Witch King's Great Victory The great jaw snapped shut, ripping the High Elf in two. The dismembered torso fell to the ground as the Dragon arched its neck and searched for a new victim. The row of sharp spears thrust in vain at the hard scales that protected the tough dragon hide. With one mighty swing of his blade the Witch King beheaded three of his assailans. As their limp, lifeless bodies hit the floor the attack wavered. Even the brave High Elves knew that to fight such a powerful opponent was sheer folly. The Dragon let out a defening roar and with that the spearmen broke. As they turned to escape, the great beast took in a deep breath, filling its massive lungs. With another loud bellow it released a cloud of thick noxious gas that enveloped the fleeing troops. In a matter of seconds each soldier was brought to his knees, gasping in vain for breath. Their lungs had been burnt by the corrosive acids in the Dragon's breath, each of them would suffocate to death in excruciating pain. Malekith dug his heels into his stirrups. It was the signal that his mount was to take to the air. The beast stretched out its wings to their full span, casting a dark shadow over the bloodstained earth below. With just a couple beats it had risen from the ground and, with an agility that was belied by the monster's size, it hovered over the carnage below. From his high vantage point the Dark Elf king could see that the battle was faring well. The charge of his Cold One Knights had broken the left fland of the High Elf line. Once through the solid formation, of spearmen the savage beasts had borne down upon the lines of archers with remarkable speed. His warrioirs had been victorious and, even as he looked around, were now gathering the captured High Elves into lines. The ancient ruined palace of Anlec was now his again to rebuilt and fortify. From here his forces could one more strike at the heart of Ulthuan. He issued a command to the Dragon and it covered the distance between him and the ancient castle with remarkable speed. The creature landed upon the craked marble stairs that had once led up to the throne room. From this palace Malekith and his mother Morathi had held court. He and his father alone understood the need for war. From this very land had his father not saved the fate of those Elves who now spat insults at his son? Malekith leapt down from his saddle and strode up to the room were barred before him. Did the fools really believe tha they could deny the rightful heir entry to his own throne room? With a single whispered word uttered from the mourth of Malekith, the ancient doors cracked before bursting open. A sorcerous wind tore trought the small chamber creating whirlwinds of dust and debris. Malekith found it strange that there had been no guard posted at the doors. Were the High Elves so vain in their own pride that they thought their army undefeatable? "Come no further vile Druchii, this is not your realm to rule." The hidden challenger who spoke was calm and showed no sign of fear of the king of the Dark Elves. "And who is this that dares tell me I may not rule over what is mine." The Witch King pissed out his reply, hatred boiling through his words. From behind the broken stone dais where the throne once sat, a single warrior stepped out. On his head he wore the ornate helm of Yvresse, and the Witch King could sense a powerful magical field emanating from the sword of the warrior held in his hand. In an instant Malekith knew who stood before him. "Ah, the impetuous Eltharion. Has your vanity grown so great that you believe you can challenge me? Come fool meet your doom." As Malekith spoke his challenge Eltharion raised his sword in preparation for the combat. Malekith had little doubt he could slay the young warrior but he would not give Eltharion the satisfaction of honourable combat. Pointing his armored gauntlet at the High Elf hero he uttered a single word. In an instant, Eltharion felt a darkness surround him, he clutched at his throat unable to breathe. His entire body coursed with pain, as though his blood had been turned to molten lead, tears of blood poured from his eyes and he fell to his knees in agony, his Fangsword slipping from his grasp. The Witch King let out a malicious laugh. "You pitiful wretch, had you led your valiant men on the battlefield instead of cowering inside this palace then you may have stood a chance of defeating me. Know this before you die, none tread on my land without my word. Those who dare defy me suffer death." The Witch King stepped over to where Eltharion lay and, with a strenght disguised by his thin, armour bound body, he picked up the High Elf by his neck and dragged him to the open doors. Over hundred High Elves knelt in a long line, their hands tied behind their backs and their necks exposed. Over each of them stood one of Malekith's elite Executioners holding their terrible blades high in readiness. "How fitting that the warden of Yvresse will be the first to acknowledge my succession to the throne of Ulthuan. For your loyalty I will spare the lives of your men; they are but misguided fools and under my rule they will learn the error of their ways." Eltharion's pain multipled tenfold with the knowledge that he had the lives of his men in his hands. But for his pride he could perhaps save those soldiers who had fought with him so valiantly on the shores of Naggaroth. He knew though that he could never bow to Malekith, his men would not wish it so either. With his last strenght he raised his head in defiance. "You are but a Prince of Darkness." As the words passed his lips his body sagged and fell into unconsciousness in the grasp of Malekith. In a dark rage the Dark Elf lord picked up the body of the noble hero, holding it over his head before casting him down the stairs. "Have my most skilled torturers see that his spirit is broken and his body becomes little more than an empty husk," he ordered one of his commanders. "What information would you have us extract from this sorrowful excuse for an Elf my Lord?" The commander bowed. "There is nothing that this one can tell me. Once they have had their pleasure, have what is left of the noble Elf sent back to Lothern. It will be a warning of the fate of any who dare stand between me and what is rightfully mine." Malekith's eyes betrayed no sign of emotion, frozen in deadly stare of contempt at the wounded Eltharion. "And what of the prisioners?" the commander enquired. "Kill them. Kill them all." His order was met by the dull thud of Elven heads as they were brutally separated from their torsos. As he walked back into the throne room and sat on the cold stone dais a smile passed his lips. Such slaughter would be the fate of any who defied him. The weak would die in order that the strong prevail.