Open Chronicles A Light in the Looming Shadow

[Lómin]

There had been tales told of a place in the Falwood, where the forest itself closed and the sky grew dark with rolling storms that never ceased. There were stories of a land where creatures wore the shapes of monsters, and preyed upon those who dared to enter into those dark lands.

If one knew their history well enough, then they would also know of another place in the Falwood, a once great nation that had faded into memory. Aeraesar, as it was called, was said to be a place of great beauty and wonder, home to a benevolent and radiant people. And then suddenly, without warning, it had grown quiet. For over a century there had been no word of their kingdom, only whispers of their colours seen here and there, heard only by those who listened.

Until one day, its name was spoken again.

It passed by word of mouth in the north, paired with the mention of great warriors of noble deeds, and word was sent abroad to places in the south, telling of a desperate need...

"Aeraesar, calls for aid? Aeraesar... have you ever heard of such a place?"​

Falwood herself barred Aeraesar's fringes. Where the sky above grew unnaturally grey, the forest grew thick with thorn and vine. Even deeper, denser too did the trees become, sprung up in a seemingly unnatural fashion, with intent. But, if one sought thoroughly enough, they would find a path to lead them deeper into the dark...

---

Deep in the midst of the cursed wood, there was a camp built close to where Aeraesar had been made open. It was built amid the ruins of an old and now long derelict gatehouse, and there dwelt many warriors of the Order. Though there were the remains of a small settlement about them, they were reduced to only outlines on the barren ground. The elves dwelt in tents, wagons, and a few shanty shacks they'd built just recently for themselves. They protected themselves from the abounding threats that lingered in the forest around them with a wall of stone and wood, and wards of great magic. It was to here that any who chose to answer the call would come first, and from there find their way onward to Sharyrdaes.

Lómin was among those chosen to defend the camp, and any who would come to meet with the Conclave of the Sharyrdian Order. It had been years since Lómin had left from Sharyrdaes - long had his place been to be guarding her broken walls. Now, as he sat near the fire which burned at the camp's center, having bore witness to the growing decay this lasting curse had brought, he mused his own - and quietly shared - despair. For all the light they had their hope in, it still did little to lessen the lasting dark.

Looking into the fire he tried to remind himself that so long as they persisted, they would one day prevail. But as his eyes turned upward through the barren canopy, he beheld the rolling darkness that seemed to only strengthen. He was reminded of the dark beasts that had long roamed and festered throughout their blighted land. He wondered how now, after so long, there could be any hope. He wondered why he still had any at all. But he did, without a doubt, cling desperately to it.

 

[Arwyl Minras]

Arwyl had once been Prince Arwyl of Keirvarn. Another lost elven city in recent history of losses. Sometimes those closest to him still used that title. He tensed not to.

Arwyl had spent years off of the path laid out for him by his mother. With a band of vicious survivors, pit fighters and mercenaries he had lashed out at human expansion into his old lands on the borders of Falwood.

Only recently had he started to build a new haven and home for those that had nowhere else to turn.

If there were people here who needed somewhere to turn, he would be able to offer that. And, at the very least, his small band of able fighters could over some protection.

 

[Tinúviel]

The road into Aeraesar was a treacherous path, and as the sky grew darker the danger only grew. As fortune would have it, however, Tinúviel was not alone on his journey. There had been a number of warriors and adventurers, men, dwarves and elves of favourable ilk that had heard the call for aid who had gathered in the kingdom just north of the Falwood. He'd thrown his lot in with them in their travel to the ill-fated woodland, and traveled with them through the Falwood. He'd not returned to the place he called home in quite some time, but as surely as some stranger might answer the call so too would he.

After several days traveling into the ever darkening land, they finally found their way to the Blackwood Bastion. They approached the camp, little more than an assortment of swordsmen, rangers, and riders with a few wagons in tow. After only a few shared words between the head of their number and the guards, the gates creaked open and they were allowed to file in. Tinúviel looked up as they entered to see a good number of archers patrolling the wall, vigilant in their charge. The guards who stood ready at the fore were heavily armed and well protected. They closed the gates behind them once they'd made their way in.

His present company dispersed themselves amongst the camp, eager to rest after their journey. Tinúviel lingered where he was for a time, taking in the camp that had been made here for them. It was obvious it was not meant to last, but it was formidable all the same. He was also inspirited to see that there were many who answered the call, as the camp was a bustle of activity. It seemed even the dreary skies above were not enough to dim the spirits of some, with cheers and song rising up here and there.

A wry smile found his lips, and he was reminded of the importance of purpose. There were those that would see that here, and in that the would come alive.

He made his way down the camp's main lane, where he came upon the troop of able fighters, lead by the rather kingly elf. Curious, Tinúviel was compelled to approach.

"Almë," blessing, he declared in greeting once he drew near, bowing his head. He looked amongst Arwyl's company for a moment, and then back to him, "I am Tinúviel of Aeraesar, I must thank you for answering the call of my people."

 

[Rûhn]

Aeraesar calls for aid.
​

The cry went out across the lands passed on by messengers and weary travellers, bards and idle gossipers. Many had no idea what the words meant. Some looked on perplexed as neighbours they had known for their whole lives lay down their mundane tools, took out weapons hidden in attics or basements and kissed their families goodbye. Each of those called whispered; Aeraesar calls for aid. On and on the message was passed until eventually it reached the snowy footfalls of the spine. Villagers here had long forgotten the name and scratched their heads or shrugged off the call with barely another word to those who brought the message into their midst. Whatever land it was it must have been far away and people here were dying of this harsh winter, they had their own to look after.

It was only the stranger who seemed to find any meaning in the words and he was gone so quick, nobody had a second to ask him what it meant.

The stranger took the message further than most groundlings would go, to the spiralling peaks of those winter-trapped mountains and beyond to the floating city above the clouds. Other Avariels paused to see one of their own hurtle through the streets towards the Enclave. No guard stopped them as they landed outside the doors and hurried inside to where the Elders could be found. They heaved open the double doors and dropped to their knee before their wizened kin.

"Aeraesar... Aeraesar calls for aid."

Silence settled throughout the room as the Elders glanced at one another, communicating in that silent manner. Then, eventually, one man rose. His red wings rustling as he proclaimed.

"Thysari shall answer. Send The Thirteen."

---

Rûhn Telimectar brushed his fingers against the shaft of his hammer to bring him quiet comfort. He preferred to fly at dawn than he did at night. Even with the Avariels heightened senses it was hard to keep track of what might fly above as well as below. Seven days it had taken them to cross to the expanse of land that separated them from their cousins in the humid woodlands. He had no idea what they would find or if they would find anyone still left by the time they arrived. How long had the message taken to reach them? Weeks? Months?

"There," The Hammer glanced across at his daughter who flew just behind his wing and then down to where she pointed. Just a glimmer through the trees and then - yes, there it was again. Firelight. Right in the midst of the old ruins he still remembered. With a signal to the others of The Thirteen they descended soft as a whisper. Thankfully the trees were cleared somewhat here where stone and magic had kept the forest from completely reclaiming a once thriving civilisation and so the group came to land on the edge of the growing army.

Folding back wings of gold and blue he surveyed the faces turned their way for a figure of command. A few began to murmur as they recognised the sigil emblazoned on their clothes.

"Who speaks for you here?"

 

[Ostára]

Ostára landed close behind her father. Wings the hazy pinks, purples and subtle golds of the early dawn settled loosely against her back. Whilst her father scanned the crowd with a trained soldiers eyes, Tara's was lighter. Excitement brewed there and an eagerness more common amongst the young who had not seen as much death as those like her father. The skirmishes she had been involved in since becoming one of The Thirteen had been nothing on the scale of true war and she was eager to really test herself.

Then of course, there was also the fact of how far they had come.

Their missions had always kept them close to the harsh ridges of the Spine and now she found herself on a completely different continent in a forest that seemed to have trapped the heat of the day and press it down upon them. Her wings luxuriated in the unusual feeling as her eyes darted from person to unusual object, to person and back to another object. It was so much to take in at once but the young avariel was certainly trying.

 

[Oriane]

There was no need for the Harbinger of the Thirteen to lead this time. A call to arms did not warrant for her to race ahead, but allowed her to keep back and observe once her feet found the earth. Oriane was often praised for her focus, for her dedication in serving with The Thirteen. Her amber eyes were trained on Rûhn and Tara as she fell into step behind them, several paces back but there was no doubt she would be by their side before anyone could blink.

The air was thick, and not just with heat. Tension and anxiety clung to those gathered, and Oriane Ovdotia softened her face and took in those gathered for a moment. They too were astounded to see The Thirteen, but The Spear cut her gaze back to Rûhn as he asked for an authoritative figure to make themselves known.

"We are The Thirteen." Oriane's voice held a calming cadence, even through her cutting words. Murmurs fell to a hush as the golden avariel confirmed their being. She was watchful, always ready when the time called for it.

 

[Lómin]

Lingering by the fire in what quiet he could afford himself amidst the bustle of the camp, it didn't take long for an all too welcome presence to be felt. He'd have noticed sooner had he not been so tied up in the moment, but such was needed in times as these and he couldn't allow himself to idly linger through the collective. But when Tinúviel had entered into the camp, Lómin recognized him immediately, and left from his place by the fire and sought him. Tinúviel was one of their grandest champions, and a respected teacher. Lómin was, to say the least, happy that he had returned.

As he made his way through the camp, whose occupants likely numbered around six hundred or so by now, he began to hear murmurings of strange newcomers. Winged folk. There had been inklings through the Shoraes, he remembered. He'd felt them several years ago now, from their Swords in the north, inclinations that friends of old had shown themselves once again. But those souls had become quiet, and Lómin's head dropped as he remembered those who had gone to fight for Bhathairk. None of them had returned, and as they were now gone so too were those distant thoughts they sought to send, little more than faint memories.

But maybe what they had seen was true.

Lómin's head lifted, and his pace quickened.

As fortune would have it, he would soon come upon a fortuitus gathering. There, he found Tinúviel, and saw that he had already confirmed that which Lómin had suspected. The Avariel had come.

Lómin drew close, and came to Tinúviel's side.

 

[Tinúviel]

"Who speaks for you here?"​

---

At first, there was a quiet that fell over those Aerai who were there at the camp's gates. It came first at the sight of them, descending through the dark like shining beacons of light. Their wings were like those that were etched into their Temple's great murals, and the symbol they wore so brazenly was displayed with reverence in those same halls. Then, came the declaration, We are The Thirteen. With this, all those of Aeraesar placed their hand upon their chest, and bowed their heads.

"We remember," they said in unison.

Of these elves, Tinúviel was one, having made his way only so far into the camp before The Thirteen's arrival. And of these elves, through the collective consciousness of their Shoraes, it was quickly made apparent that it was he who should speak for them, he who was, among all of those Aeraesarians who still lived after the Eventide fell, of the oldest and wisest of their kind. He was one of those few remaining who had touched the mind-stones of the past, and he could recall the memory of that broken meadow where the line was held with a particular clarity.

He could see the rolling smoke...

…he could feel the bitter grief.

He stepped forward, bowing his head again in greeting, saying, "Almë," he placed his hand on his chest, and introduced himself, "these are dark times, we are honoured that you would come as in days of old. Truthfully, we feared you to be lost..."

 

[Arwyl Minras]

"Almë," blessing, he declared in greeting once he drew near, bowing his head. He looked amongst Arwyl's company for a moment, and then back to him, "I am Tinúviel of Aeraesar, I must thank you for answering the call of my people."

"I am Prince Arwyl Minras of Keirvarn," he replied.

"And we are glad to be here."

Under Kaius guidance he had liberated human slaves as well as his own former people. He was sensible enough not to bring a crowd of human pit fighters and orcs to an elven ruin. Still, his group looked more like a pack of bandits than elven knights.

If the fight turned scrappy in difficult terrain, then every one of his people was worth five trained soldiers. Only Arwyl looked like true elven royalty. Most of his line had been wiped out when their home fell.

"We are The Thirteen." Oriane's voice held a calming cadence, even through her cutting words.

In the dark ruins of an old gatehouse, his rag tag band might not have looked out of place. In the light of winged elves, the young prince looked around at his group and felt a touch inadequate.

"Welcome," Arwyl added to Tinúviel's greeting.

"So, where are we going and what are we fighting?"

 

[Rûhn]

Rûhn returned the gesture with a sweep of his speckled wings, hand clasped into a fist over his heart and a graceful bend at the waist far lower than he would have given other commanders. It was a great mark of respect intended to honour the history between their people, and its future if the rumours of the young Fireheart were true. With the formalities done he glanced briefly across to Oriane with a half smile, as though the words were almost an inside jest. To an extent they were; how many times since the Opening had they been told such a thing?

"Lost in a sense," The Hammer mused, turning his gaze back to the man who claimed the honour of leading the growing army and those who stood with him. Whilst his smile did not grow with the Prince's words there was amusement that lightened his eyes. "I too, would like to know what enemy has called us across the continents once more."

 

[Ostára]

The younger avariel knew she should have been paying attention to the exchange of leaders, should have been following her father and Oriane's lead, but she couldn't stop her attention being snagged so quickly by the unusual things in the camp. She had never seen so many elves gathered in one place ready to fight. It was like an odd moveable city in a sense. Her eyes tracked a group who carried laundry back from the river, then flicked restlessly to a man cooking over a big cauldron dolling out meagre rations. Then her attention was again snatched by the quick movement of a younger lad dashing through the camp, a message in his hand. The Thirteen tended to work in isolation. This was...

Hastily she copied her father as he bowed receiving a subtle half raise of his silvered brow. That was going to be a conversation later.

Reining in a sigh she willed herself to focus on the group before them and assess each of the three who stood furthest forward to greet them. One did not seem like the other two. An elf but not one of the Aerai. That piqued her interest, especially when he so bluntly asked of their enemy.

 

[Oriane]

Formalities were never her strong suit, although witnessing Ostara's bow managed a sly smirk from The Spear. In a bid to stifle it, she looked to each of those that spoke, giving them a nod in acknowledgement before relaxing some. It was indeed so long since the last time the Thirteen were called upon, she did not seem fazed at the idea of their entire race being forgotten about or rumoured to that of legends. She could feel all the stares upon the newcomers from the sky, and their wings in stunning variations.

"It is highly unusual for us to answer a call such as this. Some of us doubted the severity when we found no other information provided other than a call for aide." Oriane was one left unconvinced, yet her presence here said more than her opinions. Majority of the Thirteen were in favour, and her trust was always in those that served with her. She looked both to Ruhn and Ostara and shrugged lightly, her way of an apology.

 

[Tinúviel]

The Prince Keirvarn. The Thirteen of Thyasari. A host of others from lands untold. Many had come, and Tinúviel found himself humbled that those of these ilk would come to their aid so readily. To Arwyl, he had given his deepest thanks, and said that those of the Conclave would be most eager to speak with him. The Thirteen, too, would need to meet with them. But when the time arrived that they would all come together, then they could dwell on that. For now, there was a greater concern, for they first need to make it to them.

"So, where are we going and what are we fighting?"
​

The others asked as well. And indeed, there had been little time to say what need of theirs was so great, until now. Tinúviel looked to Lómin, and quietly between them and the Aerai there did they agree, and so again, taking lead, Tinúviel began to speak.

"Darkness, and shadow," he replied, "we gather here to defeat that which has plagued these lands that I call home. Long has it dwelt in the lingering dark, this evil I speak of, and long as it prepared for these times."

He wandered away from the assembled group some, sauntering close to a large fire made nearby. Coming near to it, his eyes found each of those who listened to him, "this is an ancient foe, beyond any one of us alone."

And he lifted his hand to the fire, and in it and above it an image took shape, and through the fire, through the power of Tinúviel's mind, were memories shown forth with clarity and frayed edges. And in that image was a great army, with colours unknown and numbers untold, made of many, man, dwarf, elf and even orc. And against a great fog did they strive, and this fog soon became clear. Twisted beasts of blackness and sharpened claws, lidless dark eyes, and screeching, howling mouths. And then the image of a great, dark dragon with wings of black fire and eyes of golden hate, with flames dripping from her maw. And then finally, the image of a final beast, whose mandibles hung loosely and shadows took shape it its hands.

And then the flames descended and flickered nearly out, before roiling up again in their natural blaze.

"Its name is Arkhivom. Years ago it unveiled itself to us once more, cursing our land and attacking our city. We will march through the wood to Sharyrdaes, where we will stand against him once more.

His army gathers, and will be upon the city soon. We linger here for only a short while longer."

 

[Arwyl Minras]

The Thirteen

Arwyl was relatively certain that their tall, silver-haired leader was part celestial being.

He glanced back over his shoulder. Leaving behind those from his ranks that were not elves had stripped out some experience. Caulden, the old disgraced human knight was actually one of the finest swords he had met. Riznak, the orc, could plough through most dangers without slowing down.



Elena stepped up to stand behind his left shoulder. Like him, she had grown up in Keivarn. Unlike the prince, she had not been carried to safety by the last of the Queensguard. They had found her in a fighting put along with Caulden. She spoke little of what had happened, but he had since gathered they had tried to put her to work in a brothel. After the first mutilation, she had gone to the pits and surprised everyone by not only surviving but becoming a firm fixture.

Despite being remarkably dangerous, so also told anyone who stopped to listen that Arwyl was a daft useless cunt and occasionally outright refused to take orders from her Prince.

"this is an ancient foe, beyond any one of us alone."

"Here we go..." Elena whispered under her breath. She had expressed a view that their refugees were hardly in a place to offer aid. As Tinúviel described the demonic danger, he started to agree.

"Elena, go and find out how many caltrops and spears we have in the group. Get people making long stakes right now."

This order, she listened to.

"My people can form a vanguard as we move," Arwyl called out, "and skirmish on the flanks. I'm afraid I haven't brought you a front line infantry force."

 

[Rûhn]

Rûhn's expression did not betray his own thoughts or memories as their defacto leader spoke. He seemed to take the words 'demon' and 'monster' within his stride, even when it was determined to be an ancient enemy. From its description, it was the same beast the Fireheart had fought and told her father about. She had nearly died in the process and merely managed to get away. That knowledge did not deter The Hammer though. If a monster lived then it could die.

His eyes only once briefly went to his daughters enraptured face then turned to the other in The Thirteen. Or at least, the Elders in their group. He met Oriane's gaze and then gave a nod to what she was no doubt about to say; The Thirteen would go first.

 

[Oriane]

The smile that spread along her pink lips curled first into a wicked smile before a sort of glee settled there. The nod only gave her permission voice what she had wanted to say since their arrival, that not only would The Thirteen fight with them, they would offer to be the ones to go first.

"Allow us to go on ahead." She began. Even Oriane would keep her flight in line with the rest of The Thirteen. To have an evil that caused such distress and destruction allowed her to make the decision to not speed ahead like she would anywhere else. "It is why we are here, is it not?"

Of course, they had not thought of the Avariels to appear, but given just the sight of a near quarter of their numbers, it should have incited some faith and hope in the beings gathered here. Seemingly out of nowhere but weaved from her fingers, Oriane's hand lifted, wrist twisting as if the Spear were always there in hand. Once it came to existence, she twirled it to finish at her side. She was ready, turning to look to Ruhn for his command.

 

[Tinúviel]

Tinúviel nodded to them, saying, "agreed. It will take us some time to make our way, and no doubt we will have Arkhivom's pets nipping at our heels. And with the Avariel at the head we will see long ahead if anything bars our way. We will begin readying for our departure. In the meantime, a small group is assembling, they will search the ruins nearby and return with anything of use they can find. Up their return, we should be ready..."

---

Days later...​

---

The Blackwood Bastion was not a small camp. It had started that way months ago when the call had first gone out, little more than a few tents sprung up around the ruins there. In the time since it had slowly grown, it was far from an established town, or a proper settlement of any kind, but for some it had come to feel like a home away from home. Friends had been made there, songs had been sung. So some, as they left from that place to march deeper into the wood, they cast one final glance back.

The journey would be long for a number as vast as theirs, but only so long. Aeraesar was only so vast, and it was only a matter of time before they would find themselves emerging from what seemed like Falwood's most dense woods into a great, encompassing meadow with small mountains in the distance - and there, the city...

As they left, Tinúviel only hoped that they would make it Sharyrdaes before their enemy did.

 

[Arwyl Minras]

Arwyl had come to learn a little of their culture on the journey. When the twisted trees and thorns were not so dense that everyone fought their own personal battle for progress, they had talked.

What Arwyl had found out was that there was far more left to learn than he had discovered.

It was a stark contrast to his own people. So few had escaped Keirvarn. So much history and culture lost.

The knew how to fight. That much was clear.

"Send them forward," Arwyl called.

His people spread out ahead of the main force on one flank. Arwyl didn't know as much about warfare as the other leaders. In planning, it had become clear than as the force emerged from the thickest undergrowth they lacked the ability to maneuver to meet an enemy.

Arwyl and his people spread out as skirmishers. Each carried three wooden stakes, a bag of caltrops and a bow. Ready to hamper any forces that tried to attack as they prepared to march on the city.

 

[Rûhn]

Rûhn returned Oriane's smile with a small one of his own.

"Let us fly."

---

It was funny how easy it was to slip once more into a larger army. To become a small part of a larger thing. Like one organ that helped to power the whole animal. The Thirteen were a well oiled machine but he had worried about them in the context of a wider army - especially not an Avariel one. Many of their rank had not seen true war just skirmishes here and there since the Great Closing. This would push them all... He glanced to his daughter and the delight in her face as they swept over the army back towards the front where Oriane held with the rest of the Thirteen. Doing scouting trips back and forth was a common part of the job to keep the rest informed on the state of the army.

"I think that is all of it," Rûhn informed The Spear as they drew wing to wing. "Shall we go and see what the next phase of the plan is?"

 

[Ostára]

Tara stared at the smudge on the distant horizon with a mix of excitement and trepidation. Over the last few weeks of travel she had gotten to know the soldiers below and waved at them as she and her father flew over their heads. She may have even deliberately nudged her fathers wing to get a feather or two to fall for she knew some of those who marched had begun to collect them. It was a small bit of happiness before the battle to come.

As they shot out ahead once more to join the rest of the Thirteen she found herself determined to hold onto that happiness a little while longer. She pushed her way between the more serious adults and all but tackled into Oriane.

"Race ya!" The young avariel grinned and then shot back towards the banners that indicated where Tinúviel rode that day.

 

[Oriane]

Oriane was quick to whip her head to the side and confront whoever it was that brushed up too close to her, but the words were heard before she could recognise Ostara. What a hellion declaring a race and giving herself a head start! With a small smile, Oriane Ovdotia gave her a few more seconds in the lead before her wings adjusted slightly to give her that edge she was well known for.

Gaining altitude, Oriane effortlessly speared right on ahead and displayed just how fast she truly was. Tara did not see her coming, at least, until The Spear disrupted the airflow surrounding the younger Avariel. Triumphantly, declaring herself the winner once she cleared forward a fair way, she stopped high above and turned to see where Ostara was left in her wake.

"The day you beat me, Ostara, is the day I shall sing a song in your honour." Unlike the younger, the golden winged Avariel made her way back to where the large group moved as one, falling back into her duty.

Now that she was beside The Arrow, Oriane lowered her voice. "Sad to say my skills in composing is not equal to that of my singing voice." Instead, she had turned her sharpening her skills in order to be considered to join the Thirteen than to learn and compose songs inspired by the battles fought by the famous legion.

 

[Tinúviel]

It was difficult to move with much haste through the thick of Aeraesar's forest. Falwood had grown dense here already, and over a century of reclamation had only tightened their paths. Still, they forged ahead with more speed than Tinúviel had expected, and he was hopeful to be upon the city with well enough time to become more properly prepared for what was to come.

While there were many who rode atop the backs of horses, or other more exotic creatures from distant lands, Tinúviel carried his own weight for now. He took time now and then to meander through some of the ranks nearer to him, speaking with warriors from farther off as often as he could. He and all his kin felt indebted to those strangers who had come, and they would not be lax in their learning of whom it was who had come. But, when the Avariel drew near to speak of things to come, they would find him exactly where they expected him to be, amongst the banners of leadership.

"Almë," he said in greeting as they fell into step, "soon we will come upon a vast meadow. Beyond, there is a long range of mountains, not so grand as those mountains of the spine, but grand enough that they bar the north. Sharyrdaes rest there against the mountain, and so Arkhivom's army will have only one avenue to attack us from - which is why we must arrive before he does. Provided that we do, we must enter the city as quickly as we can."

Sharyrdaes was a vast city that ascended with the mountains at her back, and though much of the lower three levels were deserted and in a terrible state of disrepair, they could easily stage the entirety of their army within on the first level alone. And if they arrived early enough, they could perhaps repair some of the artillery, which consisted of enormous trebuchets, that defended the city in the past. The problem truly came if Arkhivom's army arrived before they did, as their forces would be divided from the rest of the Aerai in the city.

"He will not attempt to outlast us like any typical siege. He has prepared for this for over one hundred years... once the attack begins..."

 

[Arwyl Minras]

"Can you even tell what they are?" Arwyl asked.

The skirmish line had extended into a scouting network that aimed to pull the army through the most accessible route. There were elves that new the lay of the land, and Arwyl had his people join in to bulk out the forces.

They had just encountered scouts from the opposing force.

"No. They looked elvish?" Couvre, one of Arwyl's people replied. "But they were dark shapes. No sign of weapons."

Arwyl sighed. They didn't know how far they might be from the main force.

"I'll take a larger group, push into their territory and see how they react. Our quietest to head north and try and find a gap in their scouts. Send a message back to Tinúviel to ask if they want us to engage and try and find where their army is or if he wants someone to do it from the air. "

 

[Rûhn]

Rûhn had the long suffering look of a father as he came to land behind the two women. The rest of the Thirteen had remained airborne in order to keep an eye on the horizon should any messengers be sent back to the army, or forces that might suddenly require intercepting. The other Elven Prince held the very front lines and they wanted to be able to provide support should it be needed.

"It will be bloody," the Hammer finished for the leader with a nod. He had expected as much from this foe. Over the weeks of marching they had learnt more and more of the creature they marched towards. He walked with his hands behind his back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Do you have any information about what exactly we'll be facing?"

 

[Ostára]

Tara was panting hard by the time she caught up with Oriane. She had tried her hardest, pushed herself as fast as she could, and yet it was still not enough. A part of her was frustrated but... Ostára idealized the older Avariel. The day she beat her, she would no longer have something to aim for. She flashed Oriane a brilliant grin full of the wild abandon of youth then landed beside her, beaming at the thought she might one day have a song written for her by The Spear.

The mood darkened with her fathers and Tinúviel's talk of war: she had almost forgotten that was why they were here.

"Are... they not demons we face?" Tara frowned. From everything the common soldiers whispered about that is what their enemy appeared to be.