Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

Aris sat at the root of a huge tree and sobbed all night. He could not understand why the gods were so cruel. The gods tempted him with love and peace, but deprived him of everything he desired most, his family, his friends, Ashnir...

In his sorrow, he remembered a saying: Solitude is a luxury only available to those who have the leisure to do so. Some people fill the emptiness with meaningless noise, while others replace it with a greater purpose that is more comforting than any mortal company.

Aris thought he had found purpose in Avalon, but it was not to be, only more pain.

Hearing the gentle whisper, he subconsciously reached out and took the Moon Bow from behind. He gently stroked the silver metal with his fingers, feeling the warmth emanating from the bow. He put the bow against his cheek, and the moment he touched the bow, he felt peace of mind, and tears slid down the curve of the bow.

This... maybe this is the meaning of his coming to Avalon.

He took a deep breath, hugged the Moon Bow to his chest, and slowly stood up. He knew that he had to find his own goal. Others could blame fate, resent the gods, or attribute it to luck, but he had no complaints in his heart, except hatred for the Duruchi who brought disaster to Ulthuan.

His fate was not determined by Kunos, nor by his father and grandfather, nor by Barshana. Everything that happened to him had only one root: Druch!
He was like a leaf on the river, dragged by the uncontrollable current, forced to fight, forced to flee, forced to hide, but all this would change.

Deer will run and be hunted, while wolves choose their prey.

Now is the time to act, not react.

For too long, Druch had set the tone for war. But now it was the primal desire for the hunt awakened by Kurnos that boiled in Aris's chest.
-
All the chaos dissipated, and Aris sensed a different presence. After the end of the Age of Aenarion, the Winds of Magic were drawn into the vortex of Ulthuan. Having grown up in the mountains, he was familiar with the invisible Winds of Magic, but he was not fully aware of their existence.

However, right now in Avalon, magic looks very different.

This is a more ancient power, rooted in the trees, lingering in the land, and hidden in the lakes.

Upon realizing this, he noticed that the lake held a particularly strong mystical energy that reminded him of silvery rain, dewdrops on an autumn morning, and the fragrance of spring flowers.

This magic contains potential and is an ancient and eternal life force.

Suddenly, there was a sharp fluctuation in the energy in the lake, pulling him out of his trance. He slowly opened his eyes, as if waking up from a long and refreshing dream.

The twilight disappeared, replaced by a clear night sky filled with stars and a full moon.

He looked up and saw some kind of flash in the middle of the lake. He thought it was the reflection of the moon, so he stood up to see it more clearly. However, he found that the light did not come from the moon, but strangely, the moon's light did not reflect on the lake. Soon, he realized that the light came from deep under the lake.

He suddenly felt uneasy and looked around. In the night, the trees looked different from the daytime, and the lake looked even weirder. The lake water had a dark sheen, and even the starlight could not be reflected on it. Only the light from the bottom of the lake illuminated the surroundings, coating the lakeshore, the surrounding tree trunks and branches with a layer of silvery-white brilliance.

He tried to overcome his fear with reason, and soon he felt that the empty space was not filled with terror, but a deep sadness, a distant mourning. He realized that a great tragedy had happened on this land. This feeling was neither memory nor a perception that could be clearly described, but an indescribable sense of nothingness and loss of hope, which in a sense resonated with his loneliness.

Some presence coming from the lake seemed to call him.

He stepped into the lake, the warm touch wrapped around his skin, he felt like he was walking into a pond of mercury, the slippery resistance made every step difficult. He continued to swim forward, his movements were slow and rhythmic, his movements did not stir up a ripple, no splashes to destroy the tranquility, he kicked his legs hard, swam faster, but the lake remained as calm as before.

Although he swam hard, he did not feel the passage of time, nor could he judge his own speed. The light neither grew stronger nor weakened, but always surrounded him and bathed him. He swam countless times, feeling out of breath and his limbs exhausted.

At this moment, he seemed to be wandering in time, his muscles burning, his chest almost suffocated by the pressure, but he insisted on moving forward, putting the pain and fatigue behind him, and moving forward towards the light.

When he realized that he was above the light source, he stopped moving, floated on the water for a moment, and looked down, only to see the white light and silver glow surrounding him.

He took a deep breath and dived towards the light source at the bottom of the lake that looked like sleeping moonlight. He continued to dive, and the deeper he went, the more his lungs swelled and ached, as if they were about to burst. His world was wrapped in silver light, and he was worried that he would drown. His consciousness struggled to survive.

But another part of him longed for the nothingness that light gave him, and beyond that, there was a voice whispering in his mind.

He felt that he was holding something, solid and flexible. He held the object tightly, turned around and swam towards the surface of the lake. As he rose, the light gradually dimmed. Exhaustion and lack of oxygen made his consciousness blurred. Fragments of the past flashed through his mind, and his ears were filled with noise.

His heart was pounding, and every fiber of his muscle was screaming in pain, but he still held the object tightly and rushed to the lake with all his strength.

The starry sky spun in his eyes, the moon swayed in his vision, his whole body was numb, only his right hand still felt a strong touch. After taking a breath, his mind gradually became clear, the fatigue and dizziness gradually receded, and he looked down at the object in his hand.

It was a beautiful bow, made entirely of silver-white metal that shone brightly in the moonlight. The ends of the bow were decorated with crescent-shaped tips, and the bowstring was barely visible, as thin as a hair. The bow was as light as air, and it looked perfect in his hands. The moment he touched the bow, he felt a sense of warmth and comfort, as if the bow was embracing him with its very presence.

He heard a noise near the lake, and when he looked up he saw the moon had dropped below the treetops and was about to disappear. In the dim light he saw the shadows of the wolves spread out along the shore, and countless pairs of eyes gleaming in the shadows, watching him.

He kissed the bow gently, then raised it above his head.
-
Anlek had never looked so intimidating.

When Ares first came here, he thought it was a terrifying fortress. Now, Duruchi has added twisted aesthetics and cruel designs to it. The towers are taller than before, and iron chains are hung on the walls, with rotting corpses and sharp hooks hanging on the chains.

The spears above the gates were studded with heads, and the battlements themselves were fashioned into rows of slender fangs. Vultures and crows circled endlessly, pausing now and then to pick at the fragments of remains on display.

The sound is also disgusting.

The sounds of gongs, bells and drums echoed along with the cries of crows and the screams of vultures. These sounds intertwined with the bloody sacrificial rituals in the temple, and sharp cheers and drawn-out screams penetrated the noisy background.

The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh, and the surge of drha created a suffocating atmosphere of evil that made him shiver. He wrapped his plain blue cloak tighter around him, trying to ward off the unnatural chill.

He came here to find the answer: to uncover the identity of the mysterious Witch King.

But he has another, more personal purpose. Duruchi has taken away too many things from his life, his family, friends, lover, and land. And now, Duruchi has crossed the line in something he cannot tolerate, and his Moon Bow has been taken away.

All summer long, the whispers of the Moonbow disturbed his sleep.

As he hid in the Temple of Kurnos in the Ring of Mountains, the distant wail of the Moonbow plagued his thoughts. His family was gone, his friends had deserted him, and the land had turned to waste.

He couldn't get these things back, but the Moon Bow... he could get it back!

After entering the city, he regained his confidence. He walked towards the Black Tower calmly and firmly. He was not sure where the Moon Bow was hidden exactly, but he knew that the Moon Bow was somewhere in the Black Tower.

He would take the Moonbow from under Morathi's nose, an action that would mark the return of the Shadow Lord.

The steps were stained with blood, and guards stood every few steps, holding cruel hooked halberds. Despite the sentries, the gates were still open, and groups of Duruchi came in and out.

He joined the team, silently enduring the gazes of the grim-faced warriors on both sides. The team moved slowly forward until he walked into the shadow of the black tower.

Most visitors continued along the central staircase, apparently visiting a member.

He stood aside and watched, looking not for soldiers but for servants. The servants' passages in the palace often provided freer and easier passage, as he had learned in the court of Tar Anlok.

A moment later he saw a flustered attendant emerge from behind a tapestry of Aenarion riding Indrognir, and he wondered if Aenarion had ever truly known the mad woman he had married, if he had ever imagined that he would unwittingly bring such cruelty upon the world.

Without thinking, he passed through the tapestry and found a narrow archway. Behind the archway was a steep staircase that wound upward. He continued along the stairs, not knowing where he would go, but trusting his instinct to guide him.

Soon he left the staircase and came to a large gallery. In the niches on either side of the gallery were marble statues depicting princes who had fought beside Aenarion. Some of the statues were damaged, features chiseled away and covered with crude graffiti. Others were intact, evidently figures loyal to Anlek's new master.

He didn't recognize most of the statues, but some of them seemed familiar to him.

He stopped in front of a damaged statue, its eyes driven into by bloody nails, but still vaguely visible, and saw that the statue's face was very similar to his own. He thought for a moment before realizing that it was a statue of Eloran Anar as a young man.

He came here to take back the Moon Bow, to get back what was taken away from him. But he began to wonder if he could get more back here. Was his grandfather still alive? Was he imprisoned in one of Anlek's dungeons? He had plenty of time to investigate, so he turned back to the stairs and began to go deeper into the black tower.

He had expected the dungeon to be a hellish scene of pain and torture, but instead, it was silent and brightly lit with golden lamps. He saw no guards, and as he walked through the narrow corridors, he found the cells clean and empty.

Confused, he returned to the main staircase and headed for the servants' quarters a few floors above the dungeons.

The scene in the servants' quarters seemed like a distorted version of what he had experienced in Anlok, with maids and page boys hurrying through, many bearing scars and other signs of abuse, some wearing amulets of the gods, others dressed in ostentatious hedonistic cult attire.

He grasped the arm of a young maid who passed quietly with an empty silver tray. From her he learned some information: the location of the Moonbow; there were no prisoners in the castle, all of whom had been taken to the temple for sacrifice; and that his grandfather did exist, living as a guest in the West Tower.

He was surprised by the lack of guards in the West Tower, and he guessed that the arrogant Druki believed that no one would dare to infiltrate here. Following the instructions he was given, he quickly walked to the floor where his grandfather lived. He stood in front of a half-open black door and knocked, but received no response. After looking around and confirming that no one was watching, he gently pushed the door open and slipped in quietly.

The room was simply furnished, with large windows letting in light and leading to a balcony. He saw a figure sitting on a reed chair on the balcony, facing the sun. After checking the adjacent room and making sure it was all right, he walked carefully to the balcony.

Eloran Anar sat there with the sun on his face and his eyes closed, looking like he was asleep.

Aris was brought back to the past, before his ordeal, when he remembered playing in the garden of the mansion, and his grandfather basking in the sun like this. The noise he and his friends made would always wake his grandfather, who would gently scold them and then get up and join in their silly games.

Flames and black smoke consumed the memory, leaving only the image of the destroyed bodies of Eannaris and his friends nailed to the walls of the mansion. He growled involuntarily as the memory faded.

"grandfather?"

Eloran moved slightly, making unconscious grunts.

"Eloran?" Aris' voice became louder, and he squatted beside the old elf.

"Who's there?" Eloran turned his head, his brows furrowed but his eyes still closed, and asked in a hoarse voice.

"It's me, Aris, grandfather."

"Stop playing those tricks of yours, Aris is dead. Kill them all and get away with your phantoms," Eloran snapped.

"No, grandpa, it's really me, Aris. I will take you away from here." Aris gently placed his hand on his grandfather's hand and gently shook it.

"You can't deceive me this way. You can blind me, but you can't make me a fool."

"Look at me, Grandfather, it's really me, Aris!"

"Are you still proud of your masterpiece? When you took away my sight, I didn't let you get my screams of pain, and now I won't let you get the satisfaction of my broken hopes." Eloran turned his head and opened his eyes, revealing two pale and lifeless eyes. "I will find a healer, grandfather, and the wizards of Safri will definitely help you see again. Come with me, I can't stay here for too long." Aris said, trying to pull Eloran's arm and help his grandfather up from the chair.

"You want me to leave, don't you, demon! How many souls did she promise to give you in exchange? One thousand and one? Their deaths will not be a burden to me. You can threaten me, stimulate me, and seduce me in this way, but I will never let you complete that abominable contract." Eloran said softly, while gently pulling his arm away from Aris's grasp.

"You must come with me, please believe me, grandpa, it's really me, Aris!" Aris had tears in his eyes, his body was trembling, and his voice was full of pain.

"I won't believe anything. It's torture enough that you've locked me up in this evil place. I can smell the sacrifices and hear their screams. You opened my door and told me I could leave at any time, but you knew I could never do it. My soul is still pure, and there will be no ghosts of murdered people to haunt me when I am taken to Hades. I could stay here for another thousand years and endure all the torture you can think of, and never let that happen."

Ares stepped back, shaking with grief and anger. He could take Elroran by force, but if his grandfather's words were true, then it was clear that his grandfather was unwilling to pay the price Morathi had set for his freedom. He drew the dagger hidden in the belt of his robes, thinking of ending the old man's suffering. His hand shook violently as he slowly reached for Elroran's throat, but he finally pulled his hand back abruptly.

He can't do it!

Although his heart was broken, he could only respect his grandfather's wishes as he had been taught. Finally, he took a deep breath, bent down, and gently kissed his grandfather's forehead.

"Goodbye, Grandfather, leave with peace and dignity." He choked.

Another humiliation, and the grief once again turned into the cold anger that had sustained him for many years.

He came from the west tower to the conquest museum where the spoils of war were displayed. The hall was empty, and dozens of Duruchi were crowded in the gallery to view the exhibits. Several soldiers were scattered around the exhibition, looking listless.

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He blended in with the crowd, observing the trophies on display. He suppressed his disgust at these cruel exhibits, squeezed to the other end of the gallery, and finally found the Moon Bow.

The Moon Bow rested on a purple cushion, the metal had lost its luster and looked dull.

The plaque under the cushion reads: The so-called Shadow King, slain by Hellebron, the Priestess of Khaine.

He stared at the nameplate for a moment and shook his head. Not far away, a soldier was checking his nails. He walked through the crowd and came to the soldier.

"Lend it to me."

After he finished speaking to the soldier, he pulled the soldier's sword from its sheath, instantly stabbed it into the opponent's abdomen, twisted the blade and pulled it out.

There was chaos in the gallery, and Druki shouted loudly. Some people tried to catch him, but he chopped them down mercilessly, kicked the bodies away, and continued to move towards the Moon Bow. Others tried to escape, but he ruthlessly killed anyone he could reach, and chopped Druki to the ground.

He picked up the Moon Bow and felt it come to life in his hands. A warm feeling passed down his arm and a soft sound echoed in his ears.

The guards around him were approaching rapidly with shining swords in their hands. He jumped onto the wooden railing at the edge of the gallery and was about to jump into the hall below. At this moment, his eyes were caught by something.

At the top of the gallery is a simple silver and gold tiara with a star-shaped gemstone.

"Is this the crown of Nagarythe?"

He ran along the railing, leaping over a soldier's sword strike and darting for the crown. He turned deftly, parrying a blow with his sword, stabbing the soldier's throat, then spinning and kicking another Duruchi in the face, then leaping over the soldier and stabbing his sword through the soldier's back. He blocked another soldier's attack with his Moon Bow, slicing his enemy's cheek with his blade, leaving a bloody streak. He rammed his enemy's abdomen with his shoulder, stabbing his sword into his side as he fell to the ground.

"I'm taking this too."

He slung the Moonbow over his shoulder, spun around to avoid the enemy's attack, and grabbed the Crown of Nagarythe. He placed the crown neatly on his head, ducking before the blade could sweep across his face. He kicked the enemy's knee, causing the soldier to stumble back. Then he swung again until the enemy's defense collapsed, and stabbed the sword into the enemy's chest.

Then he leaped onto the railing again and leapt down from it. After landing lightly, he ran towards the door of the hall. Fortunately, the door was open. He rushed out of the hall and found chaos in the long antechamber. The dignitaries and servants were huddled together, scrambling to escape the commotion, while heavily armed warriors tried to get through the crowd and meet them.

He glimpsed a servants' passage to his right, and he passed through doorways and stairs, turning left or right at random, for he had no idea where he was going. After passing through a set of double doors, he found himself in a vaulted reception room, at the other end of which an open window looked out upon the roofs of Anlek.

He ran to the window, and as he ran he heard hurried footsteps behind him, but he didn't look back. He rushed to the window at full speed and jumped out of it, hitting the tiled balcony outside.

In a few seconds he disappeared from the sight of his pursuers and slipped into the crowded streets of Anlek.

"Queen, we found this." The captain almost crawled into Morathi's room. He stared at the ground, trembling like a frightened dog. He crawled in front of the queen and handed her a roll of parchment with trembling hands.

"Stand up, have you sealed off the city?" Morathi stepped forward and snatched the parchment from the captain's shaking hands. She turned around, then suddenly stopped and said in a hissing voice.

"Yes, the search continues."

"He ran away a long time ago, you idiot!" Morathi turned to the captain suddenly, with pure dark abyss in her eyes. She screamed and slapped the captain hard.

After accusing the soldiers of incompetence, she turned again and opened the parchment.

Dear Morathi
Bitch! I'm not dead yet! Send your new thugs to Eannaris and give them a try.

Aris Anar, Lord of Shadow

The letter was signed with the runes of shadow and revenge, the writing soaked in blood.
-
Like a shadow, Aris shuttled through the crowd, searching for Ashniel. He carefully tucked his cloak under his arm, wrapped in silk from the colony. Although the package was as light as a feather, he felt it was as heavy as a lead block. Excitement and fear intertwined in his heart, he walked around a neatly trimmed lawn and headed for the banquet area.

In the moment when the two guests separated for a short time, he caught a glimpse of Ashnir's face. Ashnir was bathed in light, so beautiful that he was intoxicated. His expression was elegant and calm, and his gray eyes were shining.

He walked through the crowd and headed straight for Ashnir, but when he was only a few steps away from Ashnir, a tall figure suddenly blocked his way, forcing him to stop abruptly. He was about to go around the figure, but when he looked up, he saw the face of Prince Cantras.

"Aris, I've been looking for you."

"You are looking for me? For what? I mean, can I help you?" Aris was stunned for a moment and suddenly felt uneasy.

"Don't act so scared, Aris, I'm not here to bring bad news, just an invitation." Cantras smiled and put a hand on Aris' shoulder.

"Oh, is it a hunt?" Aris relaxed a little.

"Not everyone's life revolves around the wilderness, Aris. I have guests from Anlek in my house who I would like you to meet. They will predict the future for you and Ashniel. I think if the omen is auspicious, we can discuss the details of the marriage between the two families." Cantras sighed and shook his head.

Aris opened his mouth, but found that he didn't know what to say. He closed his lips tightly to avoid saying something stupid, and just nodded, trying to pretend to be thoughtful.

"I thought you would be pleased." Cantras frowned.

"I'm happy! Really very happy! This sounds wonderful. But... what if the priests foretell something ominous?" Aris' words were filled with panic and helplessness.

"Don't worry, Aris, I'm sure the omen will be auspicious." Cantras looked back at Ashnir, then at the package in Aris's hand. He nodded, pulled Aris closer, and gently pushed Aris towards the crowd surrounding Ashnir. "My daughter, light of the winter sky, look what I found nearby, like a little mouse hiding in a cave! I believe it has something to say to you."

Aris stumbled a few steps after being pushed, and stopped in front of Ashnir. He raised his head, and the moment he met those gray eyes, his heart melted instantly. He swallowed and tried to regain his thoughts, but he still forgot the poems he recited over and over again in the library.

"My love, I've been waiting for you all night." Ashniel leaned forward slightly and kissed Aris's forehead.

"I prepared this for you." The aroma filled Aris's nose, making him dizzy for a moment. It was a perfume refined from autumn wild flowers. Then he blurted out and handed over the package.

Ashnir took the gift, caressing the soft silk and admiring the intricately wound ribbons. Aris helped her untie the ribbons, and the silk paper gently fell to the ground. Aris grabbed the collar of the cloak and opened it up, revealing the dazzling light of the cloak. The other elves let out a low cry of admiration, and a satisfied smile appeared on her lips.

To express his love for Ashnir, Aris commissioned the finest craftsmen to weave a midnight blue cloak for Ashnir, studded with star-like diamonds and detailed with silver thread to create constellations. The design was inspired by his study of his family's astronomical texts, and he designed the pattern himself, depicting the starry sky above Ulthuan on the day Ashnir was born.

Aris looked around and saw that more elves had gathered on the terrace. Dozens of people were watching the unfolding event, including his mother, father, and grandfather. He realized that perhaps his secret preparations were not as hidden as he thought.

"Let me do it."

After Cantras finished speaking, he walked forward and took the cloak from Aris. He gently draped the cloak over Ashnir's shoulders and expertly fastened the crescent-shaped cloak buckle on his daughter's right shoulder.

"Just as the stars light up the night sky, you light up my life. Just as the world revolves under the gaze of the stars, my life unfolds under your gaze. When the bright Lilith looks down on us with her beauty, her radiance is nothing compared to the light that shines from you."

Seeing the cloak draped over Ashnir, Aris's previously forgotten lines suddenly came back to his mind.

At these words, several of the assembled guests uttered low exclamations, and some murmured, complaining that Aris should not compare the beauty of a mortal with that of the moon goddess.

"My heart burns like the sun, and I hope your soul will reflect its light."

But Aris ignored it and continued with his confession.

"The hunter has caught his prey with this most dazzling snare, and the prey cannot escape."

Ashnir's expression was full of elegant joy. She looked at the other girls in the crowd and was very satisfied with their jealous expressions. She held Aris's cheeks with both hands and said with a smile.

Cheers rang out, and then more and more guests joined in. Aris and Ashniel soon became the center of Midsummer Night. Aris was intoxicated, and he felt an unprecedented peace, a feeling that he could only experience when he stood on the top of the mountain and drew his bow.
-
The moment Aris broke free from the dream, the whole world was pulled back to reality from the vague illusion. His breathing was rapid, his heart was beating like thunder, and the emotions he had just experienced in the dream were still echoing deep in his heart. The warmth and happiness he once had turned into deep loneliness and regret, and finally turned into unforgettable hatred and pain.

He slowly opened his eyes, and an elegant figure gradually emerged in his blurry vision.

She was a beautiful woman, wearing a white gauze dress, which rose and fell slightly, as if responding to the howling cold wind of Naggaroth. Her long hair poured down like moonlight, and her eyes were gentle and penetrating, as eye-catching as the moonlight.

She smiled and looked down at Aris who was leaning against the tree trunk, with a trace of pity and expectation in her eyes. She slowly stretched out her hand, her fingertips trembling slightly, waiting for Aris to respond.

Ares was stunned, half asleep and half awake, unable to tell whether this was reality or another dream. His sight was caught by the gentle gaze of the figure, and complex emotions rose in his heart. He remembered Ashniel's face in his dream, the cloak and the starlight that night. His chest ached slightly, and the weight of memory oppressed his soul.

But he couldn't resist the call of the figure in front of him, he gently raised his hand, hesitated for a moment, and finally handed his hand over. The moment his fingertips touched, a strange warmth flowed through his arm and reached his heart.

"Is it you..." He murmured, his voice barely audible, as if he was afraid of breaking the overly beautiful illusion before his eyes.

The figure nodded slightly, with a smile that was more gratified and mysterious. She gently took Aris's arm and pulled Aris up from the ground. (End of this chapter)