Chapter 12 Blooded
After all the insanity that was Druchii intrigue, there was a certain amount of comfort in doing a familiar activity. In this case, it was dictation and writing it down on a wax tablet to commit the writing to paper later. Usually, Yalene was paid handsomely for services like these, but now, the only payment she received was board and lodging. How insidious this kind of system was. When the standard for compensation of one's own labour was so low, even the occasional mild shows of appreciation or random acts of kindness and generosity started to feel more important, as if those could restore any of the lost dignity of the slave. If one stayed a slave for a long time, did the mindset change also? Would she end up like Katharina, eagerly lapping up any attention she was getting, disturbingly happy with her situation?
On the bright side, she was privy to juicy gossip and general occurrences on the Black Ark. For example, she had learned that Viroges' personal Gauntlet was scheduled for this day as a spectacle for the whole Ark.
She had also learned through writing the correspondence that the cargo and crew of the ships of Ruvol Blackwater's flotilla was currently rearranged to make room on the sloop-of-war 'Shariva', and that its crew was hand-picked from other vessels, which made her wonder what these Druchii were scheming now. Since she had only taken dictation from the captain and his first mate, both of them aware of her origins, she had noticed that both men had taken the time to review and correct her spelling and grammar of those elvish runes, for which she was thankful.
The last few days had been relaxing. After the captain and his slaves had been given quarters on the Ark with him being the honoured guest, she had been relieved of her regular duties and tasked to work through the Southland-expedition material. Ruvol had been elated to hear about her discovery, and was apparently now working to get the resources to attempt this treasure hunt. He had given Yalene free reign over his cabin when he was busy running errands on the Ark, so she had not only enjoyed some privacy, but also eagerly devoured the reading material given to her, whether it corresponded with her assignment or not. She had taken the time to read some of the scrolls from Ruvol's personal collection mostly containing historical accounts, as well as her father's grimoire. Slowly, she was reacquainting herself with all those spells she had practised with her father when she was younger. Especially the one that allowed the caster to glide on air had been her favourite, but her father had strictly forbidden her to ever use it again back then, for fear of discovery. It had broken her heart as a youth not being able to fly, but the threat of nosy Witch Hunters and superstitious neighbours had been real. Now, she had to exercise the same restraint and the same discretion, but she figured that having some tricks up her sleeve would benefit her in the long run. She had also started to use this sort of privacy to practice her daily rituals again, thank Verena.
She had also used her new-found freedom to explore the gigantic vessel under the guise of running errands for the captain or for Mireille. As long as she wore her collar and kept her head down, she was mostly left to her devices. In fact, it was easier for her to move through the vessel without supervision, a luxury that her human sisters-in-chains didn't enjoy. Humans were often sent back to their master's guest quarters if they didn't carry the mark of slaves specifically belonging to the 'Bastion of a Thousand Tears'. But the worst that happened to Yalene were a few appraising and sometimes lustful glances, which she could deal with.
Currently, however, she was doing her duty by making notes on a wax tablet for the first mate to be written down on paper later. Iruvan was currently discussing his plans for the next mission in a secluded cabin with a Dark Elf of Lady Vervain's retinue, a quiet, scrawny fellow named Renath Duskmantle. In that function as a scribe, she was much better off than Hjördis, who was assigned to stand in the background with a tray and listen to a conversation held in a language she didn't understand.
"We are to buy supplies? From humans?!" Iruvan's features were not meant to ever turn into an incredulous scoff, but he came as close as he could be, looking at his interlocutor quizzically while Yalene watched with interest.
"If we simply stole what we needed, we would risk blowing our cover. The first rule of espionage is that you don't draw attention to yourself. So we will be nice, good little elves, make a few deals and pay in good faith." Renath explained patiently, arms crossed before his chest.
Slowly and still somewhat puzzled, Iruvan nodded. "Strange. Very well, but … strange. The captain would also like to get rid of the Bretonnian vessels. Is that possible?"
Renath weighed his head, a curious smile on his face. "Of course. If we can plausibly claim legitimate salvage, my contacts would pay handsomely for a ship like this. I have a local contact who could take it off our hands. But what has happened to that Bretonnian vessel?"
"I think the eerie fog in these parts claimed another victim. We found this ship adrift, all hands tragically missing. There were signs of battle, but no sign of their attackers. These waters are perilous."
The other elf placed along by shaking his head in faked sympathy. "Perhaps it was some monster, or some raiders from the Chaos Sea. We must consider all hands lost."
"Tragic." Iruvan said a touch too reverently.
"Tragic." Renath concurred.
"Tragic, yet profitable. How much would your contacts be willing to pay?"
The elf stroked his chin, weighing his words carefully. "If it's otherwise in good condition, the human exchange rate would be about three thousand gold crowns."
This was the moment that Yalene let out an involuntary, amused chortle, which she hid under a loud clearing of her throat while pretending to studiously focus on her wax tablet. While Vervain's retainer tried to ignore her, Iruvan instead turned his head, a knowing twinkle in his eye.
"Do you have anything useful to add to the conversation?"
Yalene took care that her features remained neutral and lowered her head ever so slightly in deference, as was expected of her, especially in the presence of outsiders like the Noble's retainer. Still, the retainer had used crowns as a currency for humans, which was used in the Empire. This meant that they apparently meant to infiltrate the Empire in some capacity; even if she would not be privy to any more details, she had enough respect towards Iruvan and Ruvol as not to let them get robbed. So she smiled pleasantly. "A freshly launched ship is worth four times that sum. Of course, I do not know how old that ship is and how much it loses its value over time. My apologies if I spoke out of turn."
Again, she bowed her head ever so slightly, but the small shift in Iruvan's posture told her that he had now received the information he had needed. He even reached out to awkwardly pat her head as if she were a pet, only to address the mildly surprised retainer again. "Yalene here used to infiltrate the Empire as well, so she has more intimate – and recent – knowledge.
"Does she now?" The shift in Renath' demeanour was palpable, as it was clear that with that information, he mentally refiled her from 'furniture' to 'person' in the course of a second. He now regarded her with obvious, newfound curiosity. "That accent did sound a little odd to me. It should have been more obvious to me that there is more than a pampered slave. How did you end up here? Was your mission a failure?"
Before Yalene could reply, Iruvan bid her to be silent with a small gesture while he continued to address the retainer. "Unfortunately, she has forgotten anything but human culture over the course of her assignment. We are slowly reintegrating her into our fold. It is the strangest thing, don't you think?"
There was a slightly predatory note in Iruvan's voice, as if he was currently laying a trap for Renath, Yalene saw how the retainer's stance shifted again from business-like courtesy to something resembling not only interest, but even melancholic sympathy. "I've heard agents deep undercover can come to identify so much with their environment, they put their past to sleep in their minds. It is said that this is the most terrible fate for a Druchii … to forget their own self and mind and become what they were meant to fight. We do this kind of work so rarely, I have never seen a case of that kind of loss. May I?" Casually, he pointed at her branded hand. This was such a small gesture, but Yalene was at this point so accustomed to be seen as a decorative element by most Dark Elves that she was strangely moved that Renath didn't ask the first mate, but her, if he could touch her hand. She let him, and he carefully examined the brand with oddly unrestrained disapproval before addressing her again, making eye contact. "They did quite a number on you, hm? Animals." He released her hand, while his tone of voice now carried an implied frown that was more directed at Iruvan than her. "Somewhere back home, a wealthy patron is missing an agent. Said patron will want to know the reasoning for your current situation. Did you ever wonder what it was that you were meant to do?"
"All the time." Yalene replied truthfully. It was interesting to hear the opinion that it was not, in fact, common practice for Druchii to enslave their own at a whim. She also grew slightly annoyed at the fact that Iruvan tried his hardest to suppress any conversation they had by interjecting politely, but firmly.
"That brand at the very least prevents any flight risk. This is why we can make use of her expertise during the operation."
While the retainer arched an eyebrow, it took Yalene all her willpower to keep her expression carefully quizzical and ignorant and not burst into tears of joy. They were currently planning some espionage in a region that used Imperial crowns and traded much-needed food, and they really thought that this brand would keep her from running away. They were sailing for the Empire and took her along. In a way, they were just daring her to escape; perhaps this was even some sort of indirect ejection, since she now had done her duty to the captain, pointed him towards riches and was sent her merry way. Otherwise, she simply couldn't explain the sheer idiocy to take her along on such a task.
She just had to play the part of the demure, obedient woman a little longer, and then she would be free.
Meanwhile, Renath regarded her appraisingly. "Your hair is too fine for dye or bleach to properly work; it's mostly your skin that marks you as a Druchii. Wear a fitted disguise, fingerless gloves to hide the mark and wear make-up, and you should be able to fool even Asur for a while. I suspected you've done so before." He turned towards Iruvan. "This is an easy case to work with."
The first mate opened his mouth to answer, but was rudely interrupted by the sound of horns blaring outside. It was a strange, unnaturally loud sound, one that vibrated under the skin as if one was trembling in fear. Both Dark Elves tensed up, concern on their faces. It was Renath who marched to the window to take a look, only to curse under his breath.
"Chaos Fleet. I need to report to my Lady. We'll talk later." He stated calmly, his underlying nervousness barely bleeding through, as he hurried out of the door. Iruvan stayed behind, clearly disquieted as his face was contorted into a worried frown. Yalene shared his concern about what was clearly an upcoming attack, especially since she saw Hjördis in the corner of her eye, the Norscan smiling coldly and triumphantly as she stole a look out of the window.
"Yalene." Despite his obvious concern, the first mate sounded dissonantly calm and collected as he turned to her. "I need to report to my post. Get Hjördis and get to the Captain's quarters on this ship as quickly as possible. When you arrive, barricade the door and let nobody in until you hear Druhir again. Be careful." In the cover of the wax tablet she was carrying, he slipped her a slender blade, so small and inconspicuous that he must have hidden it in his sleeve earlier. His eyes wandered to Hjördis, then to her as he pressed the hilt into her hand, unnoticed by the increasingly excited human woman.
He needn't say more. Yalene understood.
After Iruvan had left, she bid Hjördis to follow her with a gesture, having tucked away the weapon out of sight in hopes that she wouldn't need it. The Norsca were well-known to be in league or at least aspiring to be with the creeping darkness and encroaching enemy that was commonly known as the Ruinous Powers, or simply Chaos. There were four Chaos Gods who eternally vied for power among themselves, and ever once in a while, tried to destroy the world. Her grandparents had had vivid memories of the last great war against Chaos, and how the Emperor at the time, Magnus the Pious, had risen a hero in the ensuing conflict. Nowadays, the armies of Chaos were a perpetual threat, the Beastmen and Greenskins associated with the Ruinous Powers roaming the deep and lush forests of the Empire, but being held in check.
Worshippers or cultists of the Ruinous Powers were executed mercilessly in the civilized world, as were mutants, humans who had been touched by Chaos, their bodies contorted grotesquely. But there was evidence about the perpetual threat from the north, in the Chaos Wastes, where the armies of demons gathered and waited for their next attack for centuries. From what Yalene had read in ancient texts, it was not exactly clear what happened to allow demons to enter this world, but the scholar community wondered if the ancient Norsii fought the enemy at least initially, or if they were always on the side of the enemy.
If the ancient Norsii had resisted, it had been such a long time ago that nobody even remembered. They had been one of the first to pledge their souls to the Ruinous Powers, long before the founding of the Empire. The Norscans had become the enemy themselves, raiding, pillaging, raping and murdering in the name of their Chaos Gods in an attempt to gain their favour. Most Chaos Warriors, the most dangerous of foes aside from demons, were taken from the ranks of Norscans … so it was no wonder that Hjördis was delighted. This was her chance to escape, her chance to regain her lost honour, and her chance to prove herself worthy in the eyes of her fellow Norscans.
When Yalene hurried through the dimly-lit corridors of the Ark, passing Druchii soldiers and sailors rushing to their stations, she kept a close eye on her fellow slave following her. Due to the chains at her feet, Hjördis couldn't run, but that didn't make her less dangerous. The tension about a potentially hostile companion was only heightened by the fact that turning to the next corridor, she found that their way was blocked by two Druchii.
Immediately, Yalene felt her blood run cold as she slowly backed off. The two men looked like sailors, having hurried down the hallway and having first been all too willing to just let her pass unmolested. But then, she had seen the glint of recognition and a sadistic glee in their eyes that made her blood curdle. Yalene had never seen them before, but their appearance was quite striking. One of them was lanky, with an oval face and cropped, white hair. The other wore his hair long, aside from the sides of his head being clean shaven. Their appearance and clothing was a bit more unkempt than it was usual at least on Ruvol's ship. It seemed that for all their glamour and fine cloth dye, elves were able to produce common riff-raff just like everybody else.
"Look what we have here …" The Druchii with the white hair sneered, inching closer with the malevolent grace of a cat at the sight of a wounded mouse. This seemed to amuse his companion. "Aren't these Blackwater's little playthings?"
Common riff-raff indeed. No doubt they had used cruder terms than 'playthings', but that was the best way to make sense of the unknown word they had just used. These two men meant her harm; this was the middle of an attack that she was not terribly concerned about, but these two Druchii still paused and looked at her and Hjördis as if they were a meal. Hjördis felt it too, since Yalene saw the other woman in the corner of her eye tense up. These two Druchii were dangerous, and while Yalene was certain that she could hurt neither of them in combat with her hidden knife for the lack of training and will, she was fine with them being hurt by somebody else. Since nobody else seemed to be in the vicinity, she made a decision while the white-haired Druchii slowly pulled his own dagger out of his sheath.
"Whatever shall we do with you, hm? What do you think?" The menace of his low voice was undercut by a lot of rambling about what this weapon might do to her skin and otorhinolaryngological orifices in a blatant and somewhat comical effort to scare her. They had revealed themselves as lethal bullies of the most common kind, as far as Yalene was concerned. While the Druchii was busy boasting, she played the intimidated, meek little slave, but in the guise of pushing Hjördis behind her, she slipped her the knife Iruvan had given her.
For a long moment of uncertainty, after she had felt Hjördis' fingers tighten around the hilt, she wondered if she had made the situation even worse. Even in her peripheral vision, she saw the Norscan lunge forward, she might have as well been the target. For a long, long moment, Yalene feared that this might've been the case, but was relieved when she saw Hjördis just flying past her, pouncing on one of the Druchii sailors with ferocious rage, plunging the knife into his throat. Yalene would never forget the baffled expression on his face as he sank down, blood gushing out of his wound, slain by the lowest of chained slaves.
The second Druchii had his throat slashed just as quickly, and he must have been dead before he hit the ground. All the while, Yalene was unable to move, the lump in her stomach feeling like a hundred stones. Her thoughts were spiralling out of control, as if somebody had just stopped time and space to take her back to that horrible night, when she had heard similar sounds of blades hissing through the air, similar noises of the dying gasps of her companions as well as her own. For a moment, Hjördis' figure turned into that of the witch, knife in hand. It made her feel all the fear and utter despair of that moment again, the warm blood flooding down her skin and the terrible feeling of trying to draw breath, only for it to be in vain. Instinctively, she grasped her own neck, only to find her collar there.
It never felt like a vision. It felt like reality, a reality that only faded when she felt the warm metal of her collar, and was surprised by the fact that she was able to move at all. She was also in the first moment surprised to see Hjördis standing before her at all, standing over the bodies of the elves, weighing her knife in her hand and eyeing Yalene with a curious expression on her face. Usually, this woman was always angry and confrontational. But now, the eerie calm calculation Yalene saw in her eyes was more chilling than any sneering comment she could have made.
'Sweet Shallya, she is going to kill me!' She thought, her instincts screaming for her to run away as fast as she could. But the muscles in her legs denied her service, as if chilled to ice by the whole, bloody situation. Both women knew what the other was thinking. The smug and piercing look on the Norscan's face said it all.
She had to take a deep breath to steady herself, but her voice was still a weak whisper. "You don't have to do this, Hjördis."
Yalene was never able to recall which language she had used, and never found out if the Norscan woman had been able or even willing to hear the words. But she certainly understood the meaning, and obviously revelled in knife-given superiority as she slowly and menacingly advanced.
"No more big words?", she sneered, every word laced with gleeful venom. Obviously, Hjördis had waited for this moment to take control of her life back and rain terrible vengeance down on any Dark Elf who had ever wronged her. The only one to stand before her happened to be Yalene. The Norscan could have slain her helpless terrified quarrel easily that day in all her predatory grace and glory, if it had not been for the comical stroke of fate that she stumbled over her chains. She had to pause, cursing in her native language, which finally woke Yalene up from her stupor.
In theory, it would have been easy to escape Hjördis with the chains around her feet. But that woman was resourceful, as she reached for one of the fallen elves' swords, not to attack Yalene, but rather her own chains. It would only be a matter of time until she broke them.
That was Yalene's cue. Finally, her legs obeyed, she just spun around and ran, ran as if all of hellish Morgheim was behind her. She didn't even spare any thought into the direction she was running, as long as it was away. She just darted through the now empty corridors without any plan, any orientation, just fleeing like an animal from a predator. Behind her, she heard one last clanging sound as her fellow slave succeeded in breaking her chains, and followed her with rattling steps.
In hindsight, Yalene thought that she could have handled things differently. While there was no reasoning with either the belligerent Druchii or Hjördis in that moment, there had been options. She could have run into a more productive direction, like Ruvol's quarters on the Ark, and then try to calm the Norscan down. She could have just tried to lose her much earlier instead of standing paralysed with fear. She could have made use of her minor talents and harnessed the winds of magic blowing strong that day, like trying to make her pursuer drop her weapon, or confuse her with some minor auditory illusion. But instead, she went with the worst possible solution by giving into panic and running for the next-best exit in hopes to shake her enraged pursuer.
That turned out to be one of her more ill-advised ideas, since when she finally passed an open gate that led to the deck, she was greeted with the overwhelming storm of a raging battle.
While she had already seen the terrible and ferocious fury of the Dark Elves in combat, she had never seen the forces of Chaos in battle. She had read about the sheer destruction and unspeakable atrocities that Chaos troops left behind, how there was no mercy to be had from them, only blood and corruption. She had also read descriptions about their large armoured forms and monstrous figures, about all the demons at their disposal. But words were mere sound and smoke, dimming the light of clarity that should have described the insanity that was this battlefield. Thick smoke filled the air, leaving every breath burning in the lungs like hot embers, while the clanging of weapons filled the air. Apparently, burning ships had rammed the hull of the Black Ark, allowing the warriors and creatures of Chaos to board. Flames licked at the blackened wood here and there, but this was only an accessory to the fierce fighting that had broken out. By the time that Yalene had unwittingly entered the gruesome battlefield, any lines or organisation on both sides had been completely and thoroughly broken, with any warrior fending for themselves. As great and magnificent as the Black Ark was, it seemed like a scaffold too small for a battle so vicious, so brutal and so bloody. The deck was already slick with the blood and gore of the fallen and littered with bodies, Chaos warrior and Druchii alike.
In this moment, Yalene couldn't make a distinction between Chaos warriors or other soldiers pledged to the Ruinous Powers. Some of them looked like crazed, unkempt madmen, clearly human, others were not recognizable under their thick plate armour. She also saw grotesque, mutated creatures stalking the battlefield, tall as a man, but only figures of teeth and claws, its very appearance a maddening affront to nature. To her witch sight, the battlefield looked worse, the winds of death blowing strong, but so tainted, so corrupted as if one was looking at a pile of soot on a bloodstained hill instead of a clear stream in the serene forest.
The most bizarre fears surfaced at the sight, the most prominent being that she didn't want to fall on the ground for fear of touching the blood. In fact, the blood dripping from weapons, oozing from wounds and severed limbs was strangely enough the thing that frightened her most in this scenery of brutal lethality. She also understood as if this were a dream that she was in the middle of it all, in grave danger, and that there was no way but forward. When she looked behind, she could see Hjördis behind her, and maddened with bloodlust, bellowed a battle-cry and charged at Yalene. It was telling that when being faced with the possibility of either running through a chaotic battlefield in which 'her' side seemed to be hard-pressed, or facing her fellow slave rushing towards her like an avatar of rage and vengeance, Yalene chose to run away from the latter.
This time, thankfully, her legs obeyed and obeyed well. She remembered how she survived the sacking of Hochfels by moving like she had been in a dream. But this time, her senses were oddly sharp, she was more comfortable with her body and knew better how it worked, how fast she could move. She also noticed that, while the Druchii corsairs and soldiers didn't go out of their way to acknowledge or assist her, they also didn't go out of their way to hinder her either. She even even accidentally ran into one soldier, his face covered by his helmet, who seemed mildly irritated and simply pushed her away before turning to his opponent. He couldn't be bothered with her presence, neither to harm nor to help.
Hjördis, however, kept screaming bloody murder behind her, even overshadowing the deafening sounds of battle. Darting through this mess of flurrying blades, Yalene had to evade a large swirling mass of magic in her path, a mass of magic that she was now recognizing as the Dark Magic that the Druchii were so fond of. She could barely see the Sorceress underneath the sheen of blackened tar that represented the winds of magic crushed together by her will alone; she only saw a slender woman, nearly nude, with long hair like snakes, exuding inuman confidence and a steely determination. It was an absolute devotion to power, domination through fear, single-minded and focused. If the sight of Dhar wouldn't have made her eyeballs hurt, Yalene might have been strangely inspired or frightened by this display of pure, raw strength and passion. When she turned around to remove herself from the situation, she was met with the form of a Chaos Warrior.
The first thing that Yalene had ever noticed about elves was that they were all unusually tall from a human standpoint, often towering over the common Imperial citizen. So it came to a surprise that she had to look up to the hulking shape of a man, covered head to toe in a thick plate armour. The Chaos star was emblazoned on his breastplate, his cloak trimmed with what looked like a wolf pelt. His face was hidden by a closed, horned helmet that gave him even more of a demonic appearance. The vicious blade in his hands was dripping with blood as he seized her up. He radiated bloodlust, even more so than any Druchii ever had in her presence. When the elves gave in to their bloodlust, there was always an element of refinement, some sort of savage elegance that made them so frightening. They were civilized beasts, but this Chaos Warrior was not even that. He was just a beast.
The Chaos Warrior had paused to seize her up, and had evidently determined that she was easy pickings. The first swing of his sword, Yalene dodged by ducking, the backswing she dodged by anticipating the blow and swiftly leaping aside. The Chaos Warrior rose to full height again, and under his helmet, there was a low rumble that must have been a chuckle. Then, he charged with unnatural force, so fast that Yalene was barely able to roll away, this time hitting the ground although she had tried to avoid that. Her heart sank as she noticed that she had accidentally manoeuvred herself into the corner. While the battle was raging around them, the Chaos Warrior now looming over her while she had landed on her bottom, trying to back away from him. She had to stop when her back hit a wooden wall.
'It's all over now', Yalene thought, suddenly feeling very cold. 'After all I have survived, all that I have done. It meant nothing.' It was the strangest thing that this thought filled her with sorrow that even overshadowed her paralysing fear. Now that the end seemed certain, she was not afraid anymore, and any feeling she had was replaced with loss and despair. She would be slain by this creature of Chaos. From what she had seen on the battlefield, the Druchii were struggling and it was likely that they would be overwhelmed. This glorious ship would sink, and everything she had learned and endured would be for naught. Everybody, every elf, every slave would meet either painful death or worse – corruption.
Those thoughts broke her heart. Why she did not cry in this moment, she didn't know. Perhaps Dark Elves were unable to cry, and were only left with aching eyes, like she was now.
She slumped back and watched passively as the Chaos warrior lifted his for the killing blow. Her instincts made Yalene curl together and protect her head, turning her back towards her attackers in her crouching position. Looking death in the eye was something that she wasn't keen to do again, so it made sense to close her eyes and waited for the sword to end her life.
But this last blow never came. Instead, she heard Hjördis' voice again.
When Yalene opened her eyes, she saw that the Norscan had finally caught up to didn't look like she belonged on the battlefield, wearing the bloodstained, revealing dress of a domestic slave, her hair neatly brushed and braided. But her smile, the hateful gleam in her eye made her belong to the mindless killers of Chaos. She was now talking to the Chaos warrior in their shared language, which in itself was insanity. While many Norscans aspired to become a true Champion of Chaos, it took a special kind of boldness - or gall - to disturb one when he slew his prey. The way Hjördis gestured, the cold confidence in her demeanour, the triumph in her eyes made it clear to Yalene what she had said: 'That one is mine.' So Yalene's death was now argued over. How lovely.
She prepared herself to plead in vain with the Norscan, to at least not slip quietly into the night, but it turned out that the previously unmoving and somewhat incredulous looking Champion of Chaos had something to say about the matter. First were the sounds, when Yalene heard the sound of a blade cutting through flesh and bone, the clanking of a sword falling to the ground, the surprised gasp of the woman that she had come to know as her fellow slave. It took a moment for her to register that the Chaos Warrior had impaled Hjördis on his sword, who looked more baffled than anything else. He had driven his weapon into her body to the hilt, blade sticking out of her back. Instead of pulling the blade out of the dying woman, he disgustingly went for a horizontal cut, almost pulling the poor woman apart. Splinters of bone and innards splattered to the ground, but Hjördis never screamed, never made another sound. The baffled look on her face remained frozen, as the Chaos Warrior pushed her body towards Yalene as if it were a ragdoll. She was buried under the weight of Hjördis' muscular body. He had straight-up murdered one of his own, and for what? For destruction? For blood?
Now it was her turn. But before the Chaos Warrior could raise his weapon again, he paused, only to freeze in his movements as he was hit by an icy gale, encasing him in what looked to Yalene like blackened, living ice which drained every ounce of life out of him. Even from her position, she could see the winds of magic crushed into a spell so potent that it swept a part of the battlefield, magic so powerful and terrible that it was almost beyond her understanding. She did know, however, that the mix of seeing this nauseating, terrifying and at the same time awesome display of magic from the Druchii Sorceress she had seen earlier was so disturbing that she felt like fainting. In reality, she had just curled into a ball and had to shut the world out as not to lose herself in some fantasy or dream in which everything was fine, where it was always spring and she was always safe. She had to forget for a moment that she was buried under Hjördis' body that was rapidly bleeding out, staining her, that she was lying on a bloodsoaked ground, with at least three bodies lying in her direct sight, and only one of them a Chaos Warrior. She had to forget what the soul of the departing Chaos Warrior looked like, and how she could feel him screaming in pain as he was devoured by his god, even though his body laid still and he didn't make a sound anymore.
She didn't know how long she lay there in blood, but when she finally came to her senses, Hjördis' body was cold and the sounds of battle had died down, although which side had won eluded her until she rose, spattered with blood and shaking from the ordeal. The whole Ark was littered with bodies, and amidst the smoke she could see that the only people still standing were Dark Elves.