The Making of Macabre

Some say the Druchii feel no fear. The rumor is defended by all dark elves across Naggarond and thus it thrives unchecked like untamed weeds in a garden. Each of us knows that there are times when we do feel fear, however. In the back of my mind I know each successive step I take up the long staircase brings me closer to an episode of such fear. How can it be helped! At the end of these stairs and through a set of doors sits the Witch King, Malekith himself. My ruthless service to the Vaulkhar of Har Ganeth was outstanding enough to allow me an audience with the Witch King. I was here to propose the creation of a guild of warriors to include the most fearsome chaos champion I could find, and a greenskin with half a brain, if one existed. My reasoning for wanting to acquire such companions was my own, but I had confidence the plan would work if only I could execute it without fear of being hunted by my own people.

I ascended the stairs and pushed tentatively through an unguarded pair of doors into utter darkness. Upon passing the threshold, my gut clenched into a knot and my thoughts attempted to scatter. I’d known of the effects of the Witch King’s presence for some time, but the experience felt more personal and real than I could have imagined. It was as if there were a looming crisis that would forever ruin my life, but I was drugged and couldn’t remember what to do to prevent it. The feeling ate away at me as I walked further into the darkness.

“Ferenczi of Har Ganeth, make this brief,” grated a voice like a basket of rocks, coming from below a pair of blazing orbs a dozen feet away. The fiery red lights flickered and reflected off various parts of the Witch Kings armor from a few feet lower, presumably his armor. Nothing else was visible.

“Lord, I’m here to ask for...” I started, forgetting the words I’d rehearsed countless times. “immunity from persecution…” I continued, “for enlisting the aid of outsiders who share our common goal.” Once spoken, the request really sounded like a stupid person trying to sound smart. Cursing silently at the thought, I clenched my jaw.

“Outsiders?” he asked immediately.

“Yes, my lord, if there are any worthy of helping our agenda. There are some chosen of chaos, who if persuaded to join me, could lend much strength to my task force,” I explained. This task force was to be sent as a forward expedition into the inner territories of Ulthuan to capture strategic keeps and choke points for the coming invasion.

“The chaos warriors are volatile and follow their own desires. Yet, I’ll stay my hand from persecution if you’re able to keep your Chosen one in check. At the slightest mishap, however, and this choice will be your reckoning,” he grated, his blazing eyes seeming to grow in intensity, unwavering.

“Thank you,” I replied quickly, “and critical to the success of my plans is a greenskin, of no particular type, who possesses the capacity and will to hold sway over his kin, so that I may use their greater numbers.” This was the riskiest part of my proposition, though I held his glare with confidence. He sat back in his throne and deliberated for a moment.

“It’s a foolish game you play, sorcerer, and one that could spell your doom,” he started, “and I will not sign off on such a plan if it’s to be lead by a weakling!” he said as his eyes flared up again. For the first time, I noticed extremely small symbols in the furnace of his eyes. “If at any point you falter to take a keep as ordered, or are discovered in your movements within Ulthuan, you life will be forfeit.” he continued. The symbols within his eyes flared up in time to the beating of my heart. They were curious indeed!

“Y-yes, my Lord!” I stammered, trying to regain control of my thoughts as I considered the function of those ocular runes. They were arranged in such as way… it seemed as though they could perhaps be a source of the Witch King’s power. Malekith then replied, but his words were little more than background noise as I intensely studied the runes.

Being a Sorcerer of no little renown, I could see the pattern of a woven spell within those blazing orbs. The runes were so intricately laid, and even smaller ones yet were hidden between those I’d originally seen. Laid in such a manner, one would gain immense power if they could duplicate the arrangement. It was brilliant, genius even! I’d leaned close, intent on deciphering their workings. My eyes traced the patterns and my mind whirled at their meaning, time slowed to a crawl. The runes were layered, smaller and smaller toward the middle, in ever increasing complexity. My brain worked faster and faster as I started piecing the puzzle together. Then the piece in the middle would mean…

Wait! My subconscious screamed. I’d seen this pattern before, somewhere. A flickered image of a small round talisman tore my thoughts away.

This was a trap!

The world snapped back, but was now out of focus. I was inches from the Witch King’s face, with all my will urging my body to pull away. He radiated an intense cold, and for the second time in my life, I knew fear. Deep, unbridled, knee-jerk fear. My will was weak, as though I’d just eaten an entire Black Lotus plant, and my thoughts were clouded. Our eyes were still locked, my insides started to burn as though I’d consumed acid. Like being hung over a pit of flames by the ankles, it seemed every inch of me was being pulled into the King’s glaring, hateful eyes. My skin crawled and felt as if it were being stretched like fabric, pulled inexorably forward.

Malekith’s words rang in my head....”lead by a weakling!” and I realized this was no trap, but a test. I focused my mind as I’d done so many times in the past and urged my eyes closed. Like the popping of a beastman’s bladder, the world around me snapped into sensibility, the cloud upon my thoughts evaporated. I reopened my eyes to find myself somehow at the bottom of the Witch King’s tower, facing outwards towards the exit. Growling with a mixture of exhaustion and achievement, I stalked toward the stables to find Pimples, my Nauglir, and head off toward the lands of Norsca.