Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

As Urbar walked through the chaotic streets of Grond, he could feel the jealous eyes. Champions and Chosen of all shapes and forms looked at him with hatred. Those beings hated the glory given to him by the Lord of Change and despised him. Why does fate favor him instead of himself?

He knew that those beings, every one of them, would try to stop him. Only the fear of Tzeentch allowed him and his followers to walk safely through these streets, but once outside the city walls...

"Once we leave the walls, we must beware of treachery." His voice echoed in his helmet.

Vakarn nodded in agreement. His size and appearance were in stark contrast to Urbar, presenting a short, thin figure, like a ghost. He wore a soft robe of pink blue and soft gray, with a skirt made of silver scales hanging around his waist, and a heavy cloak draped over his shoulders that seemed to be woven from moonlight.

Although physically different, he is identical in appearance to Urbar, whose features are also obscured by a fully covered helmet. The silver helmet is shaped like a falcon's beak, protruding forward, and its huge wings extend upward and backward, converging into a spire on his head.

And his movement caused the body of the mount he was riding to sway slightly.

Unlike the rest of his entourage, he does not rely on the strength of his horse for support. He relied on his terrible will to restrain a predator called the "Screaming Flying Shark" by demonologists. Because he was in the mortal world, he forcibly gave the demon form and entity. These discs are called the "Discs of the Lord of Change" and are a symbol of the status and pride of Tzeentch's followers.

"Betrayal is the Pathbreaker's way of testing who is worthy...and who is unworthy of being a tool."

His voice was authoritative, and his loathsome attendant, a dwarf embryonic creature that looked like some kind, babbled in his ears, "He who is wary of treachery must ever beware of himself."

As usual, the little devil confuses him with half-truths, but for him who is willing to seek wisdom, there is still merit in the devil's words.

"I don't have time to listen to these roundabout words. I asked you if you have used your power to discover the danger that threatens me, but you answered me with ambiguous demonic whispers."

"You are indeed powerful, Urbar, and favored by the Lord of Change, but you have failed to appreciate the subtleties of conspiracy and counter-conspiracy, to weave the threads of fate into your servants like your sword or The mount works for you like that.”

As Vakaan scoffed, he stomped his foot hard on the back of the fleshy monster he was standing on. The disc-shaped demon roared in displeasure, a bit of burning liquid dripping from the jaws on its belly.

"You're too much of a warrior and not a schemer."

"Since I have you, why do I need to plot?" Urbar retorted.

"I don't need your protection." Vakarn waved his hand contemptuously, but the smile disappeared from his face.

"Really? Vakarn, I would like to know, who needs it more...the sword or the warlock?" Urbar leaned on the saddle and stared at Vakarn coldly. He patted the weapon on his waist, and the glove hit the scabbard with a crisp sound. "If I think you are useless to me, maybe we can see the difference. I have other warlocks I can summon."

"That skull-collecting Torku? Maybe letting him heal you? Let him slaughter your enemies, summon demons, destroy castle walls, or turn a forest into a sea of ​​fire. See what he can do. !" Vakan scoffed.

Urbar sneered and glanced across his team, carefully observing the sturdy figures wearing armor.

Soon, his sight caught Torku in the distance.

The fanatics ride on the back of a horse with an almost naked skeleton. The strange horse has curved antlers and compound eyes like spiders. He held a skeleton in his hand and whispered to it, like a tolerant mother comforting an uneasy child.

Urbal looked past the fanatics and looked at the burly man following Torku's mount. The man was walking on foot, his hands tied in front of him, and a huge iron collar around his neck. The chain held the shackles. Attached to Torku's saddle. He saw the giant man turning his horned head and looked at him for a moment.

"Torku has found a new toy." The gaze lasted for a moment, and he first looked away, then turned to look at Vakaan.

"Some stupid person, just because of the special characteristics of the skull, attracted Tolku's interest. Within a few days, he will take out his skinning knife, and by then, this person will be finished." Waqa An responded coldly.

"I hope he won't do this. This person is not a simple person this time. He just escaped in the morning. As far as I know, this person killed Harv with his bare hands in the chaos last night and destroyed the Eyeless War Gang." Urbar shook his head and raised his armored hands. "No weapon, just his bare hands."

"All the more reason for Torku to have his skull in the collection, isn't it? I know the power gained from killing such a man."

"I hope he won't try to have this idea. I can't lose Torku, and my...another warlock has not been very reliable recently." Urbar stared at Vakaan after finishing speaking.

"The ability to foresee can only reach a certain level. If you rely on it too much, it will become unreliable and too subject to the capriciousness of the Lord of Change. And when it is reliable, it is also unwise to discuss it in a place with too many ears." Knowing what Urbar was saying, Vakaan cast a gloomy look, then vigilantly scanned the streets around him and murmured in a low voice.

Urbar nodded, drove his horse forward, and waved to urge the rest of his followers to speed up.

Harbur took a deep breath and tested his chains for the ninety-eighth time. These black steel chains were strangely flexible and warm to the touch, as if they were alive. Each link was engraved with ugly runes and exuded a foul light. He glared at the fanatic who thought he could dominate him. If he broke free of the chains, the warlock would need to use all his magic to survive. He would stuff the fanatic's head into a cloth bag full of skulls.

He failed for the ninety-eighth time, but he did not give up.

At first, the enchanted chains were able to adjust to his flesh and blood, but as he persisted, he found that the chains gradually became slower to adapt. This effort was almost unbearable for him. The sharp pain pierced his body like a blade, and his lips were already bleeding from clenching his teeth.

The weak would have given up struggling in the face of such pain, but he would only look at the cowards with contempt. Under the ruthless gaze of the gods, cowardice and weakness are worthless. He would never fail under the gaze of the gods. He swore that he would break the spine of the conceited fanatic and offer the fanatic's soul to the gods.

The ninety-ninth attempt did not begin.

He looked away, no longer staring at Tokku's robes and tattoos, but once again looked at the gloomy warriors around him.

These people were tall and wore armor made of steel and bronze. The helmets were decorated with horns that completely obscured their faces, and the breastplates were hung with braids of hair and other terrifying trophies. They wield great axes or deadly chain hammers, and ride on tusked beasts of great size, mutated from the wasteland, some with four eyes, others with reptilian claws and hooves the color of crushed rubies.

The combination of knight and mount is a terrifying sight, rare even in Norsca, only seen in the foreboding of slaughter and destruction.

The leader of the Chaos Knights of Tzeentch is a figure of black and sapphire light, and he can almost feel the power of the armored knight, like the heat of a smithy furnace. He doesn't need to be told that this leader is the champion of the Lord of Change, the Chosen One, the one who has been blessed with a gift that he knows is beyond mortal comprehension.

The Chosen One rides on a tusked black steed, like a scaly beast entrenched in the sea, deep power sleeping within it, waiting for the call to battle. He knew the Chaos Champion was called Urbar, and he had no doubt that the Champion had long served the Lord of Change in the ultimate way of changing life and death.

"Human?"

Perhaps there was nothing human anymore in that spiky sapphire and steel carapace.

Beside Urbar, a menacing figure rode a strange mount made of ghostly flesh and burning bronze.

Habul recognized this hovering demon, and he knew that only the most powerful and evil warlocks could control such a strange demon. He looked at the warlock, and he tried to see the racial characteristics from the distorted face. If he was not mistaken, it should be a Kurgan?

Everyone who lives in the shadow of the gods respects and fears the power of the gods. Even prophets and shamans will bow and tremble before these gods. However, wizards and warlocks are different. They try to make a pact with the gods. The arrogance and arrogance of these people are second only to their terrible power, because the gods often reward the bold until the gods' interest fades and the wizard's pride is no longer pleasing. In Norsca, legends and stories are filled with horrific fates meted out to wizards who fall out of favor.

Vakaan turned his head, and Harbur could feel the warlock's burning gaze on him. His body trembled, bony tumors appeared on his arms, and horns emerged from his face. For a moment, he felt his corrupted flesh rejoice in the warlock's fiery light.

Then, the moment passed, and he felt himself reshape, returning to the familiar form of a human. He mustered up the courage to look up and look directly into the warlock's bird-beaked helmet again. This time, the warlock's eyes were clear and blue, filled with an unsettling emptiness. No, not emptiness, in the deep blue depths, he seemed to see a hint of jealousy?

A fetal-like little demon climbed up the warlock's robes and climbed onto the warlock's shoulders. It chattered and moaned into Vakaan's ears, screaming.

Wakaan first lowered his head and listened to the crazy whispers from the demon's mouth, then he closed his eyes and turned his gaze to the void world where the demon lived.

"Sorry, I can't go with you. I have a more important task now." After a moment, Wakaan suddenly opened his eyes, and the demon disc under his feet rotated under silent orders. He said to Urbar, and before Urbar said anything, he turned his head to look at Habur again. This time, his eyes changed from jealousy to gloating.

——

"The Fallen One" Urbar knelt on one knee in the hall, and his armor made a slight clanking sound under him. Some vague feeling aroused a trace of resistance in his heart. It was an instinctive resistance to the horror of this foreign land, as if there was some kind of shadow quietly retreating deep in his soul. He pondered this strange feeling, trying to make sense of the mystery of some kind of oblivion it might suggest.

He had served the Pathchangers for longer than any sane man could imagine, and he had forgotten much in his long quest for power and knowledge. However, he was vaguely aware that he had once been a certain existence, a certain person, and not the Urbar he was today. He once walked on some gentler land, he once had a woman, and even a child?

But that was a long, long time ago, a fragmented impression trying to piece together from the broken shards of memory, too few remnants of his memory to truly capture it. It didn't matter anyway, and the timid nostalgia was quickly dismissed by him.

The only thing that matters is to serve the great Lord of Change, to please this capricious changer, and to receive the great rewards that only a god can bestow.

During the long years, he devoted himself to serving the Lord of Changes, and his body was engraved with the mark of the gods, symbolizing the symbol of the chosen people. The armor wrapped around his body, the helmet inlaid with golden horns and a slit mask, and the sharp blade made of bronze and sapphire are all gifts from the gods.

The armor is forged from the souls of sacrificed demons, and the blades grow from a pool of shining crystal. These items seemed to be alive and had already become a part of him, closer than his forgotten memories. These objects sustained him through countless battles, protected him during the long war between gods and mortals, and were even more real to him than his own flesh and blood.

He stood up, straightening his tall body wrapped in sapphire armor and golden decorations. Beneath his gold-inlaid gauntlets and spiked pauldrons, there was a hint of raw power. From the shadow of his helmet, his eyes shone like burning coals, two blazing lights embedded in a dark lair. .

"Great Lord Chalzak, in compliance with your will, I come to see you in order to better serve the Lord of Changes."

Charzak stirred and rose from his seat. He was a taller being than Urbar, more like an ogre than a human. His feet were not in human form, but rather the claws of some kind of avian animal. The blue armor twisted and deformed on his misshapen body, completely losing its symmetry due to the physical reward given by the gods. On his left side, there was only a strong arm hanging from his shoulder, while on his right side, a sickle-like insect limb grew out from under the human arm, like some kind of parasite. As he moved, the sickening limb trembled, as if eager to tear flesh with a swing.

His head, like his shoulders, is covered with horns. The left horn is obviously thicker than the right. Its calcified texture extends down and occupies most of the face, hardening it into an armor-like, immobile carapace.

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What was left was pale, the color and texture of a fish belly. The facial features are severe, soaked with eternal evil and unspeakable secrets, and the eyes are shining with fierce and sharp gazes like leopards. Between the corners of the eyes on both sides of the face, there are thin membranes shining, sometimes protecting and sometimes nourishing the unconquerable gaze.

"You are here because it is in accordance with the will of the Lord of Change."

After a moment, Zarzak spoke, and his voice seemed to contain some kind of primitive power, like the roar of the gods.

Urbar looked up at Chalzak. For a moment, he had an illusion? Charzak seems to be injured? And it was still a serious injury.

Soon, his head lowered, and he knew that Charzak had stared into the void, faced the abyss, and felt the chaotic essence that penetrated his bone marrow, but he did not go crazy because of it. As the chosen one of the Lord of Changes, Chalzak survived and became the living tool of the Lord of Changes in the human world. He was the commander of the army, a powerful existence, and an existence that he could not surpass.

"Once upon a time, a weapon powerful enough to provoke the wrath of the gods was forged and put into the hands of unbelievers, the hands of fools who rebelled against the true gods. The true purpose of the weapon was concealed, and the true name of the weapon was forgotten." Char Zach's croaking voice was like the soft crackle of a burning log in a fireplace.

"It is different things at different times, changing at will of the gods... What is hidden will always be discovered, and the changers are manipulating our enemies. Now, what is hidden is solid enough, in my hand , can be used by the Lord of Change, we will use it to open the Labyrinth Stairs! "

He paced, his claws making a harsh sound as he moved, and he spoke in a low voice, with a coldness in his words. He clenched his fists, his knuckles crackling from his strength, and his knuckles rubbed against the scaled palm.

"The Labyrinth Stairs...?" Urbar asked bravely. He had heard the word, but he was skeptical about the existence of the thing revealed by the word.

"The labyrinth staircase is a real deception, a dream that becomes reality, an illusion that becomes reality. It does not exist like us, but extends in the gap between the world and eternity." Charzanek said lowly roared.

Urbar carefully recalled that the Labyrinth Stairs he knew was a place of horror, considered a dark legend in civilized lands, and told as a gloomy fable around the campfires of northern tribes.

The Labyrinth Stairs is not a staircase, but a city.

It is said that no one can find the Labyrinth Stairs, and it will only appear when it thinks someone is ready. According to legend, all roads in the Chaos Wasteland lead to it and there, but no road leads there.

Some people may walk the same road all their lives and never find the Labyrinth Stairs, while others may find the Labyrinth Stairs standing before them as soon as they step out of a familiar hunting trail. The city chooses who and when to appear, and anyone who steps into its shadow cannot leave until the city has no interest in him.

It was so in the past, and it will be so in the future.

It is said that the Labyrinth Stairs is perched on the edge of a huge sinkhole, and the abyss extends between the real world and the Chaos Void.

In Ithil, violent energy surges wantonly, and black lightning and glowing mists entangle and rise, tearing the boundaries of reality that try to bind it. The void continues to erode the city, just like an endless tide corroding the foundation. The remains of ruined buildings and walls hang over the abyss, their fragments floating in the void for hours, centuries, until they are finally devoured by the power of Ithil.

And in the cracks of reality, great masses of earth and stone float in the aether. Thick chains extend from each fragment, connecting them to each other, eventually forming an unbroken link back to the shattered edge of the pit. The combination of the fragments' material essence is stronger than they could be alone, even strong enough to resist the devouring hunger of the void.

On the largest of these floating islands sits the Fortress of Eternity, lightning crackling between its towers and battlements, tentacles of darkness and glowing mists pounding its scarlet walls before being swallowed by floating gargoyle heads, trapped in the purple light that shoots from their eyes.

The fortress's central spire pierces the sky, winding and spiraling like the spiral horn of some giant unicorn. The top of the tower is shaped into a melting half-moon and an eye that never blinks, which is the most powerful symbol of the Lord of Change's blasphemous symbols. Through the colored glass of the eye, you can vaguely see the flickering purple light behind it, indicating the power imprisoned inside.

Urbar seemed to understand the meaning of Chaerzak's words. Chaerzak has obtained the key to open the labyrinth ladder and is ready to open the labyrinth ladder and let the labyrinth ladder stand on the land under his feet.

Build the labyrinth ladder on the basis of Gorond, let the labyrinth ladder cover Gorond, and the terrible city will stand in Naggaroth.

This is equivalent to putting the muzzle of a gun on the head of Druki. The warbands and tribes wandering in the Chaos Wasteland walked into the city, and then came to Naggaroth from the city. Walking south, you can see the spires and walls of Naggarond...

A forward base that can continuously drain Druki's blood, a mysterious city that Druki can only guard against at all times, can be called a replica of the Echo City in Lustria.

And it is an enhanced version. At least the rifts in the Echo City will not go out of the Chaos Warband.

And the mysterious city that replaces Gorond... will spawn Chaos Demons and mortals who believe in Chaos Gods together.

"It is now solid enough for the Lord of Change to use! We will use it to open the maze ladder! The wind of chaos will sweep the army, infuse power into our spells, and summon the demon army to descend on the enemy! No one can resist the glory of the Lord of Change! The whole world will submit to the majesty of the Lord of Change!"

"Am I chosen?" Urbar was not excited, but felt a cold hatred seeping into his heart, and he whispered.

"There is a page about the prophecy, from the Mirror of Eternity. To release the power of change and break the shackles that bind it, only the one chosen by the Lord of Change can do it!"

As Chaerzak spoke, he showed a dagger. This was the soul dagger he got from Morathi, on the condition that he helped Morathi fight the enemies outside the city. He agreed, but the price was that he was injured in the spell confrontation. For this reason, he had to find some slightly more reliable helpers.

"Any existence that dares to oppose you will have its soul sacrificed to the Lord of Change." Urbar responded, and the sword at his waist hummed with hunger, and the voice of a blood-thirsty ghost rang out.

"You are destined to achieve great things, Urbar. Your name is in the prophecy, and the hand of fate points to you today. Don't let the Lord of Change down, and don't let me down. Otherwise, you will have nowhere to escape, whether in this world or the other side." (End of this chapter)