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Ştiri de pe front: Invazia Dark Elfilor a început!
De pe frontul WAR, primim noi ştiri, învazia fulgerătoare a Dark Elfilor a luat pe neaşteptate defensiva High Elfilor, astfel lupta pentru supremaţia insulei Ulthuan începe!
From atop the tallest iron spire of his vast, floating fortress-city, Lord Uthorin watched the slate-gray surface of the Great Western Ocean roll and undulate, lapping at the rocky rim of the Black Ark. Waves crashed upon the high cliffs that formed the Black Ark's forward promontory, sending great sprays of seawater high into the air. 
Uthorin could scarcely feel the vessel's motion as it plowed through the water. It was so massive that the motion of the sea scarcely affected it. "You summoned me, my lord?" Lord Uthorin turned to see his son Kaloth, clad in the dark-tinted armor of the Black Guard. "Yes, Kaloth, come and stand with me a moment. Behold our great fleet. Is it not magnificent?" Uthorin gestured to the rear of the Black Ark. Perhaps a dozen more of the floating fortresses followed behind, spread across a great swath of ocean. Kaloth nodded in agreement. It was an impressive sight; it had been a long time since the Dark Elves had mustered such a force. "There is House Arkaneth," said Uthorin with a sneer as he gestured toward the nearest of the island fortresses. Kaloth glowered as he looked toward the Black Ark of House Uthorin's longtime rival. At this distance, it looked small and unimpressive. Kaloth wished that he could reach across the water and crush it in his palm. "I know what lies in that black heart of yours, Kaloth. Rest assured, we will deal with Lady Arkaneth and her brood soon enough. First, let us attend to matters nearer at hand. Have you made an account of our Sorcerers and sent it to the Witch King?" "I have, my lord," replied Kaloth with a wry smile. Malekith had recently granted permission for male Dark Elves to practice the arts of magic. Until recently such activity was strictly forbidden, for the Witch King had received a vision of his own death at the hands of a Sorceror. After several failed attempts to conquer Ulthuan, the Witch King was determined to bring every weapon to bear against the High Elves. Now, every noble house had been commanded to provide Malekith with a list of its male Sorcerers, and also to instruct them to join in the attack. House Uthorin had made its report, but of course, had not revealed everything. "Good, that should keep the Witch King satisfied, for a time. I do not doubt his intention to massacre the lot of them once we are victorious in Ulthuan, but it will hardly matter by then." "Oh?" remarked Kaloth, clearly curious. "Tell me, father, what grand scheme have you in mind?" Lord Uthorin laughed, and clasped his son's shoulder fondly. "You are my firstborn son, Kaloth, and you should know better than to ask such questions. I do not doubt your prowess with a blade, but you have much to learn about the value of subtlety." Kaloth smiled back, and clasped his father's arm tightly. "You are right, my lord, but you can be sure that one of your lessons remains firmly fixed in my mind." "Oh, and what is that?" asked Uthorin, amused. Kaloth leaned in close, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he replied. "The danger of underestimation." Lord Uthorin was no longer amused.
Dark Elf Sneak Peek
The Dark March Has Begun!
During the Dark Elf Sneak Peak which took place from late December to early January, players were able to engage in the first tier of PvE-only content in Chapters one through four in the assault on Ulthuan. This limited beta included a number of quests, public quests, and encounters centered on crushing the Shining Guard. Here’s an example of the exciting content and storylines they faced in the first few chapters. Witch Elves: are the maiden-elves who are wedded to Khaine, the Lord of Murder, in midnight rites of blood sacrifice and magic. The decadent fragile looks of the maidens of Ulthuan are nothing compared to the intoxicating beauty of the Witch Elves. Witch Elves go to war alongside the Dark Elf armies, eager to prove themselves in the eyes of their god. For them the battlefield is just another temple of Khaine, and the screams of the dying are praises sung in honor of the bloody-handed god. The Disciple of Khaine: The chosen dark priests of the bloody handed god, The Disciples of Khaine, can be found on the frontline of any Druchii assault. Using wicked ritual blades, a Disciple harvests the essence of their enemy and offers it to Khaine in exchange for fell blessings and dark powers. These dark gifts allow the Disciple to tend to the needs of the Dark Elf host, mending bones, suppressing pain, and even raising critically injured warriors to fight again. The Disciple of Khaine is the shepherd of war, ensuring the bloody slaughter can continue in the name of their dark god. The Sorceress: In times of war the Witch King calls upon his Convents of Sorceresses to rain death and destruction down upon the target of his ire. Their magical prowess will blight the warriors of the opposing army, scorch their souls from their bodies and bring ruination and curses aplenty upon their heads.
Dark Elf Correspondence
Bask in the Glory of Others! If you find yourself itching for a chance to bash in the skull of those wretched, haughty cousins, then here’s a chance to live vicariously through the testers who actually experienced the Dark Elf sneak peek. The following beta journals and screenshots are a selection of the best ones submitted by the beta testers participating in this phase. :
Dear Malkae,
It has been three days since our Black Ark bit its mighty prow into Ulthuan and the march against our feeble cousins began. I have spent these days knee deep in the blood of the Asur, taking pleasure in ripping their feeble guard asunder with dark lightning and black corruption. You should have seen your beautiful sisters, the Brides of Khaine, on that first day, butchering the Asur with such ecstasy and pleasure in their dark eyes. Your kind harbors a viciousness that would make the Witch King shiver, Malkae.
Today, I was confronted by a beastmaster by the name of Bethraldar Redlash. He asked me to capture a young eagle for him. You know the kind the Asur keep, the ones they use as scouts, the ones they ride into battle. If it wasn't for the dark irony of his plan, I would have torn him apart there and then. Imagine a lowly beastmaster asking a sorceress  to do him a favor. By Morathi, I may yet visit pain upon him; however, the task was easy enough. I was to scale the cliffs the Great Eagles nested upon and find for him a Goldenwing Eyas. He would then train it as his own, feeding it the flesh of the Asur until it grew a taste for our weak cousins. Imagine, the Druchii turning the Asur's own pets against them. I'm sure the betrayers would find it ... poetic?
I set out for the task as the sun peaked over the hills of The Blighted Isle, making my way through the blasted landscape. I spent midday skirting around a bear den that stunk of corpses. I did not approach it. It was in the early afternoon that I reached the cliffs. The path leading to the nests was strewn with bleached bones and the corpses of dead beasts, the leavings of the large bird's meals.
As I approached the nests, I saw my target: A young hatchling among ripening eggs. I took out the hood Redlash had supplied me with and a piece of meat. Creeping toward it, I suddenly came under a shadow. My body tensed as I heard a rushing noise behind me. A screech pierced the sky; I felt sharp talons dig into my back. I was thrown forward. Yet Khaine was with me and I was back upon my feet in a heartbeat. I had no time for a long spell, so I tapped directly into the deepest dark of my soul. I felt the air around me crackle with power, felt pain rip through me, watched as darkness danced and thrashed out of my body toward the Great Eagle that now sat spread winged and shrieking before me. Its brown-golden feathers ignited into a dark fire and I smiled. Some of my sisters hate the pain that comes with our power; I relish it. Pain means power in the eyes of Khaine, don't you agree Malkae?
The young eagle gulped the meat down eagerly, and I hooded him. This would make Redlash happy, and he would reward me rightfully lest I show him what pain means to a sorceress. You should find a way to join me soon Malkae. This land is ripe with the smell of death, the smell of war.
--Beatrice
For His Dread Excellency, the Grand Carnifex of Har Ganeth
Your Holiness,
As requested, the following letter is a chronicle of the Temple’s involvement with House Uthorin in the invasion of the homeland. I will endeavor to have these correspondences dispatched to Har Ganeth as fast as the corsairs can sail so that you may have constant updates regarding the progression of my pilgrimage to The Altar and of the invasion itself. Now, Dread Excellency, if you give me leave, I shall begin my account.
The journey from Klar Karond to Ulthuan was largely uneventful, with the hawk ships of our cousins fleeing from our black arks like slaves scattering in the face of a pack of ravenous cold ones. You may be pleased to note, Dread Excellency, that I had shunned the protection offered by the Arks, instead choosing to ride aboard a smaller vanguard cutter aptly named ‘Khaine’s Vengeance’. The superstitious corsair crew of the ship felt blessed and honored that I, a member of the Temple, should grace their ship with my presence, no doubt seeking His favor in order to reach land safely.
After days at sea, we finally spotted the pearl-white cliffs of the Blighted Isle through the fog and soon after, even whilst still leagues from the shore, hundreds of the accursed sea guard awaiting us! As the wind brought Khaine’s Vengeance closer to shore, the captain gave the  order and the cutter’s twin bolt throwers awoke. The thick, black-shafted bolts scythed down the idiot sea guard like corn. Closer still and the corsairs themselves unleashed a spiteful rain from their repeater crossbows, turning the white beach into a forest of black shafts. It was then however, that the cutter suddenly shuddered violently and came to a halt; we had hit the beach.
You might also be pleased to hear, Dread Excellency, that it was I, Yrlthorin of the Temple, who made the first footsteps on the homeland. As soon as Khaine’s Vengeance came to a halt, I vaulted over the side of the ship and ploughed through the water towards the waiting sea guard.
“Blood and souls for Khaine!” I screamed as I charged into our bewildered cousins on the shore. My blades cried out for blood and by Murder, did they drink! No Asur came within blade reach of me and lived to learn from their mistake. The last memories I have of the battle were the shouts of the corsairs finally charging up the beach behind me moments before I felt Khaine’s hand upon my shoulder and I gave in to His hate.
I awoke to find myself standing in a ring of dead Asur, my white robes now gloriously stained crimson with sea guard blood and my blades weeping thick red. The surviving corsairs from Khaine’s Vengeance were knelt before me in an awed supplication. I could see Druchii ships landing themselves all along the beach, though their presence paled in comparison to the Black Ark that disgorged Lord Uthorin’s army onto the nearby cliff.
Yes, Dread Excellency, this will be a most enjoyable pilgrimage indeed.
Until my next correspondence, I remain your most loyal, useful and faithful instrument.
Yrlthorin of Ghrond
Priest of Khaine
Mid Day, Day 4 -
It is with great respect I should greet an obvious intelligent and wise reader of these journals as yourself. You've found yourself witness to the rise of a great power, indeed at the very cusp of its formation! For those who would read this to find fault, know this: I am a dynamic and resourceful opponent; take these pages as a warning!
Recently I found myself in the swell of our forces as it moved into the south, to Chrace, near Tor Achare. I was charged, (with great wisdom on the General Malagurn's part), to lead a sortie into this stronghold of light.
The area is a great, shining beacon of pomp.
With understandable motive, my kind will fearsomely bedeck our buttresses and vehicles of destruction in a suitably terror dripping façade, for what better accompaniment to swift military domination than a fearsome ensemble to match?
With no more than a rose garden's wealth of thorns to defend them, I moved my shock troops, ( named the unwieldy, "Gridiron" by its founder), to face a small force of ax bearing Asur. With the upper levels bearing ranks of Eagle Claw ballistae, I knew instinctively our large forces would have an upriver fight ahead of them.
Please note, future historian, that I felt no pain for the loss of soldiers, neither my companion, nor in my shared force. To be sent in retreat is a delay until rally or worse, failure of the campaign. But my priorities are more... personal. I need to be the fulcrum that turns this battle. Then I will be seen, feared, and made more powerful by ally and enemy alike. But I digress.
Though outnumbered, my band quickly dispatched the artillery engineers before they could call the alarm to groups mere yards away. My dark tendrils of power brought ruin on wood and hemp with as much effect as they do bone and flesh.
I will tell you that once I gave the signal, our troops moved in and I watched the melee unfold, while we waited for the Silver Helms to attempt their fruitless rally. Morale was already broken and when that foolish prince surrendered his life to me, I knew then that greatness awaited. I destroy kingdoms.
Midnight, Day 4 -
I led the Gridiron into a nearby cave to disrupt these sun bathers’ magic hold on this, my homecoming land.
I can say led, per se. I sent the Brides in first. A blade-whirling shield of unfettered hate is always a good idea. Witch Elves consider the battlefield to be a holy place and are *suicidally* fanatical in proving their worth by spilling the blood of their enemies. The Hags push them to spill blood regardless, as they themselves bathe in it to attain their youth. This is unnecessary to my more tactical approach.
Siobhan Dri'kk
Addendum: What kind of elven creature would live in a cave?? It is unimaginable to me. SURSA
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