What were ...no, she wasn’t even going to ask that. She was told that the opponent wouldn’t be a Witch because in the end, Khaine kills Eldanesh, and they wanted realism. So she agreed. And with the way Filnon was dressed up, Estaria would have no way of seeing who it was. Damned outfit she wore had the same issue. So, instead, she drew her Talon, and shot an arrow at Malekith. His Black Guards were certainly on point, but the Bloodbane Arrow went through the guard’s shield and into the man’s chestpiece. Between shield and Chestpiece, there was enough armour to stop the arrow, but it pinned the shield to his chest, which looked fun. His guards shot back crossbow bolts, but they were unable to hit someone as swift as Estaria. She replied with Bloodbane Arrows, and Malekith’s Black Guard escorted him from the Arena as arrows began to fell his guards. The crowd, seeing what was going on, suddenly exploded into uproar. Some leapt to the floor to strike at Estaria, some leapt to the floor to protect their Chosen from those who would defile her, and some just booked it out of the Arena, wanting no part in what was happening.

With every one of Malekith’s guards dead or routed, Estaria looked to Filnon. Her Witch followers were fighting off those who would see her marred, and so she got a free path. Stripping out of the outfit they had given her, she donned the Bride Of A Thousand Witches, and stopped, staring into her lover's eyes with all the fury of a God Of War.

“I don’t care if this is a political play, an accident, or something more. I will get to the bottom of this” she exclaimed, before heading onwards, to the gate on the other side of the Arena. Filnon said nothing and just followed, though the emotion that she seethed with made it seem as if she definitely agreed with Estaria about what they had just done. Estaria waited long enough for Filnon to strip and get into her Witch-Suit, and then she donned her weapons, a pair of beautifully elegant swords with strange things around the hilt. There was no desire to ask questions though, only grasp the Talon firmly and head out into the streets.

True Pandamonium greeted them. The Witch-King had stormed past, his Black Guards clearing the way and cutting down anyone who did not move in time. People who had scattered from the Arena told panicked versions of what had happened, Witches who were chasing down Malekith supporters told a different version, and the city erupted, ripping itself in two. Estaria’s class and traits ensured fanaticism in those who worshipped Khaine, and so they drove themselves against those who supported Malekith and would try to cast down their Chosen. And so as Estaria and Filnon walked through the streets, they crossed rivers of blood. Surprisingly, no military reprisal though, but the reason for that became clear when they came to Malekith’s Tower and saw the garrison of Naggarond arrayed in front of them. Crossbow bolts came at them like rain in a storm, from armoured slits and towering walls. Filnon charged the shield wall blocking their entry to the only way through without scaling the massive walls, and Estaria left her to that. The strange hilt flicking out small daggers to distant foes as those close to her were cut in half. It occurred to Estaria that she had never seen Filnon fight, and now watching this most pristine Witch Dance, this most flattering prayer to the Bloody-Handed God, it was really nice. Estaria didn’t even bother dodging the crossbow bolts, just letting them miss and graze as they chipped tiny bits off her Luck and the poison they were dipped in resisted by her Constitution. It was at points like this that Estaria really felt like a God, and such Godhood could hardly be refuted.

Having taken her fill of watching her Wife, Es put away the Talon and took out her flails, leaping high into the air and using their chains to latch onto the battlements of the walls, swinging herself up and decapitating a few Crossbowmen in style. The Talon returned and her own Crossbow reaped a heavy toll, firing dry and then being reloaded in an eyeblink to fire again. The men of the Tower in front of her cared nothing for their allies, and they were cut down when errant bolts missed Estaria from Luck or distance. Eventually the walls were cleared, and she leapt from them to land next to Filnon, who was finishing up her own butchery. The Tower Archers were pissing Estaria off, so she grabbed a few spears from the fallen men at the front and launched them to the general position, Titan’s Arm causing the weapons to smash themselves to splinters on the nigh-impregnable tower. Though from the cries of anguish, metal splinters did find their way through the slits. Still, it wasn’t good enough, so she had to give up her goals to kill like that and instead march forward. The doors were shut, barred and massive, even Estaria’s kicks and sword blows did nothing but scratch and cause surface damage. There was probably other entrances to this place, no Druchii built any building with only one entrance. However, Estaria was in no mood to go exploring, and so she signalled Filnon to retreat, and opened the shop. Scrolling through, she pulled out a man-sized barrel of Dwarven Gunpowder, and lit the fuse, retreating with Filnon to behind the outer walls.

Such a barrel shook the very ground itself, it’s roar heard by every being in the city, even above the cacophony of bloodshed. From their position near the outer walls, they bore witness to a tide of slaves spilling across the city. Either they had been freed or revolted when they saw the war, and nobody was safe from them. They struck out at everyone, and so the Battle Of Naggarond became three-sided. Though the battle did cease for a few moments when the gunpowder went off. Quickly resumed however, a city-shaking explosion was not enough to keep Druchii from the slaughter.

A massive scar in the earth and the Tower greeted Filnon and Estaria as the came out from the walls, the splattered remains of the servants carrying munitions was seen across what little floor remained. Though, it did it’s job, and nothing barred their entrance, so they did so and ascended the floors, slaughtering Crossbowmen that they found and what soldiers were found running to their posts. It had taken some ten minutes to get to the tower, and another ten to butcher their way into it, so the Druchii were still preparing, though they were beyond the stage of panic. As shown when a detachment of Dismounted Cold One Knights rushed them on the third floor, pinning them down while more reinforcements came. Militia and Veterans alike, the two Players spent some time on their butchery before the floor was slick with blood, and bodies piled high. The few Druchii that remained decided that climbing over bodies to get to their foe would do nothing but get them killed, and so they turned back to tell their Commanders what had happened. Though none reached their destination, as Estaria’s bolts took them in the back.

The advance was inexorable, and the doors were neither as big or as thick as the front gate, and so Estaria was able to topple them. The path of butchery led them to the throne room, where Malekith sat on his throne, a glistening banner above the throne itself. The twenty Tower Masters surrounded him, the rest of the Black Council beyond them, and two hundred Black Guard between them and the two Players. A thick throng that even Estaria and Filnon would have to force their way through at great expense. The only two of the thirty Dreadlords - the rest either too cowardly to come here when the chaos started, or elsewhere in Naggaroth - that stood in front of the Black Guard, were Kouran Darkhand, Captain of all Black Guards, and Emir Soulflayer, the most prominent commander of the Druchii forces. The Dreadlords gripped their weapons with varying degrees of determination, but the Black Guards were steadfast and unwavering in their resolve. Even as Estaria stepped forward, blood-drenched and blades dripping with the life-blood of innumerable Druchii. And Malekith sat on his throne, a true emblem of arrogance in the face of Cataclysm.

“What was-” Estaria started, before a thunderous bellow rocked the chamber.

“You do not address me, Slave!” Malekith silenced Estaria, fury and authority enough for her to return to Filnon’s side. Estaria was well trained to obey Druchii, and Malekith was hard for the most stubborn of Dreadlords to disobey - not that any survived very long if they did.

“Then I shall address you, King Malekith. Was it incompetence, or malice that set me against my wife?” Filnon asked, her tone somehow respectful while also scathing, giving all due courtesies even as the words stabbed at him.

“I will brook no threat to my rule. I am the embodiment of Khaine. I am the Chosen of your God. I am The Witch-King! This is not something I shall allow a mere Slave to supplant! I allowed her to act only so I could ensure that I had every follower of her in my hand, so I could crush them all at once. You were meant to be the centerpiece of this purge. The instigation of it” Malekith spoke, his voice firm and absolute in it’s confidence.

“You think I would strike down my Wife? I wouldn’t have married her if I was just going to kill her later on” Filnon retorted. She seemed to have no fear of reprisal and no worry of offense. After all, how could you offend someone more than blowing their doors off and massacring their men?

“My spies have erred in the depth of your possession. You may leave, I shall not pursue punishment upon you” Malekith waved his hand, and felt that, was that. Filnon would obey and he could have Estaria put to a most grisly death.

“And besides-” Estaria started, and then the thunder rang again.

“Silence, Slave!” Malekith boomed, standing from his throne and pointing as he roared. Estaria took a step back, and then forward again with a most heinous smirk.

“Ohh, I am so going to kill you” She grasped her Flails, but Malekith acted before, grasping the Winds of Magic and throwing a Dhar-born Doombolt at Estaria, to rend her flesh and shatter her bones.

Though it was not to be, as Filnon stepped forward and unbound the spell, leaving it to dissipate into nothing. The Witch-King snarled, seeing his Sorcerous Might matched by the Druchii. He could do nothing before Estaria spoke again, and with eyes and focus on Filnon, he did not shout her down.

“Though I will have him first. Unless you believe you can not handle a single female slave in a cute dress” she pointed to Kouran with her blade, who snarled. All Druchii were proud, and they grew prouder as they grew older. Kouran was very old, and thus very proud. The implication behind Estaria’s words rankled him in a way he would not abide, so he turned to the men behind him.

“I shall gut anyone who interferes” he spoke. Plainly, simply, without embellishment. His eyes glanced across the Black Guard, the Tower Masters, the Dreadlords. It was even possible they flicked to Malekith himself for the briefest of moments. And with that order given, the fight commenced, sudden and brutal. Estaria was ready for him, but he still moved faster than any Druchii she had ever seen or fought. Faster than she thought Druchii could move, bedecked in armour as he was. The halberd came a hair’s breadth from hitting her as she moved, and then her blades flashed and joined the fight.

Hex resisted by High Wisdom

The Box popped up in her off-vision as she threw the strike, which was good. Getting hexed would suck. Though, it seemed an innate thing to him, since he did not stop the fight to gut the one who hexed her. He reflected the flail, but Estaria brought the second one around, the speed at which they responded to her commands like lightning due to Chain Queen. Wrapping the flail around the shaft of the halberd, she yanked it from his hands and sent it skidding across the floor. He did not miss a beat, however, and drew his sword even as he was losing grasp of his halberd. The fight continued, back and forth across the floor as they did. He was the greatest warrior Estaria had fought, along with being the most conniving guttersnipe she had ever laid eyes on. It was a perfect combination, and Estaria thought to alternate methods of victory when her luck bar began to run out. Eyes darted about the place and then she found exactly where she was going, and moved towards it. He pursued without hesitation, giving her no room to maneuver or push against him. Estaria used her Flails perfectly to ensure that he thought he was pressuring her. And then when she was in position, she threw one of her flails and then bounced the other one off the ground, into an angle he could not reach without leaving himself wide open.

Kouran moved with incredible speed and flawless grace, crumbling into a roll and skidding so that he would appear behind Estaria. He then rose upwards with his blade, and sliced a deep cut in her back, spilling surprisingly little blood but making a clear blow. The first clean blow of the fight. The taste of victory lasted a few seconds, as Estaria spun and booted him in the chest, with the force of an adult Cold One. What was meant to be solid wall at his back crumbled away from the force of his impact, and the shattering window sung through the hall. Blown cleanly out of it, Kouran had no chance to catch a handhold and just enough time to laugh at the irony of dying exactly the same way as he had killed his predecessor, before plummeted hundreds of feet to his death on the cold, merciless ground with an unheard but not less sickening crunch. Estaria’s regeneration started to regain the lost health, and all was well. That trump card was why she let him score such a blow in the first place. And then she turned back to the rest of the people arrayed in front of her.

“So then, who’s next?” she asked, a broad grin on her face. And for the first time in history, the Black Guard wavered in their determination.