Far removed from the human stronghold, nestled within the depths of a hauntingly beautiful and hostile land 200 miles away, stood another Citadel. This fortress, however, belonged to the dark elves. Constructed with blackened iron, sharp steel, and jagged obsidian stones, it was a sight to behold.
The Citadel's enormous steel gates, battle-scarred and imbued with ancient magic, creaked open as a band of dark elves, painted in victorious expressions, marched in. Their obsidian armor glistened under the dim light, splattered with the blood of their fallen enemies. The excitement of a victorious battle was etched into their every move, the thrill of victory humming in the air around them.
However, their triumphant return was not greeted with cheers, but rather, annoyance. Among the crowd that had gathered to welcome the returning warriors was a female elf, standing out like a silver flame in the sea of obsidian. She was stunning, her long, white hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of moonlight, her silver eyes reflecting the cold glow of the Citadel. Her gaze fell on one particular elf, a scarred face amidst the sea of warriors.
"Kieran!" Her voice, sharp and clear, echoed off the walls of the Citadel. "You should have sent words, not taken on the humans alone!!"
In response to the reprimand, the addressed dark elf, Kieran, turned his attention to her. His face, a map of battle-hardened scars, was set in a calm, measured expression. He bowed slightly, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he spoke, "Sedura". The warriors behind him echoed the word, a collective murmur of respect that washed over the assembled crowd. It was a term of deep respect, reserved for their nobility, a quiet acknowledgment of the power she held.
After giving the term of respect, Kieran did not bother to acknowledge the reprimand further. Instead, he proceeded nonchalantly towards the flight of stairs that ascended to the higher level of the Citadel.
Upon reaching the top, Kieran approached an older dark elf who stood waiting with an aura of authority that was impossible to ignore. His regal bearing, coupled with his deep-set lavender eyes, held the wisdom and experience of ages. His title, "Khan," signified his position as the chosen leader of their group.
With the utmost respect resonating in his voice, Kieran addressed the Khan, "Khan, I have successfully killed nine human magus today." He then kneeled, presenting a glass tube containing four ethereal, glowing spirit souls.
The Khan extended a gauntleted hand and accepted the tube. He inspected the captured souls with an inscrutable expression, his gaze both intense and unreadable.
The stunning female dark elf, watching this exchange with an amused smirk, took this opportunity to needle Kieran further. "Kill nine, and only get four, huh! Not impressive at all, tell us how many you let escape!"
Unruffled by her taunts, Kieran maintained his calm demeanor. "The human faction came so quickly, 11 escaped, no 10" his voice steady and devoid of any defensiveness.
The female elf threw her head back and let out a laughter that echoed throughout the Citadel. "Hahaha! The great Hashasi is not so great anymore I think, what do we expect from a Drow?"
ραΠdαsΝοvel.cοm The scornful words stung the returning warriors, their emotions bubbling to the surface. Yet, the Khan's voice cut through their anger like a sword. "Vespera," he addressed the female dark elf, "We are all here the same, all paying for our mistakes. You and the rest of the Dunmer should work together if we want to succeed." His words, measured and firm, had a silencing effect on her, halting her laughter.
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The dark elves are divided into three significant lineages, each representing a different caste and holding a unique role within their society. The Drow, renowned for their warrior-like nature and robust physical attributes, form the lowest caste. Despite their lower societal position, their high resistance to magic lends them an advantage in combat, making them indispensable in battle.
The Dunmer, on the other hand, occupy the higher caste. Known for their noble bearing and unparalleled talent in magic, they are seen as the refined intellectual counterparts to the Drow. Their focus lies in spiritual pursuits and magic mastery, creating a constant source of disputes and friction between the power-driven Drow and the spiritually-inclined Dunmer.
But the most revered among the dark elves are the Drukahri. These are the rare few who possess the best traits from both the Drow and the Dunmer lineages. Their robust physical prowess paired with their potent magical capabilities gives them an imposing presence. However, their most remarkable trait is their unique ability, a superiority that makes them the preferred choice as the Khan.
As if to demonstrate this ability, the Khan walked up to the parapet overlooking the vast fortress grounds. Arrayed below him were dozens of Orc Warchiefs and Champions, followed by tens of thousands of Uruks - the orcish foot soldiers.
At a single, powerful command from the Khan, they all simultaneously let out a thunderous warcry, their voices reverberating against the fortress walls, a testament to the unyielding control the Drukahri Khan held over them.
The Orcs, often seen as uncontrollable beasts, under the command of a Drukahri, became an unparalleled force of destruction. This control, this unity of wills, was the unique advantage of the Drukahri lineage.
Once the echoes of the warcry subside, Kieran approached the Khan once again, "Khan, the humans have grown more confident each week. With this orcs army and fifty of us, we could destroy them before they grow stronger."
However, the Khan didn't seem perturbed by the notion. "Do not be hasty," he advised, his voice calm and steady. "The drought will come in a few weeks, we will finish them and get enough magus souls for us all to get out of this place."
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