Just being a dark elf in Warhammer

Marked for death!

Sefian's mind was shrouded in primitive fear, and fear rushed toward him like a wave. He knew why the spellcasters in the Gray Hall were afraid of him, because those spellweavers saw his fate.

The trembling made Sefian's body uncontrollable, but he finally regained the initiative over his body. He turned and ran through the woods, leaping from branch to branch and then to the ground, racing across the frosty earth. He's a Watcher, and he's pretty good at stealth. However, when the wild horsemen closed in on him and the forest filled with a terrible noise, he forgot all he had learned among his neighbors and acted on instinct, moving wildly, clumsily and noisily through the lanes and woodlands. , like an outsider.

Sefian had only glimpsed the Wild Riders from a distance before. The Wild Riders' habitat was the deepest part of the forest, and even he was afraid to set foot there.

The roar of the horses' hooves came closer and closer, approaching from several directions, and the sound of the trumpets grew wilder, changing from a deep wail to a supernatural howl.

Sefian, who was running, looked back and saw a scene that frightened him. One of the wild horsemen was already charging towards him. The Wild Trooper's speed was beyond belief, and even a brief glimpse was enough to make Sefian's heart stop.

Both knight and beast were soaked with blood and sweat and hung with the trophies of their previous hunts, bits of flesh and scalps trailing behind the knight like flags. He wore a tall birch-bark peaked helmet, but his pale face was exposed. His eyes rolled, wild and dark, as he raised his spear, ready to capture a new trophy.

Saifian's fear merged with another feeling, wrath! He did nothing wrong, he performed his duty, why should it be him and not someone else.

"You've made a mistake!" Sefian gasped, leaping to safety before the wild horsemen roared past and slammed their spears into the ground.

Sefian lived by his wits for a long time, hunting and escaping all kinds of creatures in the name of the Watcher. he yelled, swaying from the low branches, then his body swayed. As he glided through the air, the bow behind him appeared in his hand, and in one smooth motion he drew the bow, shot an arrow, and then disappeared into the trees on the other side.

The wild horseman on the saddle stiffened and let out a roar that had no place in the world. Sefian's arrow penetrated deeply between his broad shoulder blades. When he reined in his stag, He fell awkwardly into the saddle.

Sefian watched in horror as the Wild Rider pulled the arrow out without groaning in pain. Other wild horsemen came running toward him, and he hid under a fallen tree and scurried along a narrow ravine that he knew the stag could not cross. As he slipped in the puddles, the horns continued to wail, seemingly coming from all directions.

His long career as a Watcher had made Sefian's senses almost supernatural. A faint sound of moving air alerted him of another impending attack. He ducked, his skin aching from the scrapes, but he still Dodging the spear that whizzed past his ear and plunged into the trunk of the tree.

A figure suddenly appeared in front of him. Saifian did not hesitate and fully drew his bow at the horned figure rushing towards him. But when he was about to shoot, he suddenly hesitated.

The giant who was not riding a stag knelt down and stretched out his hand to Sefian.

Sefian swayed and lowered his bow, confused by the strange behavior of the wild horsemen. When he opened his mouth to demand an explanation, a growl replaced the question and thick ivy was thrown up his arms. He cursed his own stupidity for being fooled. More and more ivy bound him, lifting him off the ground and tying him securely to the trunk of a tree. He struggled to free himself, but the surrounding branches wrapped around his legs like snakes, holding him firmly in place.

The kneeling Wild Rider stood up and came closer, his hand still stretched forward to maintain the magic. As the distance grew closer, his features were revealed, the dark leaves in his hair actually growing out from beneath his pale skin and wrapping around the slender horns that emerged from behind his birch bark helmet. superior.

"My master, you don't remember me. I am Arthomis, my blood is your juice, and my bones are your roots." Sefian said, his voice as low as a beast's roar.

Sefian stopped struggling and sat helplessly in the bindings, confused. But before he could think about it, Arthomis stepped closer, took out a dull wooden knife, and pulled back his cloak, exposing his chest.

"Don't be afraid, through death, you will survive." After finishing speaking, Artomis inserted the knife straight in.

Sefian tried to say something, but blood was already pouring from his mouth.

"I will make you immortal!" Artormis opened his jaw, revealing his long yellow teeth, and he roared, inserting the knife deeply into Sephian's ribs.

The approaching dawn sheds a faint light through the branches, and is torture or a ritual? Still going on.

Sefian drifted in and out of consciousness, feeling pain as the Wild Riders worked on his torn flesh, pain unlike anything he had ever experienced, yet his captors somehow managed to keep him Away from the peace of death. The talking wild horseman, Arthomis seemed to be some kind of priest. Arthomis kept issuing orders to the other Wild Horsemen, mumbling dark, meaningless rhymes as he carved runes into his chest with a wooden knife.

Even if Sefian was not troubled by pain, he could not understand that the words were familiar yet unfamiliar, like a variant of Elsalin, more complex, more obscure, and hybrid than Fen-Elsalin. With animal roars and strange lamentations.

Occasionally, Arthomis would stop what he was doing and stare at Sephian's face. In these moments, Sefian felt as if he were trapped in a nightmare, with Arthomis's face resembling his own in some ways, but horribly altered in others. Arthomis's head was nearly twice his size, with living ivy spiraling beneath the pale skin, spreading out into tiny roots that bulged and coiled beneath bushy brows.

What are you doing to me? groaned Sephien, and as Arthomis summoned the other Wild Horsemen to approach, he saw the Wild Horsemen holding bundles of sharp sticks that glistened in the morning light.

Artomis paused and brought his face closer. His eyes were bottomless pools of hunger, they had no white or irises, just huge pupils flecked with shards of crimson. As he breathed into Sefian, Sefian received a strong scent of herbs, ripe berries, and bloody flesh.

"My master, we are preparing for a great ceremony." Artomis managed to suppress some wildness in his deep voice. He stretched out a finger and pointed at the approaching madness with his long curved claws. Wild Rangers, "They're gonna dress you up for spring."

As the other Wild Riders approached the blood-stained tree, Sephien groaned in horror, knowing that the Wild Riders were going to sacrifice him and feed the sacred tree with his blood. He closed his eyes and prayed to lose consciousness.

The Wild Riders gradually approached and gently opened the wounds caused by Arthomis. When they penetrated the skin with sharp wooden sticks and sewed leaves and roots into the skin, Sefian screamed. They were like hard-working people. A tailor worked on Saifian's body.

Sephien tried to free himself from the trunk, but the ivy was as strong as iron, and just when he thought he could bear the pain no longer, Arthomis put a wreath of holly and mistletoe around his neck and tied it with The long claws forced the berries into his skin, piercing the fruit hard into his skin.

In pain, Sefian began to guess the truth. Apart from thinking and screaming, he could do nothing else. As the knights tore at his body and planted gifts under his skin, he actually felt respected. Most of the Wild Rider's chants were gibberish, but he could hear the words Orion and King over and over again.

At first, Sefian thought his suffering was the result of something horribly wrong, but as the flesh merged with his own, other thoughts began to form. The pain in his limbs was still there, yet, deep in his chest, another feeling began to grow, a strangely pleasurable heat. It felt like the midday sun shining hotly on his exposed heart.

Sefian looked down at his broken body, and for a moment he forgot the pain. Sefian had peeled off his entire skin, exposing his blood vessels and organs, but the ritual did not stop. As his skin hung around his legs, the Wild Troopers sewed threads of mistletoe around his guts and wrapped ivy leaves around his organs, crooning and roaring as he worked.

The pain became strangely bearable, and the burning sensation in Sefian's chest as he realized it was almost exhilarating. He stopped screaming and relaxed his body, letting the horrible sensations mix together.

"King! Awakened!" Artomis paused, and he noticed Sefian's changes. His lips curved into a feral grin, revealing a row of long, wrinkled teeth, and he snarled, then returned to his work with even greater enthusiasm.

Sefian didn't hear the roar that was so close, he was feeling something else, and as his mind focused on the feeling of sunlight in his chest, memories began to surface in his mind. These memories are full of diversity and cannot belong to just one life, but the memories undoubtedly belong to him. He imagines himself leading the Wild Horsemen on a glorious hunt, and the memory fills his broken body, and he longs to be freed so that he can relive the chase.

But to the Rough Riders' dismay, these images disappeared as quickly as they came. When he saw Artomis's eyes again, he found that he was no stranger. This terrifying existence was not his murderer, but...his servant.

"Be patient, my master, winter is fading, and we will set off soon." Artomis smiled, and he nodded to the white-clad branches around him.

The whole process took less than an hour, and when Sefian fell into calmness, he felt like he was completely dead. In his last conscious moments, he was vaguely aware that Arthomis and the other Wild Troopers were untying him. He imagined that he would rise from his broken body, strong and kingly, but instead he fell to the ground, as weak as a newborn.

The wild horsemen carefully lifted Sefian from the blood-soaked earth and placed him on the back of one of the stags. Then the procession set off. Soon after, the procession stopped again.

In the dark forest, an extremely large tree man was walking. Its trunks were like magnificent castles, towering into the clouds and extending straight upward. The branches and leaves among the trees swayed gently in the breeze, as if playing melodious music for its walking.

The upper branches of the old tree stretched out to form two huge arms, and the sun's dappled light and shadow occasionally flashed between the dense branches and leaves. Two arms with claws and whip-like claws dance among the branches like guardians of the forest, ready to face any challenge.

The hollows on the tree trunks sometimes open and sometimes close, like a pair of eyes, sometimes staring into the depths of the forest, sometimes scanning everything around them. Every blink of an eye exudes a mysterious power, constantly conveying signals and power to the sleeping trees. The footsteps of the old tree left deep traces, leisurely and quickly passing through the dense forest, telling every inch of the forest its existence.

The old tree is the most powerful and noble creature in the Athel Loren forest. It is older than other trees. It likes to sleep in the dream world, which will make it wiser over the years. They only awaken in tragic moments, when the Aldmeri Elders or the forests of Athel Loren need them. Under its leadership, the ancestors used their wisdom to guard the forest kingdom. When the harmony of Athel Loren's forests was threatened, they would unleash their merciless fury.

But now, it wakes up and moves. Where the old tree passes, the trees in the middle of spring and winter stretch out their branches and leaves to pay respect to it. The wind seems to whisper softly, praising this ancient tree. 's guardian. As it moves, the creatures in the forest feel a solemn and sacred aura, and the creatures pay the highest respect to it.

The old tree saw the elves bowing to it, but it ignored them, let alone stayed where they were. It ignored them. It just walked, walked, towards its destination.

Not far behind the old tree, a tree with a slightly smaller circle than the old tree followed behind the old tree. With every step of the old tree, its crown swayed slightly. Although it is shorter than the old tree, every leaf is shining with vibrant green, showing relatively youthful vitality. It is the loyal companion of the old tree, it is one of the few companions of the old tree, and it is the few remaining members of the Ancestral Elders Association. They travel through the dense forest together, feeling the breath of the forest and the rhythm of life during spring and winter.

"Du... Er... Su... is the anger... boiling... in your heart?"

"I'm not... happy! The king... has arrived...!" (End of this chapter)