Gou is a dark elf in Warhammer

"Yes, I have become the person I used to be." Isharion shrugged, as if he had unloaded something, spread his hands to a certain height, and there was a hint of unruly and relieved in his smile.

"Introduce me?" Daxus pointed at Issarion and smiled, his tone relaxed, as if everything was under control and there seemed to be no oppression at all.

"This is Caryl." Eltharion nodded slightly and introduced her sideways. While introducing her, Daquus could clearly feel that he had pride written on his face, without hiding it, that was the pride from the bottom of his heart.

"Keryl..." Daxus's gaze lingered on Karyl for a moment, his eyes gentle, and then he praised her generously, "You have a great temperament, worthy of being someone who makes you willing to stop."

Kelly bowed a little nervously, her expression dignified and restrained, with a hint of curiosity and trepidation in her eyes, just like the instinctive awe when facing a powerful being for the first time. But she didn't say much, just a courtesy, which was decent enough.

Then, Daxus's eyes slowly swept over the remaining people. Alagalon, Perion, Felgar, Ahair, one after another, his eyes were neither hurried nor slow, as if peeling off each other's disguise layer by layer.

Without any greetings or active hello, he just stood there, as if the entire space was frozen because of him.

And those few people did not come forward, but just stood there, standing straight, keeping a strange distance between each other, as if they were deliberately on guard, or in unconscious awe.

This should have been a normal introduction session, but it felt like an invisible oppression ritual. The air was shrouded in an invisible force field, so stagnant that it could almost be cut.

Ahail almost forgot what he was supposed to do.

He had imagined the scene of meeting Dacus countless times, imagined Dacus's face, demeanor, clothes, Dacus's tone, eyes, smile, and how he would respond to him. But at this moment, when he stood in front of Dacus, he found that all his emotions turned into a strange confusion and... fear?
He clenched his fists, his knuckles turned white, it was the instinctive contraction of his muscles. He tried to control himself from being too obvious, but it was no use, his eyes wandered, but he instinctively wanted to look at the other person, like a moth that was sucked in, knowing there was fire, but still couldn't stop approaching.

He wanted to say something, "You're finally here", "What are you going to do", "What did you do to them", but when he opened his mouth, the voice was stuck in his throat and he couldn't squeeze out a complete sentence.

"Ahair." Eltharion turned around and called Ahair, as if introducing him, as if reminding him, and as if breaking the solidified air.

"Ahail? Ahail!" Daxus spoke immediately afterwards, his tone was not heavy but very penetrating.

Ahaier nodded subconsciously, like an apprentice who was called, not knowing how to respond, so he had to lower his head slightly to hide his embarrassment and awkwardness.

This is the man who defeated Tyrion and was eventually killed by Julian. However, Ahair is still very young and has not received real training. Even self-doubt is written on his face.

As Isharion introduced them, Daxus greeted them one by one.

What does Alagalon say? The Spellblade?

During the Battle of the Plains, he suddenly saw his father's bloodstained battle robe draped over the shoulders of the greenskin warlord. He lost control of himself and became furious. He completely forgot about spells and battlefield discipline and charged straight at Gollum. At that moment, he was not an officer, not a wizard, not a nobleman, he was just a son, with his father's blood in his eyes.

Then... he rushed to the front of the chariot, jumped on it, and swung his sword to attack the goblin warlord, but unfortunately the fang sword was not in his hand at that time. Although the sword he held was sharp, it was not a divine weapon after all, and was blocked by the crude battle axe. The next moment, Gollum suddenly jumped up and slashed continuously, the speed of the action was so fast that it was frightening. In the blink of an eye, he chopped him to death on the chariot.

And the commander of that disastrous battle was none other than Felga.

He was arrogant and believed that the elves' superior tactics and sophisticated weapons alone would be enough to easily defeat the greenskins, so he insisted on choosing a field battle. He was indeed a martial arts expert and led his troops, but he was not familiar with military tactics, and this fatal flaw was finally revealed in the Battle of the Plains. In the end, the remaining army of Yvresse was forced to retreat to Tor Yvresse, and he himself died in the defense of the city, and his death was as proud and blind as his life.

As for Perrian... he didn't even see Gollum. In 2300 IC, when Dorien raided Avalon and tried to capture the Everqueen, he fought with the Duruchi army to cover Ahair's breakout and died in battle.

It was a quick death, without any chance of recovery.

No wonder, Eltharion became like that. Fate was too cruel to him. Almost everyone around him died. He was like a lonely star cursed.

A demon that announces death?
No, in the end, he died in Sylvania along with his mentor Belannaar.

But at this moment, fate seems to have changed?

The only window for the greenskin invasion was just a while ago, but after a long time, they didn't even see the outermost island of the Drifting Islands, and were destroyed by the combined fleet. There will never be another one in the future, at least not under his leadership. Do you really think the Elf Navy is just for show?
As for future battles, life and death, that was not something he could interfere with, unless Eltharion and the others did not participate in the battle... but that was impossible.

After saying hello, Dacius looked at Eltharion again. Just as he opened his mouth, he saw Eltharion also opened his mouth, as if they had reached some kind of synchronization at this moment. Then, he laughed.

"You speak first." He raised his chin and raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Follow-up..." Isharion asked tentatively. His voice was as light as the wind, and like a stone thrown out tentatively, hoping to arouse a response.

Dakwus smiled even deeper, then pointed at Eltharion and shook his head helplessly. To be honest, he liked the current Eltharion better than the jailer who eventually fell into darkness, isolation, and only had revenge and death.

Cheerful, enthusiastic, like a normal person.

He has dreams, ambitions, and goals to strive for. Most importantly, Eltharion is not alone. He has a group of people who support and follow him. He is no longer burdened with heavy shackles, but a projection of hope.

It was like a replica of him, just like the same path he took when he came here.

"Tell me about the naval battle that happened not long ago." He said casually, with a relaxed tone and a little teasing, as if he was talking about a game. In fact, he had no more cake to eat for these people.

What should be drawn has already been drawn, and what should be said has already been said by Eltharion. There is no need for him to repeat the words "mission", "future", "belief" and so on.

And these people are standing here now, not because of what he said, but because of what they saw.

As for the question of returning home - what is about to happen is more convincing than any words he can say.

The naval battle that took place not long ago was the best icebreaker. They all participated in it, felt involved, and had the most solid connection.

The fact was just as he thought, Eltharion only spoke once, and after he finished speaking, he naturally handed the stage to his companions. He never said much, nor did he deliberately lead them, but just stood aside quietly, like some kind of gentle flame, warming the courage of those around him unconsciously.

At first, everyone was still obviously restrained in their narration, with pauses and stutters in their speech, like an awkward performer forced to perform on stage. But as time went on, their language became more fluent and their tone became more free. From description to depiction, from statement to interpretation, they began to dance with joy and began to retell the confrontation and commotion at sea with emotion. Their eyes were shining, as if the naval battle had not passed, but had returned to everyone again in their narration.

As Daxus stayed for a long time, the people around him came closer. Although the generals of the Iris Navy did not participate in this one-sided naval battle, they would occasionally make a few comments from a professional perspective, and sneer at the greenskins with contempt and ridicule, which caused everyone to laugh.

The atmosphere was warm yet restrained, tense yet liberating, like a collective baptism after the war.

When the story finally came to an end, Daxus shook his head silently, slowly and wordlessly.

In his opinion, the battle could have been simpler and more effective - just one blow to kill the enemy, such as summoning a whirlpool or controlling a mad dog wave, to end it cleanly and directly.

The result? He had to use the Gatling gun and would not stop until he had beaten the enemy into a pool of flesh. Bullets were free? The crossbow arrows that could not be recovered were permanent consumption.

But he also knew... this was the elf.

It was just like what he had seen during the Hakseye Trial Voyage - although they had a clear chance of winning, the Druch sailors still used crossbows to repeatedly shoot at the human ships that had long been paralyzed.

Purpose? No purpose.

Just like a cat that, after catching a mouse with great effort, does not eat it immediately, but instead repeatedly pats and plays with it, and only eats it or discards it when it gets tired of playing with it.

This is the nature of cats.

This is also the nature of elves, but the object of abuse has changed.

"Don't be in a hurry." When everyone's eyes were focused on him again after the excitement, Daxus raised his finger and said in a calm but weighty voice, "Next, something will happen. When this happens, you will get the answer you want. Every one of you will get the answer."

His words were like a heavy hammer hitting the water, creating ripples that could not be ignored.

He didn't want to get involved in the army's affairs. There was no point. There was no value in saying too much now. The progress bar hadn't been pulled in place yet, and what was supposed to happen hadn't happened yet. It would be just empty talk. When the time came, he naturally didn't need to say anything. The Asurs would stand up and express their opinions themselves.

This is his judgment and also a kind of control.

He looked at Eltharion, who was in deep thought, and nodded, as if they had reached a tacit understanding. Then, he also nodded and asked casually.

"Do you know where Narendir is? I want to see him."

As soon as the words fell, everyone in the Iris family subconsciously looked up and began to look around for the name.

"Over there." Finarfin took the lead and pointed at a lonely figure. The figure stood quietly not far away, as if he had never really integrated into this lively atmosphere.

"You... continue?" Daxus turned around, bowed with a smile, and spoke in a relaxed and friendly tone.

Everyone returned the greeting and he nodded slightly.

Then, he just turned and left quietly.

Just as he came quietly and left quietly, like a moist yet sharp sea breeze, he left the crowd with his unique presence.

"Hey." He put his finger in front of his mouth, signaling the people around him to be quiet. Like a ghost, he did not make any noise and quietly approached behind Narentil. He shouted in a low voice, suddenly breaking the silence.

The sound was not loud, but it was like a sudden thunder in the dark, which instantly made Narendir tremble all over.

He froze suddenly, causing several guests nearby who heard the noise to burst into laughter, as if they had seen a cat suddenly stand up.

"wonderful performance."

Dacus clapped his hands dryly a few times. He knew that Narendir had already noticed his approach when he approached. But Narendir still followed his rhythm, or even his script, and completed this improvisation with perfect coordination.

Like an experienced actor, he does not need rehearsals or preparations, he only needs to stand on the stage and he can perform the play perfectly.

"Sorry, I seem to be lost." Then, Dacus said this line, his tone was stiff and his emotions were empty, like an actor who couldn't act mechanically reciting a script. There was no ups and downs in his voice, and even his eyes didn't match, as if he was reciting a poem whose meaning he had long forgotten.

"Aren't we all lost in this world?" Narendir responded softly, his voice steady. He was tall and handsome, with soft features that revealed a hint of gentleness that was difficult to conceal, and his tone was filled with a gentle dramatic tone, "Let me introduce myself. I'm Narendir. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

"I've heard of you. I've been looking for you all night." Daxus nodded slightly. He spoke slowly, but with a firmness that was hard to ignore. "You may not know that... in fact... it was me who invited you here."

As soon as he finished speaking, Narendir's expression was instantly frozen, his smile froze, and his eyes were panicked, as if someone had ripped off his mask, and the "actor-like self-control" he tried hard to maintain was collapsing.

He knew how out of place he was here, and he knew that he didn't fit in with the other guests at this feast. Although he was the leader of the "Lothern Masked Dance Troupe" - a name with a great reputation in the art circle of Ulthuan, he was not a noble, nor was he of high blood. He was just a commoner, an artist, and a devout Loic believer.

At first, when someone came to his door, he subconsciously thought that he was asked to perform. After all, drama and performances were not uncommon in such occasions. But to his surprise, this time it was not for a performance, but someone personally invited him by name, just to "attend the banquet" as a guest.

He thought this was bizarre enough, but what really caught him off guard was that the person who invited him was actually Dacus! Although he had never met him, he was not deaf or stupid. From just now to now, he already knew what this name meant. This man in a long robe without any pretense was a terrifying and unattainable existence.

Originally, he could still rely on the "actor's shell" to deal with it, after all, actors are good at disguising emotions and hiding their timidity. But at this moment, under Daxus's firm gaze, his weak self-control finally failed, and his sense of belief collapsed.

"Don't be nervous." Daxus said in a soothing tone. Then, he raised his eyes slightly and gestured in the direction of Liarelle. "Also... I'm curious, why don't you go over there?"

"I..." Narentil responded softly, his voice mixed with obvious nervousness and uncertainty. A trace of uneasiness flashed across his face, and a hint of desire emerged that he couldn't suppress, "Is it okay?"

"Why not?" Daxus chuckled, crossed his arms, and glanced at the entire venue calmly, "You are a believer of Loic."

He did not raise his voice, nor did he sound any reprimand, but there was a power that could not be ignored, a logic that could not be denied, like spring rain falling on the soil, or like a sledgehammer striking a bell.

"In fact, not all of the people here are nobles. There are also many outstanding people from all walks of life. And you, my friend, are one of them. If you need, I can introduce you."

He said it casually, as if it was just a casual remark. But when Narentil heard this, it was like a bolt of lightning that struck his heart. "Of course... before that." He changed the subject and said with a relaxed smile, "Shall we talk about something else first?"

Narentil nodded quickly. He didn't say much because he really couldn't figure out Daquus's intentions.

He didn't know where the next conversation would lead to, and he didn't know if he had accidentally fallen into a trap. But he was very clear about one thing - the looming pressure from Dacus was too strong, as strong as a volcano about to erupt. Even though Dacus tried his best to restrain himself, the power emanating from his bones still made the actor tense and uneasy.

As the head of a theater troupe and as an actor, he had seen strong men, nobles, and the Phoenix King, but there had never been a person like the one in front of him who made him feel a state that could not be expressed in words?
This is not a stage.

This is reality, an inescapable reality.

"'Some sorrows should be forgotten. There is no benefit in opening old wounds.' What do you think of this sentence?"

"This... I'm sorry, I can't agree with it." Narentil shook his head slightly, his voice soft but firm, "If we ignore these wounds, they will rot like fruits left on the branches for too long."

The way he spoke had changed. He was no longer the reserved commoner he had been before, but a true narrator, an artist shaped by the stage.

"We must embrace the glory of the past and all the memories, including the happiness and the pain." He said, his tone was poetic, "Because without the pain, the sweetness would no longer be sweet. Isn't it because we can remember the pain and breed understanding, compassion and hope from it that we are human?"

He paused, then continued softly.

"This is not just about honor, hope, love or victory. These words seem to exist only in fairy tales. In fact, in this cruel and real world, they exist and are alive... Just like a flame, no matter how weak it is, it can guide the direction in the darkness."

Maybe he entered his comfort zone, or in other words, he entered the "stage" state. Narendir went from being nervous and stuttering at the beginning to speaking fluently and with full emotions.

He seemed to have switched channels, from a timid outsider to a bard who narrated reality and stories. His voice had a peculiar rhythm, neither exaggerated nor weak, like a reciter from an ancient play, narrating a great story that would go down in history.

Obviously, he is an outstanding artist. Although he talks about some abstract concepts and emotions, his voice, breath and sentence structure are all just right. As a professional storyteller, he knows how to immerse the audience. At this moment, Dacus can't help but be led into that short but profound verbal journey by him and indulge in his words.

"This is why I asked you to come here." Dacus nodded with a meaningful smile on his face.

"Sir?" Narendir looked at him with a little confusion.

"I'll be frank." Daxus looked at him and said without beating around the bush, "Soon, something big will happen, a very, very big thing. What you have to do is to witness it, create it, and then go on tour with this theme."

"I am willing to serve." Narendir immediately bowed, his eyes no longer confused as at the beginning, but with a clear sense of position and mission, "It is my honor, sir."

He did not ask what the so-called "big thing" was. He knew what to ask and what not to ask. Moreover, he also knew that a true storyteller did not need to predict the ending of the story. He only needed to appear in the right place at the right time.

"In exchange? I'll introduce you now. I believe you'll have a lot to talk about. After all... you share some common characteristics."

After that, Daxus naturally reached out his hand and took Narendir to where Liaril, Tolandil, Ryan and the shadow dancers were. When they were almost there, his hand fell on Narendir's shoulder, his gesture was casual and friendly, just as he said just now - they were friends, and he was willing to introduce this friend personally.

People who don’t understand propaganda may naively think that propaganda is just shouting a few slogans and writing a few eulogies.

But Dacus knew very well that "propaganda" represented an art of subtly rewriting cognition and building consensus, which was one of the reasons why he specifically invited Narentil.

Narendil and his troupe are almost household names in Ulthuan and are deeply loved by the people. They not only tell legends, but also carry the stories of those forgotten. They are mobile historians and messengers who sing the lingering rhymes of the old times.

How can I say that two flowers bloom, each with its own beauty?

The headquarters of the Loikists is in Elsing Arwen.

Before Dakwus appeared, only the artists who served Morathi were followers of Loic in Naggaroth. But now, with the arrival of Tolandil and the entry of Loic's faith into the Naggaroth Army system, this cold land is gradually becoming the new base camp and spiritual gathering place of Loic's faith.

In Ulthuan, Loic is the god of shadows - he rules over shadows, mischief, revenge, and secret walks. Many Asur in the lost realm of Nagarythe worship him, praying to him at night, and in his name, fulfilling their destiny.

In addition, there are some people who engage in performance art, or to be more precise, they do live shows and play with abstract ideas.

Inspired by Loic, the Asur sometimes gather together to fool, sabotage, or ridicule those who are too proud. However, there is no strict organization or political purpose behind these pranks. They just get together impromptu to plan all kinds of interesting and unique plays, either harmless jokes or sharp ridicules, to make those arrogant people look foolish in public.

Of course, most Loik believers are normal people.

They have to eat, make a living, face the real world outside the stage, and live - this is the daily life of most believers. Not everyone can indulge in lofty art and idealism as they please, especially those who need to support the entire troupe and dozens of people, such as Narendir.

He can't do anything reckless, he has to be careful with his budget, balance art and livelihood, and walk a tightrope between faith and reality. At least that's the case now, his acting career is still on the rise, far from reaching its peak, and he's starting to seek some kind of breakthrough.

The task that Dacus invited him to and assigned to him was exactly the kind of job that only he could handle.

As for Tolandil and Ryan?
You stinky colonial, are you coming to Ulthuan to beg for food?

no……

Simply because they had no reputation in Ulthuan, nor did they have audience appeal, so they had to start all over again. In addition, they had to return to Naggaroth and Asheril after the matter was over. Ulthuan needed performances, and these two places also needed them. Those Druzil who were still behind needed to know what happened in Ulthuan.

Some of those Shadow Dancers would stay in Ulthuan and fight, while others would return to Elsin Arwen and, like Tolandil and Ryan, transform what they saw, heard, and felt into singing and performance.

As for Liariel...

Her status is different, her identity is special, this is a little slut, not...

She is the object coveted by Slaanesh. This kind of existence needs multiple protections before the situation stabilizes. Even if the situation stabilizes in the future, she still needs to be protected.

And Narentil...

This guy is actually quite lively.

He had performed there after the destruction and devastation of Tor Yvresse following Gollum's invasion.

Who is this? Eltharion!
Wearing a ridiculous costume, armor embellished with gold ornaments, exquisite relief carvings, and a cape embroidered like a dowry, the whole person looks like a dummy from a festival workshop. There is also a long sword hanging on his waist, but it is hung too low, impractical, and almost impossible to draw.

If that were all, Eltharion the Merciless might have been able to pretend not to see it.

But he happened to be performing in a stage play about the invasion of Gollum...

That was the most horrific memory in Eltharion's life.

It was a nightmare of death, madness and sacrifice.

No one dared to face up to what he had gone through, and no one wanted to recall it. It was too heavy, too painful, and too close to despair.

And now, everything is brought to the stage for public display, just for a bard to attract attention and win some applause?

That's not commemoration, that's mockery.

It's not commemoration, it's re-enactment.

It's not healing, it's tearing apart.

This was like rubbing salt into Eltharion's wounds without respect. No, it was not rubbing salt, but directly opening the old wounds again, exposing them to the public, and allowing people to point fingers and comment on them.

And Eltharion's response was simple, direct and effective - he used a dagger to cut Narendil's throat.

"Do you know who I am?" When the performance came to an end, Eltharion, wearing a mask, stood in the center of the brightly lit stage and asked.

"Yes, I knew it from the beginning."

"But you didn't run away!?" Isharion's voice was filled with some complex emotions, like anger, like doubt, and like a long-suppressed cry.

"What's the point?" Narendir smiled bitterly and spread his hands. "I can beg for mercy, or I can die on this stage and be remembered forever by all the audience who witnessed my death. If it were you, which one would you choose?"

These words are not provocative, nor are they arrogant, but rather the most sincere confession from an artist - at that time, he was not indifferent to death, but he was not afraid of it either. Because he knew that at certain moments, the meaning of life is not in its length, but in the way it burns, and he broke through that bottleneck.

"You're braver than you look."

"I'm not that brave. If my performance tonight can be called 'great', it's largely because I was worried that your dagger would stab me at any time... and make me bleed on this beautiful stage."

It was a light-hearted humor, but also a real fear. Fear did not deprive him of his language, on the contrary, it made him more sober and more determined.

Eltharion took a deep breath, and an unspeakable pain appeared in his eyes. He slowly reached out and pulled off the mask, the white mask that symbolized identity and indifference. It fell to the stage floor and shattered into pieces with a crisp snap, as if some emotion that he had suppressed for many years was also disintegrated.

A heavy sigh escaped from the depths of his chest. It was not just relief, but also a heavy farewell.

He finally got rid of that pale mask.

Narendir bowed deeply, and the entire theater erupted in thunderous applause, and enthusiastic cheers swept in like a wave. The air was filled with excitement and respect, and the applause continued.

Although Narendir waved to Eltharion to greet the audience, Eltharion did not move. He stood there, silently looking at the audience, as if he was in another time and space.

Tonight does not belong to Eltharion.

Tonight belongs to Narentil.

"Why did you change your mind... and not kill me?" Narendir asked softly as the stage lights gradually dimmed.

"I met a woman, a woman of hope."

Eltharion thought about it and spoke slowly. A faint smile appeared on his pale lips, not warm, but with the soft light of memories. At that moment, when he decided to put down the dagger, something had quietly changed. He acknowledged the emotional core expressed by Narendil, and he accepted the way that history was commemorated.

Hope is a ray of light that provides opportunities for life. Without it, the world is only darkness and repeated trauma.
-
In addition to Narentil, Daxus also invited another equally impressive Loic follower - Urian Shadowhand.

This painter is different from Narendil. He does not stand in the center of the stage. His stage is the canvas. He uses light and shadow as a pen and emotions as ink to depict countless fragments of elves' history and mythology. He is not good at acting, but he is good at freezing the moment.

Perhaps, at that moment, Ryan, Urian, Tolandil, and Ryan, these artists from different backgrounds, created works around the same theme from different angles and in their own ways.

And Lia Riel will serve as a judge, or simply give up her role as a judge and directly join as the fifth participant?
Time goes by and the party is not over yet.

Daxus' figure flashed and came to another corner - where the Asrai were. Seonlan, Tyrandor, Indra, Alaros and others gathered here. Each of them had a calm posture, but the atmosphere was faintly depressing.

"It's weird."

After the greetings, Alaros couldn't help but speak, with an unsuppressible doubt between his brows, as if he had been holding back his confusion for a long time and finally spoke it out.

What he wanted to express was not a person or a thing, but a feeling, a strange atmosphere that was hard to describe, but extremely real. (End of this chapter)