𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔇𝔯𝔲𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔦 「ᴋᴀᴛɪᴇ84 ☠ ᴄʜᴇᴠᴀʟɪᴇʀ」

[Chevalier]

"And lo, he shall rule with a dark hand and his shadow shall touch upon every land. Steel will be his skin and fire will be his blood, in hatred will he conquer all before him. No blade forged of Man, Dwarf or Elf shall endure him fear. Though will it come to pass that the firstborn son of noble blood shall rise to power. The child will be learned in the darkest arts and he will raise an army of terrible beasts. Thus will the Dark King fall, slain by neither blade nor arrow but by a sorcerous power of darkest magic and so shall his body be consumed in the flames and for all eternity burn."

—The Prophecy of Demise

---

Ghrond
The Tower of Prophecy
​

Within the land of shadows, there exists a plane where even the sun seldom rises. The lands of Naggaroth, a realm strife with anarchy and despair... a kingdom where the strong are destined to command the weak. It is a land where the Druchii... Dark Elves... rule in all of their terrifying glory, underneath the tumultuous reign of Malekith, the Witch King of Naggaroth. Though powerful in his reign, the Witch King's nearly thousand year rule has been marred by major defeats against his High Elven brethren. Though Malekith still maintains a powerful stranglehold upon his people, there are whispers among the nobles about a prophecy to replace him. Indeed, even his mother, the seeress Morathi, plots secretly against him. From within her isolated tower of Ghrond, she has hidden away a possible heir, one that will lead the Druchii to their deserved glory... or to their deaths.

From within the Tower of Prophecy, Ghrond remains one of the only regions within Naggaroth that is hidden from Malekith's prying gaze. Through generous tithes that fund his armies, Malekith's attentions have thus far remained away from the palace's luxurious, decadent halls. But it was only a matter of time until Malekith would see the deceptions of his mother... and come to wipe clean any prophecy that may be his undoing. After all, he was the true heir to Aenarion - what Dark Elf sorcerer had the right to steal his throne from him?

Yet... the Witch King would find that destiny was a crueler master than he.

The Palace was legendary for its luxurious decadence, but even more appealing than its exotic decorations was the law that forbade male elves from entering the domain of the Hag Sorceress without her decree. It was because of such that the royal throne room contained a single male, surrounded by the watchful gaze of sorceresses around him. He was tall, even among elves, standing before the sorceresses with an almost arrogant bravado. But for all of his conceit, Fenrisullas have thus far proven to be as formidable as the prophecies foretold. Fenris had already shown his mettle against the daemons and chaos worshipers drawn to Ghrond, his martial prowess with the sword already rivaling the best among those of his people.

But as he excelled with the sword and spear, the prophecy demanded he prove his magical affinity as well. It is with this, that Felicion has taught the rising Dark Elf lord how to properly wield magic, perhaps thinking that such a deed would lead to a puppet that could be controlled. She would learn quite quickly, that this would not be the case.

"Why have you summoned me?" Fenrisullas watched the Sorceress carefully, who was seated upon the luxurious throne before him. Perhaps she thought that in Morathi's absence, that Felicion held the reins over Ghrond. It was becoming apparent to the Dark Elf that she was attempting to control him, a fact that displeased him greatly. "I am not a slave that you can call whenever it pleases you." He remarked, a statement that led the sorceresses to snicker at his words in defiance. Indeed, these whores had already vastly underestimating their pawn. With a single wave of his hand, Fenris called upon his unbridled magical energy, the sorceresses falling silent as they noticed the faint glow of light within the man's palm. Before any of the sorceresses could see what their future Lord was doing, the magic burst into a ball of uncontrollable electricity, sending bolts of lightning crashing into the walls of the room.

The proud sorceresses were knocked from their feet, one sent flying into a nearby pillar as magical waves of energy pulsated throughout the room. The carnage lasted only momentarily, but by the time the magic had dissipated, several sorceresses lay unconscious on the ground, others struggling to stand. "I am Fenrisullas, the future King of Naggaroth." The Dark Elf moved across the room, navigating up the elevated steps that led to the throne. Stopping in front of Felicion, the Dark Elf gazed upon his mentor with hungry eyes.

 

[Katie Bower]

Felicion surveyed the rooms as she shifted languidly, staring out the window which peered from one of the cities highest towers at the dazzling aurora that lit the night sky beyond. This far north the lands had would be locked in the cold grip of a polar-night for months, but the threads of raw magic filtering down from the pole were bright enough to make the stars dim. Like so many of her sisters in the convent of seers the tower’s former mistress would have once looked out this same high window, straining her Witch-Sight to read the future in the flow of magic, and Felicion’s shapely lips curled into a joyless smile at the knowledge that she had been unable to read her own fate in them. Unfortunately her triumph over the high sorceress was a bitter-sweet victory as Morathi had been its principal architect, and despite their working together there was no one in Naggaroth she hated more, save perhaps the Witch-King himself, but it was that very hatred that made Felicion useful to the First Sorceress. She had become something of a lightning rod within the dark convents to attract all those who plotted and conspired against their queen. Such schemes and plans had only become more common since the Witch King exiled Morathi’s court to Quintex and while Felicion passed on all she discovered about them to Morathi in secret it did not stop the young seeress from hatching her own plans, and the young seeress toyed idly with one of the many earrings fitted in her delicate, pointed ears in what those who knew her would have seen as a sign of deep thought as she considered those same plans.

Fenris had been discovered when her convent sent her to deal with a Shade Clan on the Isle of Beasts suspected of harbouring a Vauvalka. Not only had their suspicion been correct, but the sorcerer whose head she eventually sent to the Witch-King had a son who he had begun training in the Dark Arts himself. She should have killed him as well, but the whelp had been prodigiously gifted for his age, and his affinity for Necromancy was especially unique and portentous. No one could have seen the dead creatures, slain by the Shades, that he had re-animated without thinking of the ancient prophecy of demise. While others might have handed him over to the Witch-King in hope of reward Felicion knew better than to trust to the generosity of such a mercurial and petty tyrant. Better to train the boy. If only to turn on him later when he represented a more credible rival. After all the blame for abetting the prophecy could perhaps be shifted onto her co-conspirators if it came to that.

On the subject of mercurial personalities as Fenris stormed into the room one slender, long fingered hand, sporting carefully shaped, black-lacquered nails grasped the iron stave resting by her seat as the tall seeress stood up. It was, perhaps, a by-product of having lived her entire life knowing her fate was in others hands - a compensatory need to control her image down to the most minute detail - but whatever the reason Felicion stood out strikingly even among her uniformly seductive peers as much for the richness of her attire and the vanity of her affectations as for her exquisite appearance. Her icey, blue-grey eyes were rimmed with black Khajal, and her pale, sinuous body was adorned with several piercings from the violet jewel that gleamed below her bare navel to the eight golden hoops, threaded with a silken, purple ribbon that criss-crossed its way up the hollow of her tiny waist on one side. Her gold-trimmed boots reached the tall woman’s thighs, and the sight of her long, shapely legs was only partially obscured by the narrow band of purple, gold-trimmed fabric which formed the front of the dramatically split ankle-length skirt hung from an ornamental belt whose plunging front was fitted with a jewel-studded piece of jaggedly filigreed gold. The garment flaunting most of her pale thighs but for four sheer ribbon-like strands of fabric hung from its sides. The pale skin of her athletic torso was left bare up to the jagged gold chest-piece framing her youthful breasts held up by a thin halter tied around the back of her slender neck. From behind one would have seen how the ornate gold took the form of leathery wings, facing inward, that curled around her shoulder-blades were it not for her long, inky tresses. A matching head-piece sat atop a small, round table by her seat behind her, apparently discarded for the time being.

As she adjusted a golden torque fitted about her pale, smooth bicep the only imperfections Fenris could have noticed were the scars on her pale wrists and shoulders. A record of past need when the requirement for blood to fuel some spell or counter-spell had obliged the seeress to open her own veins in desperation. Her shapely, painted lips formed a joyless smile as she regarded the ill-tempered young Elf. The challenge implied in his proud tone was obvious, but the seeress had no intention of meeting it head-on.

‘I would never presume to think as much,’ her smooth voice responded.

The artificial, yet still beautiful smile on her gorgeous face twitched with genuine amusement his spell threw the other sorceresses off their feet, while Felicion’s pale eyes blazed with a sudden violet luminosity when the spell struck her as hitherto-invisible runes marking her torso and arms blazed into view to disperse the magic.

'Get up.' she spat harshly at her fallen co-conspirators before her face softened as she turned back to Fenris, ‘of course,’ Felicion responded as he announced himself as the future king, lowering her eyes and offering a respectful curtsey that lowered her to one knee as she placed her stave on the floor. ‘I only called you because I have procured you a gift,’ she went on, keeping her eyes lowered and remaining on one knee, the soft fabric of her long skirt gathered about her on the bare stone floor of the sparsely furnished room.

 

[Chevalier]

Fenrisullas waited impatiently as Felicion spoke, perhaps wondering for a fleeting moment if his mentor would dare rise to meet his challenge. Unsurprisingly, the powerful sorceress did not deign to question his authority, an action that only served to annoy the short-tempered, future king of Naggarond even further. Fenris had always been unamused with the theatrics of sorceresses, their clandestine gossip and nefarious backstabbing a hallmark of Druchii politics and yet, the dark elf warrior held little to no respect for it. He knew well that it was only a matter of time before the sorceresses would conspire against him, their loyalty woefully overshadowed by personal ambition. But unlike Malekith, Fenris was smarter than to trust them in any capacity. As soon as the Witch King was defeated, he would chain each one under lock and key... force them into learning their places as his personal pets.

The young, dark elf watched as the beautiful sorceress responded to his malice with faux kindness, as if her words were convincing him of her loyalty. Yet, he was quite amused to see that she was willing to humor his authority, stepping off of the throne before falling to one knee before him. For a moment, Fenris was quite pleased to see the haughty sorceress succumbing to his will, even if the action was simply made from deception. He planned to make such showings of respect more authentic, very soon. Despite what the sorceresses may have believed, he was not a creature that would be so easily tamed. His ambitions far outweighed anything Felicion or Morathi had to offer him.

"A gift?" Fenris raised a brow, the ill-tempered elf now struck with a fleeting moment of curiosity. His gaze hovered towards the woman's form, indeed, a true gift would be to bound the proud sorceress in chains, tearing off her skirt before brutally ravaging each of the arrogant whore's holes. Felicion had always been calm and calculating, a woman that truly acted as if she wielded the answers to everything. He wondered what she would be like once the tables were turned upon her, if she would scream when he violently pulled her hair backwards, how the tears would cascade down the sides of her portrait as his hot erection plunged into the back of her throat. They were merely fantasies now, but soon he planned to make the sorceress' fate a reality. With all of the slut's foresight, Fenris found is amusing she did not know what her fate would be. She would figure it out... eventually.

Slowly, the dark elf raised his hands upwards, his palms resting upon each flank of his helmet. In a single motion, he slipped the armor free to reveal his face to the crowd of sorceresses. His facial features appeared explicitly young for a dark elf, his face still notably devoid of the corruption that was expected of the Druchii. Raven locks pooled at his shoulders, with fair skin and a sharp jawline that only accentuated his youthful appearance. If not for the ebony steel that encased his slender form, accentuated with golden accents, an ill-informed observer may have mistaken him for one of the Asur. No doubt, the sorceresses still underestimated him because of this, a fact that they would soon learn to regret.

"This better be worth my time, I have no patience for comedy." Indeed, Fenris didn't have much patience in general. Even waiting in Ghrond was just short of a torturous experience for the dark elf, even if he himself knew that he was not yet ready to face the onslaught of the Witch King he sought to depose. Malekith's time would come eventually... and so too would any sorceress', "But I will allow you to amuse me, for now," a mischievous grin formed across his face. If Felicion's gift bored him, he would certainly force her to come up with something that would pique his interest in its stead.

It was best not to keep him waiting.

 

[Katie Bower]

When Fenris removed his helmet the tall seeress regarded him coolly, wondering idly about his lineage. Most Druchi traced their family trees back to the low-land Naggarothi of Ulthuan, but the truth was during the Sundering several of Ulthuan’s princedoms had been occupied and some of their subjugated peoples came to mingle with the Naggarothi. The Tiranoci in particular had languished under occupation for as long as the civil war had reigned, and more Druchi than ever would have admitted it were products of such mixed ancestry. Not that it mattered to Felicion as anything other than a matter of idle trivia. After all what truly separated the Druchi from their soft southern kin was not blood, but mettle, and whatever her personal opinion of him might have been he did not disappoint her when it came to this.

Felicion looked up from the floor when he repeated her words, wrapped her slender fingers around the stave she had placed on the floor, and rose to her feet.

Contrary to what he thought she was quite well aware of the future he envisioned for her, but prophecy was not an exact art and it was only one of many shifting possibilities. Of course even if she hadn’t been a gifted seer Felicion was perceptive, and canny enough to understand what Fenris wanted in light of the way he looked at her. She did not begrudge him his fantasies. Nor was she shocked by them in the slightest, and in truth if she were certain he would prove a match for the Witch King and thought it would help to motivate him Felicion would have gladly let him do all he wanted, and more.

The truth was when Felicion found herself outmanoeuvred by Morathi all those years ago the decadent Hag Sorceress had taken a liking to the beautiful young seeress in spite of her treachery. And the First Sorceress, ever greedy to satisfy all her whims, had kept her for her own amusement. Felicion had been used to reward favoured courtiers, made an offering in flesh-pacts with Deamons, and even had the ‘privilege,’ of sharing a bed with the Queen of Anlec. Her release had cost nothing less than her soul. In short Felicion was innured to debauchery, and being in thrall to the whims of others, and there were other reasons why his plans did not concern her but the beautiful seeress had no desire to dwell on that.

“I trust I’m capable,” she said to Fenris when he said that he would allow her to amuse him, “shall we go down-?” Felicion offered him her arm as she nodded towards the door. “I do not think it would do to have her brought to us,”

If he proved willing she would walk with him to one of the stone staircases which traversed the impressive tower's height, and descend some way to the dungeons.

His gift had been acquired in Clar Karond, and the price of such a prise would have been beyond the sum of all Felicion owned were it not for the patronage of the First Sorceress. The captive was not merely one of the Asur, but from one of the inner kingdoms where the Druchi raiders seldom set foot. A Sapherian Mage, trained at the White Tower, who at that moment was languishing on the bare floor of a cold cell. Naturally she had been somewhat ruffled, to put it lightly, during her capture, and her time in the bowels of a Black Arc and the slave-pens of Clar Karond, to say nothing of the arduous journey to Ghrond itself, meant she'd arrived a torn and bloodied mess. Her attire had been entirely salvageable, and though Felicion felt it was an honour no straw-head deserved after ordering that she been cleaned and her injuries tended she had her garbed in what would have been typical attire for a member of the Dark Convents. Whether she liked it nor not was of no account as the mage was being kept gagged to prevent her casting any spells, and her arms were manacled to heavy chains fixed to bolts driven into the stone floor.

The mage had apparently said little in all her time in captivity, and told no-one her name. In truth she thought of herself as already being dead. Thus she saw no reason to speak, or act in any way whatsoever.

 

[Chevalier]

Fenrisullas watched as the Dark Elf Sorceress offered the brooding lord her arm. He hesitated for a moment, his blind arrogance giving way to caution. He had no idea what Felicion was planning, for the nefarious sorceress wielded the potential to back stab him at any given moment. Yet, the promise of a gift was all too tempting for the future king of Naggarond. Especially once the Sorceress had hinted to the prize he would be receiving. Fenris' curiosity... or perhaps his greed, eventually won the day, the lord hesitantly taking the Sorceress' arm so that she could lead him down the stone stairs that plunged down the legendary spire. It wasn't long until the pair would find themselves within the narrow corridors of the dungeon within.

It was then that Fenris had set his eyes upon his gift. From beyond the bars of her cell was a figure seldom seen within the lands of the Druchii, a prize that all Dark Elf raiders coveted to claim for themselves. An Asur, bound in chains, a present that Fenris was eager to claim. "A mage?" He muttered softly, immediately noticing the gag that was fixated to the woman's mouth. Most Dark Elves cared little for gagging their slaves, many even preferred the cold chorus of screams as they tortured their victims. But a powerful mage must be gagged to limit their chances of escape.

"Open it." Fenris commanded, waiting for the cell door to slide open before he stepped inside its claustrophobic embrace. Judging by her disheveled appearance and the cold gaze that pierced through the darkness, it seemed that several others had already attempted to break her, to little avail. But she had not been the first elf to be captured by the Druchii... and she would certaintly not be the last. The Dark Elf Lord immediately saw breaking her as a challenge, one that he would thoroughly enjoy every moment of. The only true question was how long it would take before the High Elf would learn her new place?

Fenris hovered closer to his new prize, his mind racing with all of the potential ways to play with his new toy. His hand dipped downwards, reaching beneath the mage's chin and tilting her face upwards so that their eyes would meet. Though he looked starkly different from his people, his eyes were just as malevolent, a faint, crimson glow that burned within the darkness of Ghrond's dungeons. He said nothing at first, as if his eyes were studying the Asur carefully. Despite being unkempt from her arduous captivity, the Asur Mage was pleasant to look at, her face displaying the aura of innocence that all female High Elves seemed to carry.

He was excited to destroy it.

"Welcome." He cooed softly, the hand that held her chin momentarily retreating to his waist. The Dark Elf Lord unclasped the armored skirt around his waist, allowing the plate to fall to the floor in a heavy thud. He then reached into his lower garments, pulling down the waistband slightly and dipping above the hem of the fabric revealed his masculinity. A sizable, throbbing length that towered ominously over the Sapherian's face, it was impressively long for any Elf, with a girth that an elven woman's hands would struggle to wrap themselves around. It was an object that he planned to make many women worship after his future conquests.

"This is your future now." He began once again, his hand grabbing a handful of his new slave's hair and pulling her face closer, so that the hot length of his towering erection pressed firmly against her face. "First you will listen, then you will learn... and then you will obey." He pulled his length backwards, before allowing it to spring back against the side of the High Elf's cheek. Such treatment was nothing short of humiliating for a High Elf, yet being slapped with Fenris' sizable length was perhaps the smallest of her future worries.

"What do you think I should do with her first? She was your gift, after all." Fenris turned towards Felicion, curious as to what her suggestion would be. After all, he had to allow Felicion to enjoy her freedoms while it lasted. Eventually, she too would be forced to pleasure his cock.