the sound.

He could feel the light penetrate his eyelids, as if someone was holding a lamp in front of him. He closed his eyes tightly and gradually perceived his surroundings through his other senses. He felt that he was lying on a soft mattress, and his limbs were comfortably covered by soft bedding. The air was moist and had a green and earthy smell, as if he was lying outdoors or in a greenhouse full of exotic plants.

The air smelled sweet and pleasant, and he took a deep breath, taking in the various aromas that filled the air. He heard the buzzing of insects and the rustling of leaves gently swaying in the breeze. He had no idea where he was, but it was clearly a place of comfort and no danger. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light, and he began to open them cautiously.

Although the light still made him feel uncomfortable, he finally opened his eyes fully and saw above him a large expanse of shimmering glass that rippled like waves. The glass was framed by incredibly thin golden lines that seemed unable to support so much glass.

He turned his head slightly and found that this strange ceiling extended to the left, right, front and back, but where it extended to was a mystery because his vision was blocked by branches. He realized that his guess seemed to be correct? The space he was in was formed by the trunks of trees and closed by woven shrubs and plants.

Through the transparent ceiling, he could see clouds chasing each other across the sky, but oddly, he could not feel a breath of wind. Perhaps the ceiling above was some kind of magical barrier that could isolate the harsh climate of the outside environment while maintaining a constant internal temperature? As he watched, one of the panes of glass trembled slightly, and then a fine mist of water sprayed out, moistening the nearest plants.

He tried to sit up, but the muscles all over his body protested with severe pain, causing him to groan in pain. He fell back onto the bed and tentatively raised his hands. Soon, he found that his hands were wrapped in bandages and his palms were numb.

However, what surprised him even more was that he was wearing a silver ring on his left hand.

Was he married? To whom? Why did he have no memory of it?

A deep sorrow came over him, and he tried in vain to recall the girl who had given him the vow ring, for he found that he could not remember.

The ring injected energy into him, and he stood up again. He wanted to figure out where he was and find a way to restore his memory. He raised his hand to his forehead and found a bandage wrapped around one side of his head. When he touched it lightly, he frowned in pain.

How did he get to this place? Where in the name of Elsa is this?
He tried desperately to recall, but his memory was blank and he could not remember anything.

He pulled aside the soft blanket covering his body and found that his skin was pale, obviously the result of not being exposed to the sun for a long time. He tentatively checked other wounds. He felt a few scars on his shoulders, but these were old wounds, and the skin had long since healed into pale scars. He didn't remember how these injuries came about, but except for the wounds on his head and palms, and the stiffness of his muscles, everything else seemed to be healthy?

He moved his feet to the ground, and the moment he stood up, he found that he needed great willpower. Not only his head and palms, but his legs were also injured. When he staggered to his feet, he looked around and found a small table next to the bed with a loose robe on it.

He quickly put on his robes. He couldn't remember the last time he had put on new clothes, as if he had forgotten the softness of silk and the comfort of clothing. He took a few tentative steps in the green room, testing his strength and balance. His steps were unsteady at first, but with each step he felt his strength and confidence return.

He found no obvious exit, but as he approached one end of the room, the vines and creepers that had entwined the tree trunks rolled back with a rustling sound, as if an invisible hand had lifted a beaded curtain. He was startled and hesitated before continuing forward. He saw that the whole area before him was full of plants, and above his head was still the strange undulating ceiling. He walked carefully through the door curtain, and the vine curtain behind him made a rustling sound and closed again. He walked among these strange plants, and soon he stopped and carefully examined the plants in front of him. He couldn't recognize them, but that was not surprising. He was not a botanist. Suddenly, a strong fragrance filled his nostrils, and he turned around and saw a tall plant with clusters of bright red cones, surrounded by thorny filaments, like drooping willow branches.

He unconsciously walked towards the plant, and a strange sound seemed to ring in his ears, not just an auditory feeling, as if the plant reached into his soul and soothed the irritability in his heart. The fragrance of the flower became stronger and stronger, intoxicating him, and his senses were filled with the seductive promise of the plant. He unconsciously walked closer to the plant and smiled vaguely.

He watched as the red bud slowly opened, revealing a round mouth surrounded by sharp teeth, dripping with glittering mucus. The array of thorny teeth should have alarmed him, but the enchanting song suppressed his fear, and he continued to walk towards the plant.

"Hey!"

A distant shout stopped him in his tracks, and the moment he stopped, the soothing song in his mind suddenly turned into a scream, a piercing wail echoing in his mind, and he cried out in pain. The charming aroma also dissipated, replaced by the pungent smell of burning leaves.

Freed from his plant trance, he stumbled back, sickened by the smell of plant juices and dirt, and fell to his knees, retching.

"You..." Kadov, who was standing in the distance and watching all this, shook his head speechlessly, then walked over and helped the other person up, "Look at what you look like now!"

"What...what is that?" he asked weakly, pointing at the plants in the distance.

"That? I don't know, some rather peculiar works?" Kadov waved his hand carelessly. From the few words of conversation, he found that the being he had been taking care of seemed to have lost his memory? Otherwise, he wouldn't have reacted like this when he saw him. He was too lazy to tell the other party that this was a plant that only grew in the Kingdom of Nagarys, a plant that was on the verge of extinction after the collapse of the sky and the earth.

"Is it dead?"

"should?"

"Are you a mage?"

"No! I'm a warrior." Kadov's other hand suddenly clenched, but he quickly loosened it. He was sure that the other party really had lost his memory and was not teasing him.

"This is where?"

"Nagaroth, Clarkarond, Tower of Destruction." Kadov did not speak the words that lingered in his mind. When he first came here, he could not believe that the legendary Tower of Destruction actually had such a garden. He shook his head, "You have too many questions."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Should I say I know? Or I don't know?" Kadoff said calmly, his tone understated.

"you know!"

"Yes, I know you. We've met before. I know your name. I also know what you went through before you lost your memory, but I won't tell you."

"why?"

"Why? That's a good question, because me telling you and you remembering it are not the same thing, you know? You don't know, at least not now. When you remember it yourself, you will know why I said that." After Kadov finished speaking, he saw that the other party was still confused, so he frowned, thought seriously, and finally responded, "Okay, I'll tell you, your name is Darul."

"This is the rune of memory and recollection! You are kidding me, this is definitely not my name." He whispered the name Darul. To him, this name did not sound familiar, and he instinctively knew that this was not his real name.

"But it fits, doesn't it?"

"It's indeed quite appropriate, maybe it can help me remember..." Darul sighed.

"You really don't remember anything? Nothing at all?" Kadoff asked.

"No...it's a blank. Maybe you can give me some clues?" Darul shook his head.

"What a sad story." Kadov did not agree with Darul's words.

"Eyes with tears and smiling lips?" Darul blurted out, and then he was stunned. Although he said this sentence himself, it seemed particularly strange, but so natural.

"Do you know the works of Messerlian?" Kadov looked at Darul with a look that said he was seriously ill.

"Who?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter. What's important is that you have to regain your memory yourself, instead of listening to others. Now, follow me." After saying this, Kadov turned and left.

Darul nodded and walked towards an arch made of leaves. As he and Kadov approached, the leaves slowly parted, revealing the stairs hidden behind. The steps were cleverly carved into the rock, and he couldn't tell for a moment whether they were natural or man-made. Unlike the lush and strange vegetation around them, the steps were clean and tidy, without a trace of soil or plants, as if the surrounding plants consciously avoided this downward path.

"Where are we going?"

"To meet a noble lady, a powerful...mage."

Darul sat in a room whose exact name he did not know because it was so strange that it was beyond his rhetoric.

Tall trees form the walls while curving overhead to form a graceful arch, their leaves extending to the ground like feathery ropes. Parts of plants cover every surface, and plants shape tables and chairs rather than being handcrafted by artisans.

The air was thick with the scent of earth, as well as the scent of several flowers, the smell of so many creatures should have been overwhelming to him, but he found it pleasant, as if the owner of this place had found the precise combination to ensure that the air remained pleasantly scented.

A moment later, Anasara walked in. The terrifying crown was gone, the Druki-style makeup and clothes were gone, and the staff was gone. She was wearing a glittering emerald green robe, her hair was tied up, and she was holding a pair of pruning tools that only gardeners would use. At this moment, she was not the Night Warden of Clarkalond, nor the matriarch of the Hellbane Family, nor was she Druki, but just an Asur gardener who knew a little magic.

Everyone has a little hobby, just like Dacus, who is not good at cooking, likes cooking, and gardening and flowers and plants are Annasara's hobbies.

When Darul saw Anasara appear, he stood up and bowed. He didn't think it was a good idea to be disrespectful to a powerful wizard.

"Sit down, sit down." Here, in this garden that belonged to her alone, Annasara's words and expressions became different.

After sitting down again, Darul looked at Kadov, hoping that Kadov could introduce him, even though he didn't even know Kadov's name. However, after looking at him, Kadov didn't want to introduce him, but turned his head away and looked into the distance.

"Don't worry, you will know who I am soon. Now, let's talk about your problem." Annasara, who was sitting opposite Kadov, said slowly.

"Would you assist me?"

"Maybe."

“That’s not the answer, can you restore my memory?”

"How do you want me to answer?" Annasara smiled warmly.

"Please, you have to try, please, I can't not know who I am and where I come from, help me!" Darul pleaded.

"You lost your memory not because of a hit on the head, but because of severe trauma to your soul. The soul needs to be repaired, but it is very dangerous. I cannot guarantee you that your memory will be preserved." Anasara looked at Darul carefully and observed his expression. After a long time, she slowly said.

"I don't care. Without my memory, I am nothing. What kind of life is that? I am willing to do whatever is needed. Please help me!" Darul pleaded again.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"I am sure."

"But...what if all that awaits you is pain? Once you start, there's no turning back. You might see things you wish you hadn't seen. You have to be able to withstand such sights. Do you understand?"

"If that is the case, then I will stop moving forward and face the past. But if not, I will retrieve my past to make up for the wrong done to me." This time, Darul was stunned, but he quickly strengthened his determination.

"Then let's begin. Close your eyes."

Darul sat quietly with his eyes closed, measuring time with his heartbeat, and he could not sense anything until Anasara, who was sitting opposite him, waved her hand gently. Suddenly, he felt a precious, fleeting feeling, and things began to move at a speed that was almost too slow to be noticed.

A strange sense of peace came over him, and energy flowed through his body, and he could feel the lethargy and pain that had plagued him disappear. Then the energy entered his body, filling him with great strength, and he gasped in surprise, but found that it became so difficult to breathe that he had to work hard to control his breathing.

“If you want to go far, you have to focus your attention.”

Although Darul heard the Master's words, he found it harder and harder, more and more out of reach, meaningless images kept appearing and disappearing. When everything faded, a gray mare galloped past him, and he let out a cry of pain. He knew the horse.

Adalis...

Although he called out the horse's name, he didn't know its meaning, and as the horse galloped away, he saw it running freely and happily across a ripe field at the foot of the mountain. He knew this land, and his heart was filled with love for...home?

Just as he was feeling it, the burning, sharp pain suddenly stopped, stinging him, and he looked down to see the head of the arrow sticking out of his body. Blood flowed out of his body, and he heard a soft voice ringing in his ears...

Goodbye, Kelly...

"No!" Darul cried as a face so like his own appeared in his mind's eye, and the image disappeared into the mist of his memory. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over him, and his head jerked up with the cry of a drowning man desperate for air.

Then he collapsed like a fish, his back landing hard on the soft grass, his open eyes filled with tears of pain, betrayal and rage.

After a long time, he slowly stood up. His temperament had completely changed. The warmth disappeared, replaced by cold darkness. His eyes were heavy and cold, as if a heavy weight was pressing down on his brows. The tenderness and firmness he once had gradually blurred, swallowed up by painful betrayal and deep resentment. His eyes flashed with extreme indifference, as if the former Kyleir had died in his heart, buried in the memory woven by love and loyalty.

When that name came to his mind again, he felt a tearing pain, along with broken fragments of memory, as if his soul was peeled off layer by layer, revealing a heart burned by betrayal. At this moment, he was no longer the former Kelier, but a Darul reshaped by hatred and loss.

"That's not my name now that I remember..."

Annasara's mouth slightly raised, her eyes moved to Kadov, and her smile became brighter. In this subtle move, she revealed a kind of confidence. The web of fate she controlled had already woven everything into Dacus's plan.

Moreover, Dacus brought her a gift, so she should also show some appreciation. She already had some idea of ​​what Dacus had done in Elsing Alvin. In her opinion, the two people in front of her might be the best gifts for Dacus. (End of this chapter)