Still, here is the fluff of Stormsoul:
As the Wood Elves celebrate another Winter free from bloodshed, they hear the cries of the incoming Wild Riders. Each Elf braces themself, for they know no-one is safe from the mysterious selection process. The Riders come into the clearing, they pause momentarily, looking around at the worried and frightened faces. They head towards a capable and well-liked Elf. It’s difficult for many to hide their feelings of relief at not being selected and sorrow at the one whom had. The Elf is garlanded with flowers and mysterious sigils painted all over his body. He enters the Oak of Ages slowly, knowing he will never leave. The next morning Ariel and the reborn Orion emerge from the Oak. This is the eternal cycle of the Elves of Athel Loren.
Here is my fluff:
As the Grey Mountains Dwarfs of Throngaz-a-Ankorak-a-Zhufundaz regained themselves from the grobi-slaughter of the days before, Makaline the Red took it upon himself to approach the great runicly-guarded gates, the towering edifices of Valaya and Grungni looming overhead, each as tall as a small mountain, but dwarfed by the majesty, grandeur and sheer heigh of the threshold before him.Carved into the enormous doorway was a smaller, more manageable entrance, surrounded by just as many powerful runes. Makaline mused at how magic and brute force would not open his pathway to his desires here and resolved to simply vapourise himself, slipping through the most minute of cracks in a gaseous form. Assured of his entrance and undetected arrival, he coalesced to find himself in a hall built for the wealthiest of kings and sturdiest of defences.
Once more, the Crimson Duellist admired the talent for warcraft that the pint-sized, pint-guzzlers practised so intensely. Columns stretched further than even his everliving enhanced eyes could fathom in the darkness above the wide-bowled braziers, embers lighting enough of the great hall to see, but not filling it entirely - although this seemed to be by design with the choice of lighting more. Makaline strode through the hall, silent as the grave he slept in, boldly making random judgements as to where to go. Through a small passage, engraved with symbols relating to the protrectress ancestor Valaya, he could see firelight glowing on the tunnel wall, a silhouette of a helmed, heavily bearded, bestaffed figure. He chose that as his next destination, knowing full well that the wards of the goddess would not save the Dwarf from his approach.
**********
As the single combat ended with the Dwarf unconcious, staff broken, Malakine began his takeover bid of the hold by sinking his fangs deep into the tough skin around the jugular of his foe, having moved the many layers of beard to allow access. A trickle of blood flowed from the needle-like wounds as the vampire left the shrine, empowered with the scarlet life-force, seeking out a new thrall to make.
It didn't take him much longer before he found what was clearly the king's chambers, guarded by a pair of the elite longbeard hammerers, bedecked in full gromril armour. "A challenge, possibly?" slipped from his lips, knowing full well that even these skilled warriors would fall to his attacks. They began a charge and one started a cry to alert others, but with a flick of the wrist and a snap of his fingers, the Crimson Duellist plucked the soul into the aethyr and bound it unto his undead flesh. The second Dwarf seemed uncaring of the pain of his companion, perhaps even further angered and spurred into combat with the nightlord. A swift parry with his bladed and a sharp crack into the skull, through the heavy helmet and the Dwarf fell before he had completed the swing of his weapon.
Satisfied with the brief and slight spike of excitement garnered through the martial prowess he possessed, he evaporated and reformed through the king's seals. The old Dwarf looked grand and every bit the champion of battle the vampire had seen, even whilst entirely unconcious, almost in a stupour from heavy drinking. The beard swaddled him almost as a second cover, bound in elaborate ringlets and rings, bejewelled with more wealth than Malakine had ever owned. As his canines pierced the leather-thick skin, he supped the merlot of bloodied alcohol from the king's veins, only to be startled by the wizened Dwarf's angry awakening.
*******
"My lord, you seem deathly pale. Is it that something has haunted you this night? Both of your guards were murdered, one likened to stone," the young Thane enquired.
"I was visited, you are correct. But matters have been dealt with and, like a true Dawi, I perservere, without notice of ailment. A grudge has been made and stricken from our hold's book this night and I must see to it immediately," came the ancient gravel-like reply. The king strode out as the Thane bowed in respect, entering the king's room to assess the situation and have beardlings attend any needs. As he walked through, all he could see was a pair of plate-armour shoes and greaves built for a man, snapped near the top and sprayed blood covering the entire room from them away from the bed. The king's hammer dripped in its rack and no body was to be seen, just a few chunks of the man that must have filled the boots.
