Death Night Rising - Prologue (now with themed background)

Prologue

He could hear the barricades being torn from the doors and windows. He could hear the screams of others who'd already been captured. Above all else however, he heard the gluttonous, malevolent cackling of the brides of Khaine, the Witch Elves.

Once a year in Naggaroth, the land of chill, comes the religious holiday known as Death Night. When the cities of the Druchii or dark elves are awash with the blood of commoners, nobles and slaves alike. In each of these cities there is a temple dedicated to Khaela Mensha (Bloody Handed) Khaine, the elvish god of war and one thousand faced lord of murder. It is on this single day that the doors of those temples are opened wide and Witch Elves are loosed upon the streets.

This all female, warrior priestess cult is wholly dedicated to their lord. In times of war they wade through the enemy ranks, drunk on a haze of bloodletting and self inflicted poison. Living for the narcotic frenzy of spilling blood in the name of Khaine. On Death Night however they hunt the streets and drag anyone they find screaming back to the temples to be sacrificed. Even going so far as to break into people's homes to bolster their offerings. Children are also stolen away in this manner. The females are brought up and trained to become one of the brides of Khaine. The boys however are thrown into cauldrons of boiling blood. There are some however who survive the cauldron. They arise from its depths bearing the blessing of Khaine and are trained in the killing arts of the temple assassins.

There is one city in Naggaroth however, that is more dedicated to Khaine than any other. Har Ganeth, the city of executioners, whose walls are painted crimson with the blood of invaders and daily sacrifices. It was in this city when they came for Melkaia.

When they burst into his family home with smiles of ecstasy, he met them with blades in hand. They wove around him like snakes, twisting and writhing from the path of his weapons. In return their knives lashed out, biting deep into his flesh and finally disarming him.

They dragged him into the temple complex. Among a multitude of other screaming victims they hauled him up a blood slick stair or one thousand and one steps and through a pair of blackened iron doors, edged in brass. There he saw the most malefic site of his life.

The brides danced and sang in the black marble hall, decorated in ever-fresh blood and dismembered bodies. At the far end sat the Hag Queens upon their thrones. They are the centuries old rulers of the Witch Elves, so aged that they must bathe once a year in the temple cauldrons to restore their once beautiful forms. Over the course of the year however they slowly revert back into the crones they truly are. Behind their thrones stood a colossal statue of the Lord of Murder himself.

What Melkaia felt at that moment though was not fear, but awe. For in the centre of the room stood the giant brass cauldron of blood, several metres in diameter and edged in glowing runes. The Witches dragged their captives towards it, cleaving off heads and limbs and pitching them into the cauldron's boiling contents. Yet no matter how much of their victim's lifeblood gushed into it, the cauldron's level stayed the same and never overflowed. As the two Brides heaved Melkaia toward the cauldron they punched their wicked knives into his chest for good measure before tossing him into boiling, scarlet oblivion.

His wounds mere annoyances when compared to the agony that followed. Thrashing and writhing within the seemingly bottomless cauldron, he could feel his skin blistering and bubbling upon his body. He tried to keep his eyes shut in a grimace but the blood seeped under his eyelids and filled the sockets with fire. Finally when he could stand it no more he opened his mouth to scream against the pain, but scolding blood poured into his throat and scorched him from the inside.

Suddenly the torment halted. His broken, burning body was met with a new sensation; the icy burn of unequalled hatred. The blood began to sooth him, rejuvenating his body as he begun to drink it down greedily. Still unable to open his eyes he groped for the cauldron's ledge and hauled himself to the surface. The entire hall fell silent save for Melkaia's defiant wailing to the heavens. Sobered from their revelries a group of Witches helped him from the cauldron until he was able to stand under his own strength. They ran their hands across his body, this time with all the delicacy of a lover's caress. They rubbed the blackened, scarred flesh from his body revealing a new layer beneath it. His new skin was a perfect, pale canvas without flaw, matched by his now ashen hair.

Slowly as the pain faded from them, he tentatively opened his eyes. Normally those who survived the cauldron would bear the mark of Khaine, a pair of eyes the colour of burnt amber or brass. Melkaia's however were now the colour of molten bronze, glowing the fury of the forge itself. Seeing this the Witches began to fall upon their faces in genuflection. The Hags however simply smirked with Malefic glee from their thrones.

Normally males with the blessing of Khaine would be trained among the assassins. Though he was unparalleled in the art of swiftly cutting down his enemies with minimal effort, Malkaia loathed the stealth that was required of him. He would roar at his instructors that his victims should see their death coming and know that when they looked into his eyes, Khaine himself had come for their souls. Since Melkaia also showed great tactical and intellectual promise, the Hags concurred that he was to be one of the Executioners of Har Ganeth. These were the cold, merciless temple guard and warrior elite of the city. They were renowned all over the elven lands for their ability to bring instant death to any opponent with a single strike of their blades.

Melkaia soon rose to the rank of Draich-master and gained a reputation among the soldiery of the other cities during wartime as Melkaia Sheol, the Scion of Murder. He became a dangerous individual as he continued to rant and preach that static temple sacrifices were next to worthless. The greatest sacrifice to Khaie was that which was brought at the end of a blade upon the bloody fields of battle. It looked like Melkaia would soon succeed the great temple's Grand Carnifex. The Grand Carnifex, high priest and ruler of the executioner's however had plans for Melkaia that would make sure that never happened.