Dark Elves

The Dark Elves were once Asur, the same race as the High Elves. What separates them is that the Druchii unleashed their minds from the iron discipline that all Elves require else they slip into depravity. The Druchii opened their hearts to the gods of the Cytharai, the Elven gods of the Underworld. Of all the underworld gods it was Khaine, God of Murder, who rose to prominence, and especially in Har Ganeth - the City of Executioners. It is a cursed place. A madness overtook that city long ago, a thirst for blood and flesh that has just been kept in abeyance by some of the strictest laws in all Naggaroth. Only in Har Ganeth are acts such as murder, thievery, and public debauchery treated as crimes. The penalty for any infraction is, of course, death by execution. This is a heavy burden to bear for a folk with such a proclivity for violence and homicide; but that is the point, for the slightest leeway would lead to utter depravity and the madness taking hold again. The release for all this pent-up, violent aggression comes on Death Night, an eve of bloody excess in Khaine's glorious name. As soon as the sun sets, so do the city's draconian laws, and all hell breaks loose as Witch Elves, nobles and even slaves take to the streets to revel in murder. Scores are settled and new ones created in a night of diabolical violence. And only as the dawn gong rings out across the city, and the sated survivors attempt to flee the street, does Har Ganeth’s ruler make an appearance. The gates to the palace swing open and Hellebron, accompanied by her elite guard, emerges to sweep the streets of those engorged and slow with the night’s excesses. Hellebron is the Blood Queen, High Priestess of Khaine and most powerful of all Witch Elves. Her only true rival in power is Morathi, whom she despises. For the Witch King’s mother has withheld the secret of eternal youth from Hellebron. And so, while Morathi keeps her eldritch beauty, time leeches upon Hellebron. She becomes a withered crone, and only by bathing in Cauldrons of Blood can she temporarily restore her youthful aspect. But every year, the enchantment wears off quicker and more blood is required. It is this constant attainment to a lost and fleeting beauty that drives the Blood Queen ever onward...

From the forbidding, blackened towers of their sprawling dread city-port Karond Kar, the Dark Elves – or Druchii, as they are called in the Elven tongue – wile away their extremely long lives indulging in internecine plots, twisted schemes, depraved, debauched acts of all kinds, and of course wanton cruelty, sickening torture and bad, old-fashioned death. With devotions such as these, you would think that a life of adventure on the perilous high seas of the Great Ocean – endlessly fighting, raiding and plundering, at great personal risk – would be far too much like hard work for the hedonistic Druchii. Yet there are some among their number who eschew the decadent lifestyles of their peers, throwing caution, and themselves, to the wind, quite literally. Of course, for many the intention is to escape the dangers of Naggarothi life, where execution or murder, always accompanied by a smile, if not maniacal laughter, are always close by, if not waiting around the next corner. Not so in the case of Lokhir Fellheart – the dreaded ‘Krakenlord’. He was born to ply the rolling seas, bringing death to those stupid enough to attempt to traverse them, and fire, terror and enslavement to unsuspecting foreign shores. Countless ports and coastal cities lie ruined and ablaze in his wake, for Fellheart is the latest in a long line of doom-bringing admirals to command the Black Ark known as the Tower of the Blessed Dread. As a result of his terrible exploits, Fellheart has accumulated much plunder – wealth beyond measure, in fact – along with far greater glory than all of his forebears combined. More treasure flows through Karond Kar than ever before – of both the shiny sort and the fleshy, enslaved kind – earning him the grudging respect, if not quite the trust, of the city-port’s Dreadlord masters. But that is enough for Fellheart, for he cares little for politics or anything much except loot and plunder and what it can buy him – the loyalty of his Corsairs and the lavish bribes he pays to insalubrious officials that enable him to operate freely. Although he keeps the best pieces for himself, Fellheart is admired by his crew for his generosity, a quality not normally associated with Dark Elves! They also trust him due to the personal courage he displays in battle, a dangerous habit that other Druchii admirals tend to lose as soon as they can, lest their days on account upon the Great Ocean be very few in number! It is certainly true that the privations of sea-life, including his high-pressure command, have done little to blunt Lokhir Fellheart’s swordplay – he fights as naturally as he reads the oceans. Well aware that the loyalties of pirate crews hold only as long as their captain’s reputation, Fellheart relentlessly slays enemy heroes, tossing their severed heads onto an ever-growing pile, knowing full well that every skull adds another page to the book of his legend and gives mutineers more than a few compelling reasons not to cross swords with their captain!

“Shut up, Daemon!” In the chill land of Naggaroth lies a realm steeped in malice, home to the outcast children of Ulthuan. The darker half of the Elven race, who sundered many centuries prior, the Dark Elves, watch the world with malevolent eyes, having suffered the greatest betrayal to ever occur in all the ages of the world. To the Druchii, it is their birthright to enslave and rule, and the destiny of others to serve – if indeed they are permitted to survive at all! Of the fortified Dark Elf cities that dominate the Land of Chill, Hag Graef is perhaps the most sinister and foreboding of them all. Also known as “The Dark Crag”, the city is built at the bottom of a cold, dark canyon and is completely surrounded by mountains of bare rock that stretch into the clouds to cast permanent shadows over its black towers and walkways. Driven by the wealth of its bountiful mines, Hag Graef has reaped vast riches from the labour of numberless slaves who claw iron and jet-black stone from the belly of the world for the arsenals of the Witch King, thus solidifying its position as Naggaroth’s second city. With such wealth at stake, Hag Graef’s nobles are constantly at one another’s throats, a situation perpetuated by Malekith himself – after all, if the Dreadlords of the Dark Crag were to unite in common purpose, they would undoubtedly be able to overthrow him. Intrigue, betrayal and murder are rife, not helped by the generally cramped conditions of the city, which combined with the Dark Elves’ peremptory nature ensure that rivalries flair into bloody violence with alarming regularity. It was in this brutal crucible that Malus Darkblade made his name and earned his reputation as the “Tyrant of Hag Graef”, playing the deadly game of politics for many years and excelling at it. Even by the standards of Hag Graef’s warring families, he is ambitious beyond reason. It was Malus’ very own depthless thirst for power that once led him into the clutches of a being even darker than he, a series of events that resulted in his fate being inexorably intertwined with that of the Daemon Tz’arkan, the Drinker of Worlds, who is imprisoned within his very soul. Relying on his own dark determination and limitless reserves of hatred to overcome any opposition, Malus also perseveres through his torment to draw upon Tz’arkan’s frightening power when needed, carrying out the bidding of the Witch King as he hacks a path of bloody ruin across the world.

"If they shall not bow to me, the rightful ruler of Ulthuan, then I shall see each tower crumble and every soul scourged in pain until they beg for my rule." Long ago, the near-immortal Elves were a single race, united in outlook. Then came a great divide, when avarice, jealousy and malevolence boiled over and forever tore apart their civilisation. Denied the throne and then rejected by the god Asuryan’s purifying flames, Malekith, rightful son of Aenarion, has declared himself forever the enemy of Ulthuan and the Asur. Although Malekith’s broken body was healed by his mother, the Hag Sorceress Morathi, using magical means, he remains scarred from the encounter and twisted by an inalienable desire to avenge himself upon those once considered kin. There are none among the Druchii – Malekith’s Elven supporters – who have seen his face, for his entire body lies encased within a suit of enchanted, black-metal armour said to be fused to his flesh. Many among the Druchii even mutter that Morathi’s Dark Magic has rendered her son immortal. Whether or not this is true, Malekith promises dire vengeance upon the Asur, vowing to wipe Ulthuan forever from the face of the world if he is denied the Phoenix Throne again. Deep within the Dark Elves’ bleak kingdom of Naggaroth, plans are afoot to bring about the High Elves’ downfall. To this end, Malekith has spent centuries training to become the perfect warrior, a much-dreaded sorcerer, and an ‘inspirational’ leader, although fear of the ‘Witch King’, as he is now known is, in many cases, the galvanising element. Malekith’s forces have followed him across the world in pursuit of his dark goal, and have faced the High Elves on many occasions; in spite of this, Ulthuan still stands. Nothing if not persistent, Malekith knows that soon there will be a final reckoning between the Elves – the Druchii will rise, the Asur will fall, and the work of millennia will at last be complete. If the Witch King cannot rule Ulthuan, then no one will!

"They will betray you, my son, they always do. Let me end them first." All Elves were once as one, living in contentment in their island paradise of Ulthuan. Alas, nothing endures forever. The Daemons came and Aenarion strode forth to vanquish them. At first a mighty hero… then he drew the Sword of Khaine and doomed his line. The Daemons were banished, the Great Vortex created, but in victory came the Elves’ ultimate defeat. A schism was rent between those who had been most loyal to Aenarion’s line, and the rest of Ulthuan. Soon Elf fought Elf and the Dark Elves, or, more accurately, the Druchii, were forged in war, blood and murder. The events that led to this sundering happened millennia ago, and yet, the grand architect of a whole race’s tragedy not only still lives but remains one of the most powerful of all their rulers. She is the mother of the Witch King; she is Morathi, the Hag Sorceress of Ghrond. Morathi was Aenarion’s second wife. He rescued the beautiful seeress from a Slaaneshi host. As the legends tell it, they soon fell in love, and Morathi’s influence became absolute. Through their union came a son, Malekith, destined to become the Witch King. This alone guarantees Morathi a place in history, but she is far more than a mother alone. It was Morathi that broke apart the magical spectrum to fashion Dark Magic. It was she that spread the Cult of Pleasure throughout Ulthuan, fermenting the seeds of discord and ensuring that Malekith’s followers were ready when he made his move against the usurpers of Ulthuan. To this day, Morathi is both revered and hated by her own kin. While the Witch King tolerates his mother, she is more likely to be manipulating events that furnish her own agenda. Seduction and assassination are her favoured weapons, although she is no stranger to open war. Over millennia the Cult of Pleasure’s influence has waxed and waned, but it has always remained under Morathi’s sway. And so - even as Malekith banishes the Hag Sorceress away from the traditional powerbase of Ghrond to the Ancient City of Quintex - her followers are ready and waiting.

Dark Elves are no strangers to war; their heartless credo is that the strong take whatever they wish, and that the weak choke on their own blood. There is no realm that has not suffered the predations of their corsairs or the blood-mad march of Khaine’s worshippers. Every victory against the lesser races of primitive lands strengthens their battle against their hated cousins the High Elves, whether by an influx of fresh slaves, the honing of battle skill, or simply the culling of the weak from Druchii ranks. A cruel and wicked race, the Dark Elves revel in the pain and despair of others and are capable of the most wanton acts of depravity and murder. The means by which they carry out their immoral causes are many-fold, but from Karond Kar come the beasts of war that are trained to serve such twisted desires. The city also known as Slaver’s Gate is where the stolen steeds brought up by the soft Asur are brought to bear by whip and red-hot brand, and where the ferocious Cold Ones are hatched, hand-reared, and forced to accept their cruel masters as riders. For the Druchii have always been experts at bending beasts and animals to their will, though some show exceptional aptitude in this, commanding even the unruliest beasts with a single word. They are the famed Beastmasters. It is said that Karond Kar’s dungeons are filled with one or more of every monster ever discovered in the known world. Such an impressive distinction, however, is by virtue of the single greatest Beastmaster of Naggaroth and one of Karond Kar’s greatest sons, the Beastlord Rakarth. His exploits throughout the world’s oceans have caused him to be well known and feared by many who reside along the world’s vulnerable coastlines. Those who survive the slave-raids of the Thousand Maws speak of the mighty beasts which tower over Rakarth’s ranks and salivate within his battle lines, for no other Dreadlord of the Druchii goes to war with such a number or range of abominations. With an almost supernatural ability to subdue and control wild creatures, Rakarth is as fell and dangerous a being as any tyrant of Naggaroth, having laid waste to countless towns and ports, from Norsca in the far north to the Bay of Corsairs in the south. It is not for nothing that he is known as Beastlord, as testified by the hordes of roaring, smoke-spouting monsters that bring him glorious, blood-soaked victory time and time again.