Open Chronicles Bump In The Night

[Vyx'aria]

It was a privilege to lead attacks on the surface, and it had been a dream of the newly appointed Commander for years now. She had her chance now, and this raid would be the first of many. The goal was to take critical supplies and artifacts that were being transported into the rich city of Elbion.

She moved like a cat, slowly slinking in between the trees under the cover of darkness. The skies were starless tonight, thick and gray clouds shrouding the moon from view. The smell of rain to come was in the air, and the winds were rustling through the leaves to mask the sounds of her small group moving in. She had hand selected the individuals to come with her, all women and all fiercely loyal to the cause.

Vyx’aria came up towards a small gap in the woods where several caravans had set up to camp for the night. They were humans from the looks of it, the stench assailing her nostrils as she grimaced. She crouched near a boulder, lifting her hand to give silent signals to her comrades to halt and observe for just a moment before striking.

There was a fire in the middle of the camp, the bright flames causing her eyes to water slightly. The vivid light was a shock to her senses, and she had to look slightly away, knowing that the fire would complicate things. She tilted her head to look at one of the soldiers that specialized in magic, relying on her to take care of the fire problem.

There were about sixteen people gathered around the caravans, and she could tell the carts were laden with supplies. She could hear them speaking in tongues she could only partially decipher. In her military training before coming to surface, it was mandatory to learn the common tongue. She turned her crimson gaze back towards the camp, preparing to pounce on the attack the very next moment.

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak had received a tip off about a caravan that was rumored to be transporting arcane artifacts, and as soon as he'd heard it, he knew he needed to find out more about it. While he recognized that he, alone, against over a dozen humans was not odds he was willing to take on, he also knew that to observe was one of the first keys to success. If the potential target was what he hoped, he'd surely be able to find a group of brigands willing to take on the job with him.

Now that he was laying eyes on the caravan for the first time, he felt his pulse begin to quicken. There was so much potential here. Of the sixteen he saw, only four looked as if they knew how to handle a weapon. He guessed they were hired guards while the other dozen seemed to be merchants, traders, and craftsman who decided traveling in a group was safer than traveling alone. By the Maker, one of them was even pudgy! This was simply going to be too easy.

As he began to tally through the men in his mind, deciding who would be the first target when he returned, his eyes caught - for only the slightest moment - a movement in the bushes. To one without darkvision it surely would have gone unnoticed, but before Alak ever saw the light of day, he'd spent decades in the darkness.

He found himself not breathing, holding in the darkness against what he refused to believe was here. He couldn't go back into the underground again. He refused to go back to a society that had stunted his growth, and he had no delusions about this: that raiding party would kill him. They wouldn't look kindly on a rogue male. Sreeya

 

[Iktovian]

Iktovian had spent the past few years searching for the troupe that had betrayed him, not going out of his way to track them down but still keeping an ear to the ground to try and have a general idea of their movements. He had always known that his path would cross with theirs, and on that day he would have his revenge. He had thought that today was that day when he had heard word of a caravan traveling to Elbion and enough of what he had heard had matched to convince him that he had finally found his troupe.

But once he had tracked the caravan down he had learnt, yet again, the folly of listening to a drunk. Not only was this not his troupe, the caravan was so well armed that he was sure that he would have been cut down had he been more foolhardy in his approach and revealed himself. At least he hadn't thrown away caution in his excitement at the prospect of finally having his revenge.

So no, he was not going to be killing anyone tonight, as tempted as he might be. The caravan seemed to be loaded with items that would earn a pretty penny in the right markets, but there was nothing he could do on his own. Maybe if he had known about it in advance and put together some sort of plan, but it was too late now. All he could do was wait it out, look for an opportunity to get out of this situation. And so he was perched atop one of the trees surrounded the camp they had made, bow out, an arrow notched, and senses on alert as he waited for an opportunity to slip out and away.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya​

 

[Vyx'aria]

It was time to strike, and her focus was entirely on the party. She wouldn’t even dream of another dark elf being in the vicinity, as her people rarely ever ventured out into the surface. There had been a few rogues here and there, but they were either hunted down or went too far into hiding permanently. The only time the hunt stopped was if the House fell from grace and the family was murdered. Such was the punishment of having a family member that ran to the surface and turned their backs on the cause.

Alvyana quickly worked her magic, waving her hand as the very air around the fire began to be manipulated by her touch. The flames began to narrow, now suddenly catching the attention of the campers. While this happened, Vyx’aria gave the command. Arrows began to zoom through the air, killing three on the spot. The humans began to scatter and yell, the guards they had hired quickly drawing their blades.

By now, the magic had done its work, suppressing the fire till there was pitch darkness. The thick smoke still plumed, and the stench was strong, but her eyes no longer burned. Vyx’aria bolted from her position, drawing out her blade. It was a short blade, only slightly longer than a dagger. Specializing in close combat, she preferred the use of small blades.

She was nimble on her feet, springing forth and darting into the camp like a striking viper. Within moments, she grabbed a man from behind, driving her blade into him. She didn’t let the body fall before she spun on her foot and slashed the blade across the throat of another man.

The guards fumbled around in the darkness, unable to see clearly. One of them spotted the outline of her body and rushed at her with an ax raised. She met the ax easily enough, though she was surprised by the strength. Men of her people were considerably weaker than the women. She drew her blade back, the man stumbling forth from his own downward pressure and the sudden loss of friction. Vyx’aria used this moment to pivot and stab into his side under the arm where he had no armor protection.

The camp was in chaos, and the noise the people made was getting entirely too loud. They risked being discovered by others. She knew she had made a mistake then - it would have been best to strike when they had all been asleep.

Cynical Phoenix Wit

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak may have disdained many things about his people, but there was one thing that he admired to this day: they were deadlier than any surfacers. The elves had descended upon their target before the caravan had even had time to react. The fire was smothered, and the advantage was much more to the drow now.

He barely even noticed that he was still holding his breath, and with the clang of steel, he finally dared release that held breath. His hand reached for the hilt of his sword, wrapping reassuringly around its grip but not yet pulling it out. Though he knew it wouldn't, he somehow feared that even in the near pitch-darkness, the adamantine blade might catch some light and reveal him despite the blackness of the metal. It was an irrational fear, but one born out of knowing what happened to rogues who were caught.

His hesitation and lack of movement gave him the opportunity to watch what unfolded. The drow - all women he now saw, which surprised him - had already slaughtered most of the front end merchants, but others would soon be rising. Other portions of the caravan might descend, and Alak watched for his opportunity. Despite the risk to himself, he might actually be able to still profit from tonight. A drow raid was the perfect distraction... as long as you didn't get in the way of the drow raid...

Against his better judgement, he still didn't move, and as he watched what unfolded, he became oddly fascinated. He didn't long for return to his people - not by a long shot - but there were many qualities he still missed. Chief among these, was the deadly precision with which they moved. There was a certain longing in that memory.

It dawned on him that the noise being made might soon lead to him being trapped here as well, and his pulse spiked up again. His fight or flight instincts took hold, but he continued to suppress them. Something - perhaps it was destiny - forced his feet to stay in place.

When he finally managed to peel his foot from the ground, he found himself making his way toward the caravan instead of away. He could feel something calling to him from one of the wagons, and he couldn't seem to leave it. He did his best to keep himself a wagon between himself and the bulk of the fighting, but there was still a faint chance the leading woman might see him from where she stood... if she weren't so caught up in the fight. Surely he could grab the item - a small ceremonial dagger radiating with magical energy - and escape. Famous last words.

Sreeya Wit

 

[Iktovian]

Completely oblivious to the presence of the dark elf raiding party, or the singular male dark elf he had worked with before, Iktovian was caught by surprise when descended on the camp and the world suddenly came to life. For a few moments he could only watch as activity engulfed the camp, figures emerging from the trees and taking down the guards with eerie, practiced precision. He had heard of the deadliness of a dark elf strike force, but this was the first time he was seeing it in action. And he was impressed, so impressed in fact that he almost forgot why he was here. This might not have been the caravan he was looking for, but it was still one he could profit from.

That thought pushed away the all other emotions, replaced with pure focus driven by the possibility of claiming whatever was held within the caravan's locks. He kept an eye on all the action, observing what was going on while deciding on his next course of action. He could simply jump in and join in the fighting, helping in cutting down the caravan guards, though he wasn't sure how the dark elves would react to his presence. The other option was probably less risky, wait for an opportunity to slip in and sneak out with some loot, in and out with the dark elves none the wiser.

But the decision was taken from him when he noticed one of the guards, near who seemed to be the leader of the raiding elves, pull out a horn from within his cloak and raise it to his lips. No matter how the elves might act, more guards was only going to make things worse for everyone. So he let loose with an arrow, as it whizzed past the lead elf and slammed into the guard's mouth, dropping him before he could raise the alarm.

If the lead elf took notice of the shot, which given the proximity of his arrow's trajectory to her would be pretty likely, Iktovian would raise a hand in greeting before notching another arrow and beginning firing at the other guards. The cat was out of the hat now, his hand had been pressed and all he could do now was play this out and hope that the night didn't end with him making a run for his life with a bunch of night elves hot on his trail.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya​

 

[Vyx'aria]

The elves were making short work of the people around the caravans. Without light to guide them, the humans were extremely susceptible and laughably easy to dispose. As several bodies lay on the ground, her mages utilized it, drawing from the blood. This unleashed dark magic that coiled around and inflicted pain on the survivors. Cuts and slashes appeared on their bodies and they fell to the ground in intense pain.

Vyx’aria was eyeing another enemy when she spotted one of the guards pull out a horn to alert reinforcements. Before she could do anything, an arrow whizzed close by her, directly into the guard in question. She whipped her head around to look, eyes narrowing at the sight of an outsider. From the looks of it, he was a surface elf, though he didn’t exactly smell like one. Something was off about him.

Without a word, she gave a quick hand command for two of her warriors to subdue the man. She didn’t care if he helped them - he was a problem if he wasn’t a dark elf. Vyx’aria returned her focus to the remaining men, her blade working rapidly to cut down the last of them.

As she yanked her bloody blade out from a man’s chest, she glanced up to spot another figure making its way towards the caravans. Why were there so many complications for this operation? This was supposed to be quick and easy. She had sent scouts for days. Obviously they had done a shoddy job and she would punish them accordingly.

She made a beeline for the other newcomer, blade drawn as she prepared to engage him. Vyx’aria skidded to a halt when she realized it was an individual she recognized. Fury ran through her as she spotted the traitor, “You,” She growled murderously, gritting her teeth.

Wit Cynical Phoenix

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Things were going downhill. He had been hoping that if he were caught he might be able to talk his way out. Spin a lie about having been sent on a scouting mission by his house or that he was simply a commoner who had taken a life as a mercenary hunting surfacers. There was one particular band in Zar'Ahal noted for their skills as mercenaries and their lack of loyalty to anyone but themselves... what was their name?

He supposed it didn't matter now because with the appearance of a single woman, all of that flew out the window. Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel knew who Alak was, and no amount of lying or spun tales would convince her otherwise.

His mind raced through his options, and he knew they weren't great. He had magic, she had swordsmanship. While he was a skilled swordsman, he'd seen her fight and he was fairly confident she was better. His sword was out and in his hand with a flash, and he backed away, clearly not intent on a fight... yet. At their distances, a powerful cast would be difficult, though not impossible, but he'd have preferred to spare that as a last resort.

"It's been a long time, Vyx," he said smoothly. He wouldn't have been surprised if his mere addressing her was enough to infuriate her, but they weren't in the underworld... not yet, and he was finished with being a second class citizen: living fodder. No, he would die before he allowed himself to be someone else's fodder again.

A glance over her shoulder, and he saw one of her mages fall to an arrow from one of the guardsmen. Whether she would die or not, Alak neither knew, nor cared, but he saw his opportunity and he took it.

"It looks like you're short a mage," he said. She would immediately appreciate the implication, and though she may have viewed him as a traitor and an inferior, she also knew he was incredibly gifted at what he did, and without her own sorceresses, this battle could still turn against her. A gambit for them both, but a potentially beneficial one for them both. Wit Sreeya

 

[Iktovian]

He had barely released another arrow when the warriors, responding to the signal that Iktovian had not spotted, attacked. He saw the knife that came flying his way, ducking down on the branch he was perched atop to avoid the attack. But while he was distracted by the more mundane attack, he missed the arcane one that accompanied it, and stumbled and tumbled off the branch to the ground as a painful slash suddenly cut through his chest.

The two warriors were rounding up on him when a sudden commotion from the side drew their attention, more guards, probably a small scouting party drawn back by the sounds of battle. They were few, just five, but they carried torches, and their sudden appearance blinded the two elven warriors who had been about to attack him and in that moment of distraction the men attacked, an arrow piercing one of the elves while another one of the men shot a bolt of fire at them. They had a mage! That should have made him worry, but all it did was send a fresh wave of excitement surging through him. Mages didn't come cheap. Whatever he was hired to protect was probably worth a lot, a lot more than anything Iktovian could have imagined. Suddenly he was a lot more invested in seeing this fight through to the end.

So he opened himself up and drew in some of the fury he felt in the dark elf at the sight of seeing her companion fall, and felt the pain vanish as power surged through him. He jumped and pushed the elf out of the way of the firebolt. He was going to need friends if he wanted to survive the night, and earning goodwill with the dark elves seemed to be the only way to do that. Thankfully he hadn't dropped his bow during his fall, and as he came up on a knee he fired off an arrow at the soldier who carried the torch. The darkness was their one advantage, and he had to restore it as soon as possible.

"Mage!" He shouted out as he drew another arrow, hoping to draw the attention of the leader of the elves, if she hadn't noticed it already. Only then did he notice the figure besides her, one that he actually recognized. Alak?! What was he doing here?

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya​

 

[Vyx'aria]

She bristled at as he referred to her name in shorthand form. He spoke as if he were an equal, sending lava coursing through her veins, “Being up here has made you forget your place, worm,” She hissed, bringing her blade up, “Bringing your head back on a platter will make the goddesses quite happy,” There was an evil grin on her face, the lower hemisphere of her face the only bits visible.

Before she could attack him, there was blinding light as reinforcements arrived. Vyx’aria stumbled back from the brightness, her eyes rapidly watering again. She could hear the cries from her soldiers as they drew back from the fire, one of them being killed on the spot. Vyx’aria caught that same bizarre ‘elf’ push one of her soldiers out of the line of fire. The sight confused her, but she determined he was no immediate threat for now. The elf he pushed out of the way quickly got to her feet and moved to stab the half elf. However, she noticed he immediately killed the man with a torch. In the end, she simply smacked him upside the head to do at least something on principle.

Vyx’aria was split on what to do - her greedy and selfish nature telling her to capture Alak, but her position as Commander demanding that she focus on her soldiers. In the end, she growled and rushed towards the soldiers, looking for Alvyana to aid with the mage. However, the female mage was nowhere to be seen. She had been reluctant to come to surface, the mages generally staying behind a wall of soldiers at the frontline. This had been a small strike, which meant everyone was in equal danger. Had she disobeyed her?

Nevertheless, Alak’s words haunted her mind - she was short a mage. Vyx’aria had to duck out of the way as more flames came her way, her eyes watering now. She called out to the traitor, “Neutralize that mage!” Vyx’aria noticed he wasn’t as badly affected by seeing the flames as she and her soldiers were.

Cynical Phoenix Wit

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Ah, yes, it was so good to be around women again... said no man from Zar'Ahal ever. There was that disdain again, but without the constraints of the underground or its oppressive culture, Alak almost found it funny. Entertaining? Perhaps that was the better word for it. It looked like it was going to be a fight... oh splendid.

"Lhun naur -o i skui, dan..." he began whispering the words of his spell to unleash against her when suddenly there was a flash of light cutting both of them short. His time on the surface had made him more adjusted to light, but even so it was still an oppression to his eyes in this darkness, and he squinted hard, instinctively bringing a hand up to shield them from the pyre.

And so Alak was left with a decision: unleash his bolt at her back and kill the single greatest threat to him on the battlefield, kill the mage she requested, or grab his artifact.

Was it too much to ask for all of them? Probably, but perhaps he could manage with two of them.

"Lhun naur -o i skui, dant- bo mui adversarui." He finished the spell this time and thrust out his left hand. Crackling, blue lightning shot from his hand and tore into the mage who was still thoroughly distracted. The arc was near enough to the dark elven commander that the hair on her body would stand on end and she might almost wonder if it was intended for her until she saw it drive home into their enemy, a momentary, continued burst as it began to drain a portion of the crystal attached to his chest.

And then came his own gain: an insurance policy, if you will. In two quick bounds, he was at the wagon and pried open one of the boxes, pulling out the dagger he'd been seemingly called to. It was an ornate weapon, decorated with gold and gems, and had to be worth a fortune even without its power. But it was the power emanating from it that Alak was more interested in. If - probably when - she double crossed him, this was his insurance, and he slipped it into the pocket of his coat.

This was such a bad idea. He wasn't even sure why he was helping. Opportunity, Alak, he reminded himself. There was so much to gain from being here, but also much to risk.

It was as he was considering slipping into the night that he saw... was that Iktovian? What was he doing here? Helping the dark elves? Or just a coincidence? Likely the latter since dark elves weren't known for their tolerance of surfacers. Wit Sreeya

 

[Iktovian]

As he fired another arrow he felt a smack against his head, and his head whipped around towards the source, as his hands flinched for a moment to follow the motion. But then he understood what had happened and let out a chuckle as he rose to his feet, almost towering over the woman who had smacked him, seeming for no other reason than she could. "You like it rough too eh? Just my type!" But before she had an opportunity to react a bolt of lightning shot past them, straight towards the mage. He took that as his opportunity to pounce and drew on the emotions of one of the nearby guards, just a smidge but enough to achieve what he needed.

There were always a few like him in such mercenary groups, men and women who had signed up for this life simply because they enjoyed it. So while most of the soldiers were overcome with fear and sometimes anger, some were overcome with the joy of battle, of killing. And Iktovian fed on that joy, his movements sped up as he pulled on it. Moving much faster than he normally would, he charged at the mage, or whatever was left of him after being hit with Alak's lightning. But he had learnt the hard way that it always best to make sure when mages were involved. Dropping his bow and arrow as he ran, he pulled out his dagger as he jumped the last few feet to slam into the mage's body and drop him onto his back, landing on a knee on his ruined chest, his dagger dug deep into his face.

Pulling the dagger free, he reached for his sword with his free hand, and still moving with magically enhanced speed, swung the blade through the feet of one of the nearby guards, dropping him and turning with the momentum of the swing to face the remaining two guards, who now had swords drawn and pointed at him.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya​

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria jumped back as the lightning whizzed close by her. She was almost sure that he had intended to hit her with it, but it instead launched at the other wizard. She gritted her teeth, fury flashing in her eyes that now glowed red. Alak had always been exceptionally good at getting under her skin, and even now years later that hadn’t changed. Her hand clutching the blade was almost quivering in anger, but she couldn’t risk killing him just yet.

Meanwhile, the elf that the had smacked the half elf growled in response to the quip. She wasn’t used to being spoken to by men, let alone being on the receiving end of snark. That one line would have been enough to have him executed in the underground. Her own ego drove her, and she watched him charge forth to finish off the mage.

As he went towards one of the guards to sweep his blade against the feet, the female elf abruptly stuck her foot out to make the half elf trip and faceplant. The woman then moved with grace, casually stepping on his back to leap up and bring her own blades in a spiraling dervish to cut easily through the man the half elf was targeting. She did the same by whipping around to make short work of the other guard that had been coming after him, a smug grin on her face as she did so.

Meanwhile, Vyx’aria looked to the side and spotted some movement behind a tree. She darted towards it, spotting Alvyana, her own mage. Anger coursed through her as she spotted the cowardly elf trying to sneak her way back towards their underground home. Vyx’aria gave quick chase, the woman haphazardly trying to unleash some magic on her. Before she could, Vyx’aria launched her blade directly at the woman with precision. The cold steel embedded directly into her chest, many long years of loyalty and being comrades snuffed in an instant.

Vyx’aria walked towards the woman, watching her breathe hoarsely and choke. She planted a foot on her chest and pressed down, slowly drawing her blade out, “Worthless,” Vyx’aria growled, walking back towards the caravan and ignoring Alvyana crying out weakly for help as she slowly died.

Wit Cynical Phoenix

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak turned with his sword at the ready, dropping down from the wagon just as a new enemy approached. One of the guardsmen who gripped a sword tightly. He looked young... no more than his early twenties, and he had a look of both fear and anger in his eyes. He held his sword uncertainly, and Alak had to wonder if this was his first battle.

Children of the surface just didn't get the battle experience that dark elves did. He held his sword in his free hand, watching the man - no, boy - as he made his charge, lunging forward and thrusting at Alak's torso, slightly off to the side. Alak was quick and casual in his movements. His left hand gripped approximately one foot from the tip of his blade with his right still on the grip of the sword. The dark elf twisted his body to the side and didn't bother blocking the novice thrust. It skidded off the belly of his armor and past his side, and it secured him his own hit.

With better control over his own blade, he thrust the tip into the man's throat and the blood poured out. The young man dropped his blade and began clutching his throat as the dark elf's left hand gripped the boys face even as he died.

"Cín cuil na sab, na i crystal cin're naud. Cin heed onlui mui nall," he whispered under the clamor of battle. The man's life force was captured by the spell even as it drained and he slumped to the ground, leaving a bloody half-hand print on the man's face over his now-empty eyes.

With his target felled, he took a position atop the back of the wagon, surveying the battlefield as the skirmish continued. There was the half-elf in conflict - odd conflict - with one of the dark elven women. Vyx... oh Vyx. He could see her pulling free the blade from one of her people. Killing cowards was their way, and Alak didn't bat an eye at it.

Then his eyes rested on something far more concerning. He wondered how he might play it to his advantage before finally deciding that if his partners (could they even be called that?) didn't know, it would be for the worst.

"Second convoy guards incoming!" he shouted to her over the clang of battle. They were cleaning up what remained of this patrol, but they had only limited time to respond to the arrival of these new enemies.

Wit Sreeya

 

[Iktovian]

Pushing himself off the ground, spitting out dirt, Iktovian looked up as the dark elf was finishing off the two men, a smug smile on her face. Unsure of whether he was pissed, impressed or smitten, possibly a little of all of them, he let out a chuckle and pushed himself to his feet. He was about to say something to the dark elf when a shout went up from behind them, Alak's familiar voice ringing through the clearing as the various fights were beginning to die out.

Turning to seek out Alak, he took note of the direction the assassin's gaze and turned around to run back towards the spot where he had dropped his bow, only pausing to stab at a soldier who stumbled backwards from another dark elf and into his path. Ignoring the curse the dark elf spat at him for stealing her kill, he came to a skidding stop near his bow and was ready with an arrow nocked by the time the second wave of guards broke through the tree-line.

Spotting the dark elf woman who had attacked him on three instances now, he let out a whistle to catch her attention. "Charge them, I'll provide cover!" With that he started firing, his first shot aimed at one of the men who had a loaded crossbow in his hands, before turning his attention to the elf woman. If she, or any of her comrades, had charged them then he would start hitting the soldiers on the sides, making sure the elves didn't get flanked.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya​

 

[Draedamyr]

More shouting. It suggested that they hadn't dispensed with all of the guards yet. Draedamyr could feel several kinds of magic in the air. Mostly he felt pain. The drow was twisting the heel in the centre of his back from side to side, enjoying how it made the surface elf squirm. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue from where they had struck him.

Draedamyr was no forest elf; he was an urban creature. Moving between settlements he often joined an armed caravan for safety. Unfortunately today he had been fast asleep in the back of a wagon as the attack began. Even then he might have been to his feet and on his sword in time to fight, but not against the drow.

He pitied them in many ways. They spent their lives in their caves in an eternal struggle for power. They clambered over one another desperately, leaving a trail of bodies with blades between the shoulders in their wake. Joyless creatures who would never know the magnificence of a sunset.

If he had perhaps hoped a fresh skirmish might have given him the opening to escape he was disappointed. Two stayed with him. One trailed the tip of her sword across the back of his neck, the other picked up his own blade.

"That's mine," he said loudly. He didn't know the drow tongue so he hoped they might know his. Just to be safe he repeated it in the common trade tongue of the surface. The tip of the sword suddenly came to a stop. Just enough pressure was applied to have him hissing through his teeth.

"Mine now," replied the other drow.

"Who is your best with a blade?" Draedamyr asked. "Your leader? I could best them."

The harsh laugh was accompanied by being slapped across the cheek with the back of a blade. "A male? And you think you could challenge Vyx’aria?" There was nothing but disdain in that voice.

The drow carrying his sword took a moment to draw a few inches of the blade and inspect it. Then she looked over towards the one still pinning him to the earth. They had struck him with a pommel and dragged him from the wagon before he could react. Draedamyr saw something in that look that sent a chill up his spine. They were bored.

"So you think you would best me easily?" he asked her. At the very least, that drew her attention.

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria would never admit this – but she was getting slightly nervous. This was supposed to be a quick raid, one with a just as quick escape. Instead, this was drawing all kinds of attention. Her own mage was down, and she had a treacherous daywalker named Alak she didn’t trust throwing magic spells everywhere. There was that bizarre half elf, and now apparently a second convoy incoming. Vyx’aria began to wonder if Alvyana hadn’t had the right idea. There were a small amount of her soldiers standing, and though they were worth several surface dwellers, it didn’t mean they weren’t badly outnumbered.

The second convoy had with them torches and burning lights that would assail the drow senses. Vyx’aria stepped back slightly, “Arrows!” She called out to some of her soldiers, the women nocking and letting loose the projectiles with precision. They hit two of the humans carrying torches, but this only resulted in the fire catching onto some low branches. Vyx’aria’s eyes widened in fear, knowing how difficult things would become for her and her soldiers if the fire continued to spread. This time Alvyana wasn’t here to suppress the fire.

“Alak!” She called out, hating that she had to rely on him, “The fires!” She knew he would tolerate the flames better, having been on the surface for longer.

Meanwhile, the drow with the half elf had no idea what motivation was driving him. When he called out to her, she hissed back, “You do not give me orders!” But she followed his idea nonetheless, making it look as if she intended to charge the incoming enemies all along. She moved with grace, quickly spinning and slashing her blade as the second convoy of guards came rushing. This group was much better prepared, and they packed a heavy punch. Arrows flew towards the caravans, and if the elves didn’t duck, they’d be quickly pierced. One of the arrows pierced into the female drow's shoulder, and she cried out in pain, though refused to back down.

Vyx’aria had looked away after giving her commands just in time to spot two of her soldiers dragging out what appeared to be yet another elf. She was growing very suspicious with the amount of presence here – clearly these merchants had been carrying things of great value. As the elf spoke out about besting others in combat, Vyx’aria quickly closed the distance between them. With a disgusted look on her face, her hand shot out to backhand him across the face, “Speak…only when spoken to,” She said with a thick accent and in broken Common. Men of the surface had no concept of how things worked – didn’t they know their place?

Her eyes kept flashing back over to the guards incoming, and she stepped aside as she saw an arrow arcing through the air and coming towards her. The others were holding back the guards for now, giving her a moment to focus on the surface elf, “What…in caravan? Who these merchants?” She was trying to get some answers from the elf that had been dragged out from one of the wagons. Vyx’aria hoped she would be able to get some answers on why there was so much activity here tonight. Perhaps if he proved himself useful, she would spare him.

Cynical Phoenix Wit Draedamyr

 

[Draedamyr]

That might not have hurt as much had the other dark elf not struck the same spot with the pommel of a sword to fell him. He had never been quite so aware of where all his teeth were.

Jade eyes turned impassively from Vyx'aria Tor'Rahel to an arrow protruding from the ground just a few feet away. If the dark elves didn't cut him down for his insolence then he was going to end up filled with arrows from the human guards. Neither was an attractive prospect. Draedamyr had lived a long life. He had been through worse. However, he had also seen enough to know that many died simply by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. They hadn't even bound his hands, the elf behind him merely dragging him up to his knees by the back of his shirt to face the one asking questions.

"A mix of goods. More than one caravan as this is a dangerous road," he said plainly. He tried not to eye Reverie, which had been dropped to the ground. Too far out of his reach. The cold of steel still at his neck.

"There was rumour of two fifty six vintage on the third wagon. I don't suppose you can grow grapes down in your caves." Not even the faintest hint of humour touched his voice as he straightened his back.

Chose the wrong rock to crawl out from under didn't you? He thought to himself.

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak could see the situation was turning against them rapidly, but it hadn't slipped away. Them? he reprimanded himself. There was no them, there was him. His old instincts of being part of the drow society were shoved right back into a deep, dark corner of his mind as his fist clenched tightly at his side.

He heard Vyx shout to him about the fire, and he watched it spread. It was still in a position to be controlled, but that wouldn't last forever. He knew he needed to move quickly, and he didn't find the fire to be nearly as blinding as his kin.

He drew on the power of his crystal as his free left hand manipulated the flow of magic and energy around him. He could feel it like an invisible river and he let it pour into the fire, whipping around it like a whirlwind. The fire made an incredible display like a glowing tornado before the final bit of oxygen was sucked out and the tongues of flame flashed from existence.

"I need someone to help me flank them! Hit them from the side!" he said. Though the comment was directed mostly at Vyx so that she might lend him some soldiers - extremely begrudgingly at best - he would have been equally (perhaps even more) happy to have the other half-elf come with him. At least he knew that man probably wouldn't stab him in the back. Sreeya Wit Draedamyr

 

[Iktovian]

He felt a pang of..something when he saw the arrows slam into the drow, but he ignored it as he simply drew another arrow and fired at another one of the humans. It was him or them, if he wasted time to do anything else he would probably end up with an arrow in his own back. The only way he was helping anyone, and by extension himself, was if he continued fighting.

He had fired a few more arrows when the fires suddenly went out, so the drows had a mage capable of handling themselves. That was good, it made him more optimistic about their chances, more precarious as this situation was becoming.

That was when he heard Alak's voice, and paused for a few moments to study the approaching humans. Though he was loth to do it, he finally had to accept the fact that the situation was desperate for him to play his ace. "Alak, go right! I'll handle the left!"

As he shouted, he dropped his bow and pulled his cloak's hood up to cover his face and drew his dagger. He proceeded to cut it across his own palm, blood flowing down it. He let out a breath as he placed the bleeding hand on his cloak, the crimson flow vanishing as it was sucked into the fabric of the cloth. And at the same moment the half-elf vanished from sight as well.

Already feeling the exhaustion beginning to creep in like it did every time he used the cloak's enchantment, he started running to the side, circling around to approach the new wave of guards from the left. Invisible, he began slashing and stabbing through them, moving slowly and carefully so as to not give away his position. Hopefully Alak had gathered some of the drow warriors to attack from the other side.

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya Draedamyr​

 

[Vyx'aria]

Vyx’aria was displeased, a grimace appearing on her face as she looked at the elf that was captured. His words irked her, and she couldn’t tell if he were genuinely speaking or saying things to purposely irritate her. Why were surface men always so infuriating? First Alak, and now this elf. It reflected poorly on the women up here not to have better reins on the men. Vyx’aria’s red eyes slowly slid over towards a blade on the ground, catching note of the ornate hilt and scabbard. She stepped forth and picked it up, looking at it from all angles before casually placing it on her hip.

“The elf is useless, dispose of him,” She muttered before turning her attention towards Alak. Meanwhile, as the drow that had a hold of the prisoner went to plunge the blade in, a few arrows came from behind and pierced into her back. The cold metal lightly and harmlessly dragged along the back of his neck, but the blade fell away in the end. The drow warrior slumped to the ground, toppling aside.

“Warriors on Alak!” Vyx’aria cried out to her fighters so he could have some assistance. Now this was a loophole that the second drow holding the elf prisoner chose to exploit. She decided that Vyx’aria’s new command overruled the last one – and it saved her from becoming a pin cushion like her comrade. She hastily dropped the captured elf, drew her weapon and rushed into the fray, hoping this wouldn’t count as disobeying orders. She had no desire to stand around and deal with a stupid elf right where arrows were raining down on them. This would give the captured elf plenty of opportunity to stumble away from the arrows.

Vyx’aria saw the exchange briefly, but there wasn’t much for her to do about it with her limited warriors. The focus was back on the guards, and she watched Alak and the half-elf work together to clear them out. The sight was strange to her, and she inwardly decided that they had proven themselves far too useful for her to execute them.

The drow near the half-elf was fighting with one arm, the other hanging uselessly at her side from the arrow wound. She was just as determined, using her non-dominant hand to engage a guard with her blade. The guard eventually got the upper hand, pushing her back as she stumbled to the ground. Her blade had been knocked out of her hand. For the first time, there was fear in her eyes as the guard gave a grin and raised his ax to bring down on her with all his fury behind it.

Cynical Phoenix Wit Draedamyr

 

[Iktovian]

Iktovian was slowly working his way through the left flank of the humans when he spotted something off to the side, that drow again. But for the first time she seemed to be struggling, or at the very least making it appear as if the human guard she fought actually stood a chance. He was sure one of her friends would jump in to help her, they seemed to have that teamwork act down real nice, the slash he had taken to his chest from this very drow was testament to that.

But as he looked around the battlefield he realized that the drows were spread too thin, with most helping Alak or their leader, for someone to help their injured comrade. Well aware that the amount of blood he had fed his cloak would not keep the enchantment up for much longer he turned away from the next human archer he was about to stalk up on and turned to run towards the drow.

As she fell and the guard raised his axe to cut her down, Iktovian knew that he would not get to her in time. THe guard seemed to senes the kill as well, there was no one near enough to stop him, and in that moment Iktovian sensed his joy. In the chaos of the battle it shone out momentarily amongst the sea of pain and fury, a beacon calling out to him. And as the half-elf ran to get to them, he sucked it in, drawing it in stronger and deeper than he had wanted to and almost stumbling as the man's joy burned away within him.

Magical power burnt within him and with inhuman speed he slammed into the guard, sending him stumbling forwards a few steps. Even as he turned around to see what had hit him, a sword emerged out of thin air and slid into his throat, dropping him grasping his throat and drowning in his own blood. And as he fell the enchantment on Iktovian's cloak finally vanished, revealing the half-elf standing over the drow, a tired yet smug smile on his face. "Taking a nap, are we?"

Cynical Phoenix Sreeya Draedamyr​

 

[Draedamyr]

Timing was everything. When to strike, and when not to strike were decisions that changed the course of every engagement. When to do absolutely nothing at all, too. Head bowed and eyes half-lidded he presented absolutely no threat to the second drow.

Even with his eyes down he could pinpoint the clashing blades. They were fighting the drow on the wrong terms, engaging them in single combat instead of forming a tight formation and driving the dark elves back. It did, however, suit him just fine. Draedamyr was no solider. He was a duelist.

The second dark elf left him and rushed away to aid the rest of her party. An arrow hissed through the air perilously close to his head. He took a breath and galvanised his resolve. The arrows and where they fell were beyond his control. What he chose to do next was not. Draedamyr drew himself to his feet in one smooth motion and looked up. Where there had been fear mixed with defiance in his eyes before there was now something else. A window to an old soul. Experience and determination.

The dead dark elf's blade was inexplicably in his hand. A quick swipe through the air gave him a feel for its balance. A little heavier than he liked, but not by a great deal. His right foot swiped the bare earth as he dropped his weight just a few inches. The tip of the stolen blade pointed towards Reverie.

"That is mine."

 

[Alak Rasivrein]

Alak's muscles slackened ever so slightly when he heard Vyx shout for the warriors to rally to him. He knew that taking orders from a male - oh the horror! - was not going to go over well with the remaining drow women who had begun rallying around him, but... oh well.

He held off on giving any directions for as long as he could, and instead let them each engage the new guards on their own. He went to the right as Iktovian had instructed, and with him came most of the drow raiding party.

"On- nin i polod a horth- -o i firn!" he said quietly but emphatically, invoking another power of enchantment to push his strength and speed in combat beyond what should have been possible. Perhaps more than anything, this was his true strength. He didn't have the tactical mind or leadership of the female drow commander, and perhaps not even her raw abilities with a sword, but with the powers of magic heightening his already capable swordsmanship, he became a terror to the average soldier.

As the ring of blades set out again, Alak plunged inward, moving along the flank of the guardsmen. The first swiped downward at him, sending a vicious vertical chop with a hatchet that could have easily split his head in two, but Alak was faster. He stepped left and past the man, in one smooth motion evading the blow as it fell to his right and twisting his body around.

His sword - now braced in both hands - fell into the man's left shoulder as Alak completed his pivot, slamming through his body and carving into the mid torso before ripping free. Alak through his entire weight into completing a pseudo-pirouette as he spun back to the original direction he'd been facing, leaving a half-cleaved enemy on the ground behind him.

With the dead man clear of his path, he now had a route to the archers, and it seemed that Iktovian's hidden cloak combined with the distraction of the soldiers had cost the guards dearly.

The formation reeled back, withdrawing toward the second caravan at the losses they'd suffered so far, but Alak wondered what their own losses had been. He'd not had the chance to take stock of the losses.

"They're regrouping!" he said, turning back to now see that one of the prisoners who had been detained moments ago was now upright with a sword in hand. He swore to himself but knew Vyx'aria was more than capable of handling herself. In fact, there wasn't much of a hint of worry in him except that it might waste unnecessary time or a key moment in the battle.

"Cut into the archers!" he instructed to the women who collectively gave him a series of absolutely withering glares, spitting insults and curses at him. Fortunately, they recognized it as the right call and "decided on their own" to move against the archers to provide some relief from the assault. Sreeya Wit Draedamyr

 

[Vyx'aria]

The drow looked away, preparing to meet her makers, but then that ax never fell on her. She glanced up, lavender eyes widening in surprise at the blade that now protruded from the human’s neck. The guard slumped over dead, the same infuriating half elf standing behind him. The look of surprise was immediately replaced with annoyance, and she scrambled to get to her feet.

She understood parts of what the half elf said, but her focus was on another man taking careful aim at him from behind. Without a word, she hurled her blade towards the man, the blade passing just a hair’s breadth away from the half elf. The blade flew behind him and wedged into the archer’s chest. It was an inexplicable gesture - she wasn’t in the habit of saving lives of those other than her own kin. Nah, she did it just because the archer was looking at her. That was the only reasonable explanation. She stomped over to retrieve her blade from the man’s chest, taking the time to slam her shoulder into the half elf’s to make him budge out of the way. The entire gesture was unnecessary, but it made her feel better.

Meanwhile, Vyx’aria was engaged in combat with one of the foolish guards that closed the distance to meet the elves directly. She had to commend him for his bravery - though it was more stupidity than anything else. Vyx’aria was toying with him, clashing her blade against his and all but dancing as she twirled around effortlessly on her feet. The man’s movements were sluggish by comparison, each swing using up unnecessary amounts of energy and missing her by a wide margin.

Vyx’aria pivoted around to catch a glimpse of the formerly captured elf now brandishing one of the drow blades. She caught his words, and she smiled in return. As the guard she was fighting extended his blade arm to stab her, Vyx’aria ducked underneath it, coming up again on his side. Her free hand, in one fluid motion, drew out Reverie. She jammed the blade directly into the man’s ribs, resulting in a dying gasp as the man weakened and fell. Vyx’aria’s eyes remained locked on the prisoner elf the entire time, that smile still on her face. She slowly withdrew the bloody blade, wiping it off on the dead man’s clothing as he slumped towards the ground.

Vyx’aria kicked the body aside, twirling the stolen blade casually in her hand as she silently invited the elf to come take his blade back.

The warriors with Alak hacked and slashed their way through the archers, though they were getting nervous about their numbers falling. There had only been a handful of drow to begin with, and now there were several dead already. The two women near Alak weren’t pleased to be working with him, but they supported him nevertheless. The remaining humans were cornered against their caravans, and it was anybody’s guess what precious goods they contained. Perhaps the prisoner elf’s words would be true...perhaps this would all have been for nothing.


Cynical Phoenix Wit Draedamyr