Druchii School: a Warhammer Fantasy Fanfiction
Deathnight Denied
"I swear," Malekith started, breaking the silence of the breakfast table, "Hellebron was up to it again. All. Fucking. Night."
"What, so you couldn't hear your mom?" Malus retorted.
"Eat a dick. She said she'd only host her 'party' once a week. This is easily the third time since Monday."
Malekith paused to make brief eye contact with everyone else at the table, "do you have any idea how hard it is to study when there's a blood-orgy next door?"
"Oh yes, I'm sure it was very difficult to 'study'," Rakarth started, "we all know you were watching anime or jerking off. Besides, it sounds like the pleasure cults have toned themselves down if they're only having orgies three times a week."
Malekith ignored the scathing remark, "I've got to stop her if I'm ever going to retake my rightful place on the throne."
Malus spoke up angrily, "stop calling Valedictorian the throne!"
With deftness and speed, Malekith quickly withdrew a large can from the backpack leaning against his chair, "watch your tone, schizo-boy" he said while dangling the can of monster energy.
Malus quickly went silent and looked down at the table while Malekith replaced the can and adjusted the gauze on his arm.
"Want that I should scuttle them? I could board their vessel with me cutlasses and- "
Rakarth, in an uncharacteristic blurt, cut off Lokir, "Fuck off, Lokir. As amusing as it would be to see you try to use those Walmart machetes, we all know Hellebron would kick your ass."
"Arrgh" Lokir grunted.
"That's right, she was the captain of the fencing team way back when…" Rakarth mused.
"Yeah," Malus started, "back when she went here with Mor-"
The conversation was cut by the sharp tolling of a bell.
"Yarr, I be settin' sail for first period." Lokir remarked as he slipped on his backpack.
A loose chorus of affirmative grunts followed as the band rose from their seats and dispersed.
"And so, by following the formula and practice, not only can you turn your enemies into lead, but you can also teach them SEARING DOOM!"
Mr. Gelt, doing his usual theatrics, failed to garner similar enthusiasm from the chemistry class. Somewhere on a lower floor, a muffled yet synchronized call of "DOOOOOOOOOM" rang out in response.
Malekith stared at his notebook between rounds of scanning the classroom in an effort to look attentive. Out of the corner of his eye, the chemistry teacher held a sword aloft and with a wave of his staff the sword came crashing down onto Mr. Gelt's desk.
"You'd swear it was made of lead, because now it is!" The class remained silent as Mr. Gelt analyzed their reactions, "You'll have the rest of class to work on your formulas. Turn them in on your way out."
Malekith scratched the formulas into his notebook via a dull pencil. His writing was methodical, a practice he had inadvertently developed from years of school.
Maybe if I put sedative in her wine? Maybe Laxative? Has anyone made an un-Viagra?
Trapped in his state of thought, the minutes passed while his formulas remained unfinished. Before he knew it, the next bell had rung. Without a word, the students rose and formed a line to turn in their papers and exited the room. Malekith, despite the half-finished nature of his work, had other matters to be concerned over.
Sitting silently at the same table as before, Malekith picked at his lunch. Across the table, Rakarth ate his usual posh food. On either side of him, Lokir struggled to eat a sandwich made of homemade hardtack while Malus omitted food entirely in favor of his monster energy drink.
Tables had been set up throughout the room in such a way that different cliques had their own tables on which to congregate. The wall on the opposing side of the room was made entirely of glass and readily displayed the gloomy landscape and dim sunlight. The bright white light of the overhead lamps helped to counter this by giving a sense of shelter.
Rakarth looked up at Malekith, "still pondering on your neighbor's debauchery?"
"I'm not sure what to do."
Malus interjected, "you could always drug their wine, it worked once."
"No one's going to let me near their wine after that," Malekith replied, "and besides, Hellebron wouldn't give me the time of day on account of my mother."
Malekith briefly recalled the incident, wine, laxative, fire, searing pain…
"Yarr, then how's about we break up the party? I've got me mask so they'd have narry an idea who done it."
"I'm sure there are many, many pirate impersonators who flaunt their machetes in town." Rakarth remarked with his usual blank yet condescending expression.
Malekith pondered the notion, his desperation adding to how seriously he took it, "We'll keep that as a backup plan."
"I can't fucking believe we went with the backup plan," Malekith whispered to Malus, "are you sure you don't want to help? Maybe let Tz'arkan out for a bit?"
"You can't really call it a backup plan if you didn't have any other plans" Rakarth chimed.
"I can't, I repressed the daemon before I arrived. He vied for control of my soul but…"
"Dammit," Malekith started, "so that's where that can of monster went."
"Quiet," Rakarth interrupted, "I can't believe I have to explain this to you two but if you don't want to be noticed then you must be silent."
"Yarr, I be the skiff on still water."
The four, under the cover of night, crouched in the bushes waiting for their opportunity. Dull, yellow light streamed from the nearby house, providing a contrast to the dim light of the waning moons.
The structure was mansion-like, with great quantities of black, polished stone present in it's lower walls and a tower that protruded from a rear corner. Around it stood a black wrought iron fence so dark that it was nearly indistinguishable from the night's landscape.
Figures and silhouettes flashed behind the smoked glass of the windows, "far too many to just be Hellebron, it must be happening again" Rakarth deduced.
Malekith looked over at Lokir while Malus and Rakarth kept their gaze fixed on the window. The laughter echoing from the house was slowly changing into more of a sensual tone. The pace and progression of the event was indicative of the expertise honed by the pleasure cults.
"Are you ready?"
"Aye, I've brought me booty, nay boarding pike nor staunch crew would hinder the scuttle."
"I'm starting to wonder how much of what you say is intelligible" Rakarth whispered.
In the dim combined light, Malekith glanced at what Lokir had brought. In his hands were a long, flat board and a round stone about the size of an apple. These were in addition to the usual pair of cheap machetes sheathed at his sides.
Catching his words in his throat, Malekith refrained from asking further about Lokir's exact plan. Ignorance would make denying affiliation easier.
Meanwhile, the brothel's chorus of moans from Hellebron's mansion grew louder and would likely continue for several hours late into the night.
"Now!" Malekith signaled to Lokir with a pointed gesture.
Quickly and quietly, Lokir stood and vaulted over the fence, setting out for the nearest window. The silhouettes only grew more frantic on his approach.
Holding the stone aloft, Lokir shouted, "fire!" In a shot-put like movement, he hurled the stone through the window, shattering the smoked glass. The sensuous sounds came to a sudden stop as profanities of curiosity replaced them.
Lifting the board into the broken window, Lokir shouted again, "prepare to be boarded!"
Drawing his machetes as he ran up the plank he disappeared into the window as shouts of anger met the intruder.
"How long do you think he'll last?" Malus asked openly.
"I suspect he's being escorted out now." Rakarth replied.
A few minutes passed before the front door swung open, casting the same dull, yellow light dangerously close to the bushes they were hiding in.
"Get the fuck out of here you little shit!" Hellebron's voice rang distinctly, being shrill and reminiscent of a crone.
Holding Lokir off the ground in one hand, she threw him down the stone steps of her front door. Waiting until he had reached the bottom step, Hellebron slammed the door behind her.
Quickly leaving the bushes to retrieve their injured comrade, Malekith was surprised to see Lokir spattered with blood.
"Are you ok? Did you actually hurt anyone?"
Lokir coughed, "Nay, 'twere already blood a plenty in that whore house" he coughed again before continuing, "me cutlasses weren't ready for the occasion, if only I'd brought me sea-dragon cloak…"
"That trench coat wouldn't have compensated for your lack of swordsmanship" Rakarth remarked as he calmly stepped closer.
Sharper voices began to murmur through the broken window, Hellebron's being distinct, "how much is this going to cost?"
Each offering a shoulder, Malekith and Malus hoisted Lokir and made a quick exit of the premises with Rakarth taking the lead.
"At least I can have some peace tonight" Malekith thought to himself.
The Horrors of Home
Malekith peered from his window at the snow-covered landscape. The dull light of an overcast morning left the landscape stained gray. The dry grass, large rocks, and occasional pine tree now sported the same colors while a chill crept indoors. It was as if the sky was only ever overcast and gray with the only change in color occurring at sunset. In the distance, a piece of plywood covered the broken window of Hellebron's house.
"I hate snow." Malekith said to himself.
Wrapping his arms in gauze, he wondered about it's insulating properties until his thoughts were interrupted, "Honey, get your breakfast while you can!"
The voice rang from downstairs, from the dining room. Malekith shivered.
"Alright!" He answered through his partially opened door.
He stood, staring into the wall, a sense of dread washing over him. His sense of safety evaporated slowly as he donned his black jacket. Turning to his door and listening, he heard a faint clatter coming from the dining room.
She's still there, dammit.
Malekith quickly took his seat at the dining table, his plate had been prepared and was placed waiting for him. Morathi busied herself in the kitchen, wineglass in hand, but approached on hearing Malekith's chair scrape the tile floor.
With a half smirk, she started, "what's going on at school today?"
Malekith, being completely unaware of the day's schedule muttered a response, "I think a test or something. You know principal Mazdamundi and his tests."
"Oh, that old toad. I remember his assembly speeches, you'd swear Melkoth himself had cast his miasma on his brain" Morathi said with a sinisterly cheerful demeanor.
Malekith ate his breakfast as quickly as he could but despite his efforts Morathi closed the gap and now stood next to him. She rubbed his back and shoulders, her touch piercing the jacket and bandages underneath. Malekith held back a shiver and urge to move away as his dread intensified and the scent of wine grew stronger.
"Did you hear what happened to Hellebron? Someone attacked her 'I'm not a crone' party."
"Yeah, I heard something about that" he replied through quick bites of food.
"Oh really?" She continued, "I heard something about a masked pirate, or at least someone pretending to be one. You wouldn't happen to know anyone like that, would you?"
Malekith barely took time between bites to answer her, "can't say I have, we're pretty far from the sea so I don't think there'd be any pirates here."
"I really wish that old hag would stop trying, her parties aren't fooling anyone" Morathi remarked with a smirk and slight chuckle between a sip of wine.
"That's rich coming from you, you two were in the same graduating class" rang through Malekith's mind, testing his sense of restraint.
"I'm off" Malekith announced as he finished his breakfast and started for the front door.
Pushing the heavy wooden door, he heard familiar chatter outside. As it creaked further open, his dread eclipsed itself as he saw his fellows waiting outside on the cement pathway leading to the sidewalk. Their chatter ceased as soon as they saw him, or more accurately, looked behind him.
"Have a good day-" Morathi called out as Malekith slammed the door.
Rakarth held a look of disgust, Lokir blushed and looked at the ground, Malus smiled and asked, "does your mom always dress like that?"
Without a word, Malekith gave Malus a shove and set off for school. Rakarth was the first to follow, his look of disgust giving way to his usual condescending expression. Malus followed, his smile remaining.
Being the last to leave Malekith's front yard, Lokir muttered to himself, "yarr, a milf like that'd see me settle on land for good."
A Tournament of Spite
"Can you feel that?" Rakarth asked.
"Feel what?" Malus replied.
"There's something in the air, the student's usual vitriol is stronger today" Rakarth elaborated.
"Just because you spend all your time with your pets doesn't mean you can sense things, you know" Malekith retorted with a look of satisfaction. It was rare that Rakarth left himself open to other's caustic remarks.
However, taking time to listen, Malekith noticed what Rakarth was allegedly sensing. The breakfast tables were quieter than usual, the students huddled a little closer and their gaze shifted more frequently.
"Dammit, I know what it is" Rakarth exclaimed, "those cunts from Ulthuan are here today. Damn the fencing club."
Malekith felt his dread and hostility spike, "that means Tyrion will be here, fuck."
As if conjured by his very name, Malekith heard a familiar, hated voice behind him, "well, if it isn't the bitch king. How're those burns treating you?"
Turning around in his seat, Malekith saw the distinct form of Tyrion clad in his school's white uniform. His clothing was immaculate. Buttons shined, the accenting gold, silver, and blue shone brightly. He held his gilded fencing helmet against his side, leaving his face exposed. His hair hung to the base of his neck, his nose was pointed and narrow, his eyes shone under slanted eyebrows. By elven standards he was beautiful.
Malekith was in stark contrast to this, his tendency towards all black attire failed to hide the occasional stain and wrinkle in his clothes. Pondering briefly, Malekith was unsure as to the last time he had washed his jacket. His black hair had a slight sheen from not having been washed, his facial features were similar to Tyrion but his pale skin was heavily accented by his raven hair. The skin below his eyes darkened, most likely due to a lack of sunlight. The bandages that emerged from his sleeves were sullied and yellowed.
"Asurian's flame may have rejected me, but I will have it once I retake the throne." Malekith deepened his voice in an effort of intimidation.
"As if," Tyrion started after a quick scoff, "the throne craves someone greater than you'll ever be. As it stands right now it has just that."
Fluttering his coat, Tyrion looked back at his entourage who all kept their gaze fixed on Malekith. There were several of them, all clad in similarly immaculate uniforms. However, Tyrion's twin Teclis was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's your cripple?" Malus spoke first.
Ignoring his question, Tyrion turned toward Malus, "I suspect that if you're lucky then you'll face me in the tournament today. That is assuming you don't get knocked out first."
Malus felt for the can of monster energy in his backpack, "You're lucky, Tz'arkan will be subdued today. You might even have a chance against me."
Rakarth watched the scene unfold between bouts of covering his face in shame, "I can't believe I associate with these cretins."
Tyrion, hearing Rakarth's mutterings directed his attention to the elf, "that scar does little marring in comparison to the rest of your inherent ugliness. What's this? I don't see that pet lizard of yours in your shirt, did you finally muster the allowance for a heat lamp?"
Rakarth held his anger long enough for the first bell to ring. It would be four hours until the fencing tournament that the entire school was obligated to spectate would start.
Exchanging glares, Malekith and his associates strode to the nearest hall to start their school day.
"Yarr, I got off easy" Lokir announced.
"Screw you, ass-pirate!" Tyrion shouted as they rounded a corner and went out of sight.
It was a fight fitting of a multi-generational rivalry. The annual fencing championship between the two schools had longed to reach its climax between the native Executioners and the visiting Swordmasters.
The tournament was held in the indoor basketball court on a long, rectangular mat which designated the fencing area. The bleachers had been extended on one side of the room, granting ample seating for the local dark elves. Across the room, the scattered coaches and the occasional family member stood to cheer on the Swordmasters.
"I still can't get over their name," Rakarth thought aloud, "Swordmasters? How unimaginative and arrogant."
"That's rich coming from you" Malekith chimed.
"Yarr, there be no lie in the names. If ye took yer spyglass to the charts, ye'd see that we be better with the killin' blows but they be better in the overall art of swordsmanship."
"Quiet Lokir," Malekith hushed, "Malus is about to come out."
The announcer shouted into the stands, "Up next, we have our own Malus Darkblade against the visiting Allistair the White Lion!"
The gym roared with enthusiasm as Malus emerged from the home locker room drinking a tall can of Monster Energy. Bathed in dull, white light from the overhead lamps, he was the first to reach the fighting area. His pale skin was protected by his black-plate fencing armor. By all means the plate armor was unnecessary barring the occasional "accidental" use of a sharpened sword but the commitment to traditional armor was respected.
Malekith glanced out a window on the opposite side of the room. Outside, the usual tourney field was covered in snow. Scattered pine trees towered in the distance against an overcast sky. Even further off, mountains loomed, their snow-capped peaks in stark contrast to their black coloration.
Malekith's gaze was drawn back to the fighters as a dull roar of disapproval sounded from his classmates. The familiar form of Allistair emerged from among the Swordmasters and made a hurried pace towards Malus with his long, white locks blowing behind him. However, something was wrong about him.
"Does that bum-tumbler have a great-axe?" Rakarth openly asked.
The referee attempted to cut off the now charging Allistair but it was too late. Malus raised his sword in an effort to block but Allistair's swing was too strong. The dulled axe clashed against Malus' sword and continued on its course until it collided with his shoulder.
Malus quickly stepped away, grasping the stricken area and crying out in pain. Turning with what was now a glare of animalistic rage, he lunged at Allistair but this time the referee managed to block the charge. Others quickly approached and broke up the two, ushering Malus into the locker room and Allistair back to his team.
A short while went by with the dark elves getting more upset by the minute before the announcer spoke again, "Malus Darkblade will not be continuing due to a broken collar bone! Due to obvious events, Allistair the White Lion is disqualified!"
Under the mixed cheers and roars of the auditorium, Malekith whispered to himself, "damn lions."
"Fucking idiot, this isn't a LARPing session" Rakarth groaned.
The fights continued over the course of an hour. By the last match, the Swordmasters had lived up to their namesake and had more points. The Executioners held their reputation, causing the most 'deaths' and injuries. Despite this, it seemed the Swordmasters would win as there was no one to fight Tyrion for the title of champion. Knowing this, Tyrion stood in the fighting area, holding his sword and off-hand aloft in a display of pride and prowess.
The announcer spoke, "with no one to meet Tyrion in the arena, he is the winner! By default!"
The dark elves groaned in disappointment and despair, only to be cut off by an all-too-familiar, all-too-slow voice.
"Theeerrrrrreeeee iiiiiiiisssssss… nooooooo suuuuuuch thiiiinnnnggggg aaaaasssss aaaaaannnnnn uuuuuuuntesssteeeeeed chaaaaammpiiioooooonnnnn…"
The auditorium turned to see principle Mazdamundi rolling through the double doors in his wheelchair. Stopping, he raised both arms and in a brief moment, a blue orb of light formed between them. Expanding explosively, the orb blinded the attendants as its glow brightened exponentially before quickly dimming into darkness.
With everyone rubbing their eyes, a familiar, shrill voice rang out, "Hellebron!"
"No one asked who you are!" Rang out from the crowd of Swordmasters.
Standing a short span in front of Mazdamundi was the familiar figure of Crone Hellebron. Her pale skin, lanky and sinewy limbs as well as her outdated hairstyle gave away the age that she so desperately fought to conceal. Hearing the shout, she quickly turned to face the Ulthuani visitors with a glare in her eyes and a smirk on her lips. Like a bestigor, she immediately picked Tyrion as the visiting champion. After quickly picking up the fencing blade that Malus dropped, she approached Tyrion as the rest of the Swordmasters cleared the fencing area.
"Halt!" The announcer started, having regained his grip on the event, "graduates cannot fence with students, even if summoned by the faculty!"
The announcer cast a quick glare at Mazdamundi who sat with a blank expression. Hellebron had halted her charge while Tyrion held his sword in a defensive posture.
"As such, it has been determined that there will be no fencing champion this year!" The announcer's voice rang out ever enthusiastically.
In contrast to this, the auditorium remained quiet with everyone, including the visiting Ulthuani team, exchanging looks of minor confusion and apathy.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," Rakarth started, "but I honestly don't think we should have taken time out of classes for that.
Lokir and Malekith muttered their agreement as the band traveled down the sidewalk. The sun was nearing the horizon and cast ever-lengthening shadows from the scattered trees and rocks. Malus walked behind them, his arm slung and a sense of enmity radiating from his form.
Glancing back, Malekith whispered to Rakarth, "are you supposed to sling an arm for a broken collar bone?"
"I'm not sure, none of my menagerie have ever suffered such an injury."
"I can hear you pricks!" Malus shouted at the three, "and no, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to sling an arm for a fucking broken collar bone!"
Lokir turned around and continued walking backwards, "how do ye intend to care for yerself? Ye've narry a crew for yer quarters."
"Fuck off, I've been living by myself for long enough to figure that one out."
"Spoken like a true Drachau" Rakarth chimed.
The Color of Indulgence
"Fuck, I'm bored" Malus blurted out into the silent atmosphere.
The group were strewn about Malekith's living room, it's square arrangement of couches each held one sprawled elf. The fireplace crackled in the wall perpendicular to the front door, next to which was the open archway to the kitchen. The dark leather of the couches along with the white drywall were illuminated with a mixture of pale light from the dimming sun above an overcast sky and the wavering light of the fire.
"He said he'd be back by now," Malekith responded half to himself, "Hellebron isn't even home and her window's still broken."
"Perhaps she left a mimic chest for the dimwit" Rakarth chimed in as he coddled the lump moving under his shirt.
As it were, the house belonged to the band for the weekend as both Morathi and Hellebron had been called away to the yearly Pleasure-Cult meeting. The wine of the house left in tandem with Morathi on account of Malekith's untrustworthy history with the beverage.
Suddenly there was a loud knock at the door that saw the elves jump slightly in surprise. Malekith rose and strode across the living room to answer it. Upon opening the door slightly, the familiar masked form of Lokir burst into the room.
"You cretin," Rakarth shouted as a reptilian head stuck itself out of the neck of his shirt, "you startled Bracchus!"
"Damn yer lizard" Lokir shouted between heavy breaths, "the crone put some kind of toothed chest in the brig, damn near took me head off!"
Rakarth's expression passed from surprise to amusement as he cracked an uncharacteristic smile.
"Did you get the wine?" asked Malus insistently.
"Nay, she scuttled her own hold 'afore she left," Lokir took several deep breaths as he calmed down, "But she did leave a firkin o' Bugman's."
Lokir produced a small barrel from under his trench coat to the sounds of disgust from the others.
"Dwarven swill?!" Rakarth remarked with vitriol as Malus turned away in disappointment while Malekith threw his hands into the air briefly in disbelief and made for the kitchen.
Sensing the atmosphere of growing hostility, Lokir spoke again, "aye, ye've narry to fear. In me days at sea I've seen a ritual. Aye… once 'twere we were stuck in the Underworld Sea with nay grog to go around…"
"Just get to the bloody point!" Rakarth shouted, having returned to coddling Bracchus.
"The crew prayed te the Dark Prince and he rewarded us. Through our sober debauchery, 'e saw fit te bless our water."
Malekith reappeared from the kitchen, "Malus I know you want to get drunk tonight but I'm not going to play a game of soggy biscuit to invoke Slaanesh."
"Nay," Lokir interjected, "'twere no butt-piracy among me crew, ye simply place yer member in a mouse trap whilst invoking his name!"
The other elves fell silent and cast wayward looks at each other.
Malus spoke first, "should we draw straws?"
Following Rakarth's initial refusal, It was Lokir who found himself at the mercy of a mousetrap. With the firkin of Bugman's resting in front of the fire with an end taken off, the three gathered around Lokir who knelt just above the trigger. A quick invocation of the Dark prince was followed by the loud snap of the mousetrap and Lokir's screams of agony. Malekith and Malus winced sympathetically while Rakarth made minimal effort to hide his smile of amusement.
Lokir arose, the mousetrap still dangling, "Yarr, I hope this was worth it."
While he gingerly removed the device, the other three cautiously approached the dwarven beer. In the flickering light of the fire, it was difficult to see any changes. The dark brown beverage bubbled slightly but otherwise remained the same.
Turning towards Lokir, Rakarth began his taunting, "sorry to say it but it seems your suffering was in vain."
Lokir glared through his mask, "save yer words and ye save yerself from a keelhaulin'".
"Wait," Malus started, "look."
The other elves gathered around to see what had become of the beer. Like a drop of blood in still water, a dark cloud had appeared deep in the center of the firkin and was slowly working its way outward. Within a minute, the beverage was no longer recognizable as Bugman's.
Malus, being the proposer of the plan, was the first to retrieve a glass from the kitchen and dip it into the firkin. What was once a brown, foamy beer that had been a source of dwarven pride for millennia was now flat and purple.
"Of course he'd make it purple" Malekith remarked as Malus sniffed the beverage.
"It smells herbal, almost like fresh licorice" he noted.
Tasting it, Malus closed his eyes in sensual ecstasy, "damn that's good."
The others quickly took to the kitchen and returned with Styrofoam cups while Rakarth complained, "of all the laziness I've seen, we're really going to use these?"
Without removing his gaze from the purple liquid Malekith replied, "If you want to clean the glasses then you can, but I won't."
The remaining three filled their cups while Malus sat on one of the couches. His head tilted back and his mouth was slightly ajar. With a soft clink of Styrofoam, the three toasted and sipped from their cups.
"Sweeter than I'd expect" Rakarth started.
"Aye, tastes like it did on the Underworld Sea" Lokir reminisced.
"You know, it would be easier to drink if you didn't have that octopus mask on" Malekith remarked between sips.
Lokir remained silent and found a seat on the couch, cup still in-hand. The others followed suit and the four sipped their beverages in silence. Before long, the band were in the throes of chemical ecstasy. Each was sprawled with their mouths agape in silence until Malus spoke.
"Shit" he said as if whispering, "I can't feel my broken collar bone anymore."
"Must be nice" Malekith said dryly as if he were out of breath.
A few more moments passed before Malus broke the silence once more. His face had grown paler, his veins now shone through his skin like the dark rivers of Naggaroth. Purple light the color of Shyish emanated from his eyes as his pupils contracted into slits. Clenching his fists, he quickly rose from the couch and bore a look of demonic rage.
Breathing deeply, Malus shouted to the silent room and surrounding landscape in a deep, sinister voice that wasn't truly his, "I love lean!"
As daylight crept across the floor of the living room, the group had congregated around the firkin. Now more visible, it would seem that nothing had changed. It was half-empty now, but the contents had returned to their previous brown frothy character.
"I'm going to stab anyone if they suggest calling out to Slaanesh again" Malus announced.
How Little We Know
"Remind me again why the science department is on the lowest level… And why it's so dimly lit?" Malus asked, his voice echoing slightly down the dark corridors along with the clinking clatter of chains.
"They just seem to prefer it, but it seems like a safety hazard to me." Rakarth replied, the smoothness of his voice failing to garner the same echo.
"What you should be wondering" Malekith started, "is why I had to come with you for something so banal as escorting slaves to the science department."
"Yarr, Mazdamundi does nay let narry a single party venture down here themselves. Much like my travels on the underworld sea-"
"Quiet Lokir, something's rustling down the hall."
After hushing Lokir, Malekith peered into the darkness. The clinking of the slaves' chains stopped as they remained hushed. Hunched figures seemingly skittered down the intersecting passages, pausing briefly to look at the party of elves. A few moments went by before the shadows left the corridor and the party continued on their venture.
"Listen and watch closely, I don't intend to remain here any longer than I must" Rakarth chided as he jerked the slaves' chains.
The clinking continued as the party wordlessly made their way down the corridor. The elves shot quick, aggressive glances down intersecting hallways. The further they went, the more the hallways were illuminated by a dull green glow. The silence was broken by a raspy yet energetic voice.
"Now-now!"
Suddenly, a dozen skaven leapt from the shadows as the elves drew their weapons. In the span of a seconds, the party was surrounded.
The stand-off ended as a voice came in over the intercom, "You-you join slaves, come with clan-rats! Prefer alive, yes-yes!"
"Fuck that," Malekith started, "we'll be dropping off these slaves and then we'll be going. I don't care how important your department is."
One of the surrounding skaven began to twitch violently as he shouted to the others, "they say no-no, kill!"
The skaven rushed the elves from all sides with swords made from "scavenged" bicycle parts as the elves readied themselves. The clash was one-sided. Druchii blades whirled, slashing and severing as the skaven fell like wheat before a scythe. As the battle continued, the occasional slave was dragged away or cut down with brutally dull and jagged blades.
As the skaven's numbers dwindled, one shouted out, "Fight-fight another day!"
With this call, the surviving skaven fled into the darkness, leaving the floor slick with blood. The remaining slaves stood in terror as the screams of those abducted echoed and faded down the corridors.
Suddenly, the intercom came on again, "hrrrgh! Fool-fool elf things! Science department plans unstoppable, yes-yes! A bomb we made-built, make whole school smell like shit-stink! We take-take, we rule-rule! Molder finally get-acquire the recognition it deserves, yes-yes!"
The elves shot glances at each other as Malus spoke, "I guess we shouldn't come to school tomorrow."
"Yarr, I don't feel like defusing a bomb." Lokir chimed in.
"I don't have time for this," Malekith started as he moved to return to the upper levels, "leave the slaves."
Rakarth was the last to join the group as they walked away, "I almost pity the poor wretch who has to clean that up. And what a waste of good humans, too."
A Grim Portent
"The search for new beasts never ends" Rakarth said to himself as if it were a mantra.
"I thought we were hunting" Malus retorted as he carried a crossbow.
The crunch of leaves resounded through the forest and foretold of inexperienced hunters. The black bark of the pine trees stood against the myriad of colors on the forest floor. Fallen leaves, rich soil, and the occasional boulder were the tapestry of the season.
"Until Morathi gets back I don't have a way to get groceries. It doesn't matter if you catch anything, Rakarth. As the de-facto leader of our group, I'm taking it."
"Who the fuck shit themselves and made you the leader?" Malus replied, keeping his gaze fixed forward.
Rakarth remained silent and sniffed the breeze, along with him the group halted and scanned their surroundings. As could be expected of novice hunters, little to no information was gleaned.
"Yarr, mayhaps we should remain here, concealed like buried treasure." Lokir suggested quietly.
"What? Do you think the deer are just going to come to us?" Malekith snapped.
The band resumed their trek, continuously scanning the surrounding woods and listening closely. Their walk continued for several minutes before Rakarth tripped.
"Bitch" Malus chimed as Rakarth stood himself up and looked at what had inconvenienced him.
"A horn?" Malus asked in confusion.
The group studied it, the horn was similar to a goat's but had an odd twist to it, as if it was caught between being a corkscrew and a scimitar.
"Strange…" Rakarth stated quietly.
"I guess that means there's goats here, or something." Malus started.
"Goats don't drop their horns like that," Malekith chimed, "It would have to be something else. Maybe something killed a goat."
"Then the crossbows be a good thing to have" Lokir exclaimed as he tightened his grip on his own crossbow.
"Wait," Rakarth said in a firm tone, "do you see that over there?"
Gesturing off into the woods, something hung from a tree and flapped gently in the breeze.
Without a word, the group began to approach the strange object. As they neared, the smells of blood and decay began to make themselves present. Hiding behind trees, the group held back words of disgust. The object hanging from the tree was a flap of skin, dripping with blood. It hung over a clearing among even more gruesome features.
Chewed bones and flayed hides littered a small clearing. The skins varied, from deer to wolves with some taking on humanoid features and shapes. A small pile of severed heads and body parts stood in the middle of the clearing in various stages of decay.
"Beastmen?" Malus quietly asked Rakarth.
"Maybe, they are known cannibals. But why the hides?"
A sudden voice came from behind Malekith, "What are you doing in my swamp?"
Malekith shrieked and fired his crossbow into the dirt while the others turned and raised their weapons. Instead of the hideous visage of a gor, the elves were surprised to see one of their own. This elf stood tall and lanky, his pale skin and black hair being a textbook example of Druchii features. His clothing was mostly leather but featured a cape made of what appeared to be human skin.
"Mengil?" Malus asked.
The elf smiled, showing off teeth that had been filed to points, "As if anyone else would be out here."
"I thought you were studying abroad in Tilea?" Malekith added.
"That place got boring, and they kicked me out" Mengil started, "so I came back here."
"You abandoned your life as a student so you could live like a savage in the forest?" Rakarth asked bluntly.
"Something like that, but there's another reason for me being back here in Naggaroth."
"What be your reason?" Lokir asked through his Cthulhu mask.
"Something big is happening, and I wanted to be here to see it."
The End?
"What was that thing Mengil was going on about again? Something about anarchist furries?" Malekith asked in idle thought.
His compatriots' disinterest proved itself through their responding silence.
The chemistry classroom held its usual aesthetic. Its walls were a pristine white, it's fluorescent lights beamed, and its black acid-resistant tabletops were cold to the touch. Despite its sterility, it lacked a certain essence of character.
"Hey, where's Mr. Gelt? It's been a solid fifteen minutes and he hasn't shown up yet" Malekith asked.
"I heard he got called away for some kind of construction thing, something about a wall" Malus replied with his usual disdain.
Rakarth sighed heavily, "this class was a waste of time in the first place but it's even more of a waste without a te- "
Rakarth stopped as the intercom produced its usual screeching sound followed by the recognizably drawn-out words of Mazdamundi, "aaaaalllllll ssstudddennntssss aaaaarrrrrre tooooo mmmmeeeeeeet iiiiinnnnn theeeeee aaauuuudiiiitorrrrriiiiuuummm iiiiimmmmeeediiiaaatllllleeeyyyyy."
"Yarr, that be as good as any excuse for me to shanghai chemistry class."
The group of elves found their seats in the center of the auditorium. It was of a classical design, the seats numbered around one-hundred and the ones further back were elevated with each row getting higher. Large lights on either side of the room pointed at the black, scuffed wooden planks of the stage. Its crimson curtains were drawn and a podium sat in its center, however there was no one to occupy it.
Scanning the area, Lokir noted, "Yarr, I be seein' some unfamiliar faces amongst the crew."
Rakarth quickly replied in frustration, "is that your stunted brain's way of saying that there are high elves here?"
Malekith took a quick glance at the students as they slowly filed in. True to Lokir's word, there were elves in white uniforms present who enticed a quiet grumble from the resident dark elves.
"What the fuck are they doing here?" Malus asked in outrage.
Malekith shrugged as Mazdamundi pushed himself onstage via his wheelchair and approached the podium. The rest of the elves found their seats quickly but did little to hide their dislike of the situation they found themselves in.
Before Mazdamundi could speak, another figure joined him next to the podium. Echoes of incredulity rang out across the auditorium as the students gained a sense of recognition.
Malekith couldn't restrain himself in amazement as he spoke to himself, "no shit, is that the superintendent, Aenerion?"
The elf stood taller than any other attending elves, his magical prowess emanated from his body, his gaze humbled all who met it, and his uniform shone white enough to burn Malekith's eyes. Before Mazdamundi could speak, he took the microphone from the podium.
"As much as I would like for principal Mazdamundi to address his students, I'm afraid that our time is limited."
Malus leaned to Rakarth as he whispered, "isn't the superintendent supposed to be working in IT? Something about maintaining the firewall?"
Rakarth looked down as he pondered, "that would explain why that nerd Teclis isn't here."
"I'm sure I don't need to inform you, but I imagine you all have probably heard of the recent destruction of neighboring high schools."
"Oh right, that's what Mengil was talking about…" Malus mused.
Aenerion's pause was met with shrugs and mumbles of confusion before he continued.
"For those of you who are uninformed, furries and anarchists have destroyed several high-schools. To put it simply, our education system cannot handle the volume of displaced students. As such, we will be having a graduation ceremony today. We have even prepared specialized diplomas for some of you."
The room's ambience changed from awed silence to a mixture of groans and cheers, "yarr, I be turnin' in me captain's hat early?"
Malekith erupted in protest to his compatriots, "so does this mean I can't take the throne? Everything I did was for nothing? What the fuck!"
Rakarth was the first to reply, "It's not as if you were actually going to be the valedictorian anyway."
Malus, having turned slightly pale with somewhat outlined veins spouted, "stop calling valedictorian the throne, you fucking bum-tumbler!"
With a raised hand, Aenerion silenced the raucous elves and saw any who rose returned to their seats, "I will now call forth all who have earned a specialized diploma. Please come to the stage: Tyrion, and Malekith."
Malekith's heart rose as he stood in the silent room and made his way to the stage alongside Tyrion while thinking to himself, "you know what, I don't even mind that bitch being here. At least I finally got some recognition."
As he made his way onto the stage, Aenerion extended a hand and a diploma. The bright lights of the auditorium offended Malekith's eyes but he met the superintendent's handshake and accepted his diploma. Looking down, his excitement quickly turned to confusion.
"A degree of shadows?"
"Yes, you must be very proud" Aenerion replied with a false smile.
"But… what does that mean?"
Aenerion quickly started waving his hands, "hurry along now, we have other graduates to attend to."
With Malekith's exit of the stage, Tyrion approached to receive his commendation, "Khaine's seal of approval?"
Aenerion's false smile widened as he met Tyrion's gaze, "yes, yes, the fencing club and all that."
"What about my academics?"
Aenerion stood straighter as he replied, "we can't award you for something you didn't complete. Maybe if you tried harder then you'd see better results."
"But- "
Tyrion was cut off as Aenerion waved him off the stage before addressing the crowd.
"With that, I am happy to announce that anyone who did not receive an award is hereby expelled. I suggest you vacate the premises before the furries and anarchists strike again."
A moment of silence passed before an uproar of disapproval followed.
"Yarr, that be bullshit!"
"I can't really say I cared too much but I don't even get anything to show for what I've done?"
"At least now I can work to buy my own energy drinks."
The sun hang low as the band of dark elves made their last walk home from school. Silence lingered between the four as their school smoldered behind them, riddled with the smell of furballs and unwashed bodies. Despite their usual demeanor, an especially strong gloom hung over them until it was broken by Malekith.
"I can't believe it, it's all gone. And Mengil didn't even show up for it."
"At least you got an award" Malus snapped.
Rakarth sighed heavily, "if I don't have to waste time there, at least I get to spend more time with Bracchus."
Lokir remained silent as the group continued to walk before Malus spoke again, "hey Lokir, remember that time you hooked up with Aranessa Salt-spite and you refused to take your mask off?"
Lokir held back a chuckle, "aye, the mask was the hull between the Salt-spite and the salt-spray."
The group of elves exchanged a hearty laugh before Malekith spoke, "now that school's over, do you guys want to come over again? Morathi won't be home for a couple more days but I imagine she'll have something to say about the school burning down."
The group exchanged quiet grunts of approval as they veered towards Malekith's house. As they entered, Lokir took one final moment to look at the scenery that had acted as a backdrop for his life. The sun was dim, the distant mountains were dark blue, the pine trees were black, the snow accented the landscape with white, the wind blew, and the chill was present.
"Despite its harshness, it is home, and it is finally ours. Such is life now, anything we want it to be can be ours, there are no boundaries, no limitations, just sheer possibility". Not just for him, Lokir thought, but for his friends, too.
There was stark beauty in the vastness of potential that awaited them, but like clay in the potter's hands, it needed to be molded. In the absence of structure, now it could be.
Author's note: I want to thank Warhammer Fantasy for being the shambling corpse that it is, my life would not be the same without it and its community. What started as me jokingly explaining the WH2 Dark Elf Legendary Lords to my friend became a comedy piece that was 2 years in the making. I want to thank you all for being who you are, may the thong always be mustard, and the elector-counts always be summoned.