Note: This story is a piece of fluff written for my Warhammer: Fantasy Battle, Dark Elves army.
If you like it, let me know. If you don't, tell me nicely how I could make it better.
Malekith sat upon his throne staring out upon the massive chamber prepared specially for the ritual sacrifices of the Witch Elves victims. His personal warriors, the Black Guard, studded the shadows in their magnificent suits of armour like fearsome statues.
"I am ready. Let them in," He rumbled, watching as two human servants rushed to the massive obsidian doors, dragging them open. As they opened, in marched a group of approximately twenty men and women, surrounded by fifteen scantily clad, but exceedingly well-armed women. The Witch Elves and their victims. They reached the center of the room, the huge doors rumbling closed behind them at the push of the servants.
"Lord Malekith, King of the Druchii, we present you and Khaine with these sacrifices, handpicked from our own kind," One of the Witch Elves said, stepping away from the rest of the group, to stand before Malekith.
"Then… In the name of Khaine, I bid you, begin," Malekith said, settling into his seat, and waving a hand slowly at the Druchii below him.
The vicious elf turned back to the surrounded Druchii, drawing a viciously curved blade, the other Witch Elves following her lead and drawing their own. Raising her blade high, she shouted, "For Khaine!" and stepped into the group of sacrifices, slashing and hacking at them, the other Witch Elves following suit.
Malekith watched from his seat as the sacrifices began to die, blood swiftly spreading across the black marble floor. As the first five died, Malekith saw something odd. A Witch Elf collapsed, blood pouring from her throat where her head had previously been attached. 'Not uncommon amongst the Khainites, mistaking a friend for a target,' he thought. Four more elves collapsed, one of them a Witch. Malekiths' eyes narrowed with suspicion. Something was wrong, but he couldn't tell what just yet. Three sacrifices left. Two were trapped between five Witch Elves, bleeding to death from the flurry of blades. Seven more of the Witches hacked away at the already dead, mutilating the corpses and bathing in the spreading pool of blood. The final Witch was trying and failing to kill a young male elf who continued to evade her lightning quick strikes, and this drew Malekiths' eye.
The Witch struck, her blade whistling towards the boy's mid-drift. Deftly, he leapt over the blade, and before Malekith or the Witch knew what had happened, the boy severed the Witch's head. Blood sprayed across the wall and the statue-like Black Guard who stood against it.
Malekith glanced to the center of the room and saw the Witch Elves turning from their now dead prey to the single young elf that still lived. He watched with a detached horror as the boy charged the Witches, deftly dodging their blows and striking them down one by one, until only he stood in the center of the blood-soaked floor. The Black Guard moved in, surrounding the poor elf, though for once he did not make a move against his foes.
"Bow down to your lord, boy," one of the guards ordered with a sneer, the point of his halberd in the boy's face. Slowly, cautiously, the young Druchii went to his knees, eyes staring up at Malekith with fierce intensity. From his seat upon the dais, Malekith slowly spoke, 'Boy. What is your name?"
The boy spoke immediately, his voice carrying as much force as his eyes," I am Sinax Fardirge, my lord."
"Well… Sinax. How did you survive?" Malekith asked, slowly rising from his spiked throne, surprised by the boys' strength of will.
"My dagger. Family heirloom. One of the Daggers of Hotek, my lord," Sinax said immediately, still kneeling down in a pool of blood, surrounded by the Black Guard, his eyes never wavering from Malekith's.
"A Dagger of Hotek? So you knew that you were going to be picked for a sacrifice? How?"
"The leader of those Witches. Rathi Renth. She hated my family. I'm the only one she could pick without an uproar, because I am the least valued of my fathers children. I took the blade months back, and have been ready in case this happened ever since."
"Well done. But what do you intend to do now? Anything you do here will only lead to death. Witch Elves are very different to fight than my Black Guard."
"I did not expect you or your guard. I expected a normal sacrifice. No special circumstances. I though it would only be Witches or Executioners. I never intended to fight those who are not completely enamoured with Khaine. I have no reason to hate them. I live only to serve you Lord Malekith."
Malekith stopped pacing around Sinax, directly in front of him. He stared into the blue orbs of the younger elf. Softly, he spoke, "Step aside."
The Guard responded immediately, stepping out of the way, and creating a path to the young elf for their lord. Malekith stepped forwards, into the broken circle, until he stood just outside a sword-length from Sinax.
"You serve me. Only me?"
"Yes. Khaine means nothing good to me. He deserves no worship from me. My family cares not for me, and I return that favour. I have no loyalty to anyone but myself, and you. You are the King of all the Druchii, and therefore you are the only one who deserves loyalty."
Malekith stared down at the youngster for several seconds, before quietly saying, "Bring me an Iron Writ."
A servant ran forwards, holding out a scroll of iron, which Malekith took, paying no heed as the human scurried away from the circle of Druchii.
"Now, Sinax. I give you this writ, marking you as my servant. Take it to the ship called 'Bane Breaker.' Kill the captain and make the crew serve you, their new lord. Take that ship and sail off. I care not where you go as long as you return with a full hold of slaves," Malekith said, handing the writ to Sinax, "Know that if you fail, you WILL die. Now go."
"Yes, my liege," Sinax said deferentially, slowly standing, and stepping away from the now opening ring of Black Guard, "I will not fail you."
With blood soaked dagger held tightly in hand, and iron writ in pocket, the un-armoured Druchii pushed the great door open, and set out down the steps towards the city, a cold fire in his eyes, and a wall of steel around his mind. Destiny called to him, and he was ready. Those who stood in his way would die, and those who aided him would receive handsome rewards. Sinax Fardirge was on the path to power.
From this point on the story will follow the happenings of Sinax Fardirges' life.