Completed The sun falls on heavy shoulders

[White Swallow]

The sun was high above the crescent hills. With what little of the wind left, only to shift the sand in small heaps.
The caravan was not of one but of many, and not only of traders and merchants and merceneries. Banners flew of many a warlord in this short lived traveling truce. Among them most nutoriously rode The white swallow and Ibn Adil, both under the Say-Kube Sayyiduna. Their banners, Two white swallows on black and Red arrows and stars on gold.

The scorching of the day would finally subside when the sun would dip bellow the horizon and the shy stars would show their cheeks. There was still a strech to go, to reach the dual arches of Maraan, a milestone not only for them in this lenghty trek, but every caravan that ever passed through here.

 

[Infernal]

"Are you certain of the security, milord?" The man responsible for Telenar's wagon asked timidly, as if he was about to jump out of his skin. This is what one must expect when choosing the lowest bidder.

"Calm down." The high elf said in frustration. "As long as we stay within the group, we have nothing to worry about. Now hand me the canteen, this damned heat is drying me out like a raisin."

What little money he had was spent on this wagon, filled with all manner of supplies said to sell highly in the markets of Maraan. He had to turn a profit on this, or else he was likely to become destitute, and would have no other way of amassing the funds he required without resorting to mercenary work. Such was not the proper lifestyle of someone like him, for he was destined for greater things in life.

"As you say, milord." The driver was nervous, and Telenar supposed that was to be expected. One never knew when Raiders might be afoot. If they did choose to attack the caravan, then the spellsword was determined to make it the last mistake they ever made.

 

[White Swallow]

The caravan leader waved his arm as he let out a loud whistle.
It pierced through the air and signalled to the front row to come to a halt. The twin arches were just in sight, but to reach the town, that would be better left for tomorrow.
Squatting was not a welcomed activity in these lands.


As the front of the caravan stopped, the back lagged behind, eventually the whole line comming to a halt as they began unpacking their tents for the night.

 

[Infernal]

"Get the tents ready. I'll be speaking with some of the other merchants." Telenar wanted to understand the city a little better before they entered in the morning.

Those who spoke with him were friendly enough, sharing with him some tips and tricks as he understood the various parts of the city. Various points were of interest to him, and he was curious to explore it more when they made it.

"Anything to be wary of when we get in?"

"Just don't overstay your welcome. As soon as your business is done, get out, or else they'll force you out, and you'll be lucky to leave with your boots on." They laughed, and the High Elf was glad to know this. He needed to know what to purchase so he could bring it to the next city on the path and continue building up his fortune.

 

[White Swallow]

The White Swallow at the time was by the twin arches. In the distance one could see the the lights of Maraan, surrounded by an oasis. The beaming greens shining through the night with a welcoming kind of brightness.
There was a certain kind of longing and want surroinding such a sight...when most of the area was fine red sand.

He dismounted his horse and tethered it to a wagon for the eve. The servants accompanying them would share feed and water to the horses. Even brush them if needed.
»Khaleel, the air is foul,« Ibn Adil murmured as he waved to the White Swallow to come closer.
»Set some of your men up for patrol«

»I would want my men rested, « The White Swallow calmly explained.
»Somebody will have to do it.«

»I will go for the first and fith shift if I must.«
»Very well then, - who for the second and? «
»Moad and Masum.« The Swallow gave before bowing slightly to Adil and walking away, making his first round down the lenght of the Caravan line. His eyes would occasionally wander between the wagons whenever not focused at the horizon.

 

[Infernal]

Something caught Telenar's eye as he was walking back to his wagon. There was movement, someone darting between the obstacles in their path, trying not to be seen. With his interest piqued, the high elf went forward to try and catch up with him.

"You there! I wish to speak with you." The figure looked back, a hooded person, dressed in dark clothing with wrappings obscuring their face except for their dark yellow eyes. Before he could take a step, the hooded one made a run for it, pushing past people to make an attempt at getting away. "Stop! I don't want to hurt you!"

Whoever it was under that hood was fast, fast and agile. Turning around a corner, the spellsword lost sight of the figure, cursing under his breath. He had a feeling it wasn't going to stay peaceful for long.

 

[White Swallow]

The mysterious man dissapeared like a shadow into the void.

A loud elf would not go unnoticed, it would seem rather peculiar that such particular phrases would be uttered aswell. Investigation was needed.
He would aproach him on foot.

»Evening, I am The White Swallow. You are under my protection and I intend to keep things running civily here.«
»Is everything in order?«

 

[Infernal]

Looking back, he greeted the man, shaking his head as he realized just how insane he seemed with his outburst. "I am Telenar. Someone was here, someone I hadn't seen before while we were traveling. When I tried to speak with him, he ran, at least it's my own assumption that it was a man."

It wasn't uncommon for bandits to try and scope out their targets before striking. Hopefully that wasn't the case, but he knew better than to leave things to hope.

"Thank you for your protection. I confess I do not believe I would have made it far in these lands without help. Perhaps we could have a drink at my wagon before I retire for the night? You look like the type who takes his duties seriously, so some honeyed milk is always a good choice."

 

[White Swallow]

The white swallow slowly approached the elven outlander. »Either a skulking merchant or thief.«

Slowly he tilted his head, craning his neck as he listened to the rambling of this elf.
»Apologies, but I must not depart my post.«

... Yet another person to feed to the wolves.

 

[Infernal]

"Oh well." Telenar said with a shrug. "Good night to you then." He took a quick bow before heading back to his wagon.

"Is everything okay?" The driver asked, finishing up his task of setting up the tents.

"Everything is fine. We need our rest if we are to do well in the market tomorrow. Just make sure everything is secure and accounted for before you sleep." With a small sigh, the elf went to his tent, but found it difficult to get to sleep. Instead of sleeping, he decided to go out and stand guard of the wagon.

 

[White Swallow]

Watching him depart, the swallow would turn towards the expansive sky.
Nothing to see but the mythical crease where the void up above and the earth beneath would become one.

Nightsingers, or rather deathralers as colloquially called by soldiers would flutter across the sky, but nothing else seemed to appear during the night. The white swallow would take care to investigate further down the caravan line but nothing seemed to appear out of the night.
As the first shift would come to an end, he slowly made his way back up the line, noticing the very same elf standing guard.

»The night is still young, will you not catch some rest?

 

[Gerra]

From the depths of the desert’s evening darkness, there came a chorus of ululating cries, like the bloodcurdling laughter of hyenas.

They came upon hooves of thunder, camels grunting, horses frothing, riders perched low in the saddle, each and all wearing black garb.

Soft twangs marked the staccato release of taut strings as they fired their shortbows in among the encamped caravan. The cries from the sentries went up to sound the alarm.

“Abtati! Abtati!”

The nomad elves of the sands, come to claim their blood tribute for travel through these lands.

 

[Infernal]

He shrugged at the question. "My property is too valuable to be left alone. Call it first merchants nerves, but tonight I just don't feel like-"

Twang!

An arrow embedded itself in the wood of his vehicle, just inches away from his arm. Looking over to the direction it came from, he could see the advancing raiders. "I knew it."

Charging forward, Telenar took cover at one of the wagons right at the edge of the caravan, arrows raining down upon them from the elves. Right now he kept his sword in its sheathe, as he needed two hands to perform the spell he wanted to do. Just as they were getting close, the high elf stepped to the side, his fingertips touching together as his palms were facing outward at the elves.

"Burn in my wrath!" He shouted in elvish, and flames shot forward from his hands to the attackers, the fire enveloping three of them entirely, while the others around them only sustained minor damage. It wasn't something he could do indefinitely, but it served him well in this instance.

 

[White Swallow]

Time for chitchat was rare, and as the signalls were called it was almost too late.
They were short of a massacre if the soldiers were not roused quickly enough. An attack set any later and most would be in deep sleep. Some merchants already wailed as they saw an arrow shoot clean through their tents.
The nightsingers in the sky were quick to mimic their laments.


The white swallow took off towards his men, crossing Moad on the way whom had his horse tethered to his own.
»How many are roused,« The Swallow hefted himself on his beast, lifting his shield. »One third are on hand-« The soldiers just rode down the line to unite with their commander. »The rest will be lost in the scuffle.«
The swallow gritted his teeth, not ideal . »Follow!«

Most of the caravan guards were not elite soldiers, slngers and archers would shoot into the darkness, with no sucess to ever cath the mounted elves. The accompanying warbands were better equipped, yet they would be the last to get in full swing.

The white swallow would ride his small band of men a short distance away from the caravans propper.

 

[Gerra]

A torrent of hungry flame engulfed a cluster of elvish warriors and their mounts. The animals toppled, rolling in the sand, some crushing their riders beneath. One elf managed to leap free, but his garments remained aflame and he swatted wildly until his strength left him and he joined his brothers in the sand. Skin blistered, blackened, and screams rose only to fall silent soon after.

But one figure did not fall.

On foot, he strode through the licking fires, heedless of them or the bodies of the dead beneath his feet. He was tall, taller than any human or elf, and as the fire scourged him, it ate away his black desert garb, revealing ash-dark skin and hair of living flame. His eyes burned like two hot coals and he held a spear in his right hand, a shield in his left.

He headed for the source of the flame, the man cowering behind the cart, covering the distance in long strides.

 

[Infernal]

Looking back upon the scene of death and fire, Telenar noticed the charging Spearman running in his direction. He cursed, noting his inherent fire qualities, and resolving to death with this before his goods were damaged.

This time he drew his sword, roaring out a challenge as he cast yet another spell, this time a Cantrip taught to him by his master. "Ray of frost!"

A cone of arctic air rushed outwards, putting a thin layer of frost wherever it touched. Unlike the previous spell, this one could be cast as many times as he wished, but that meant it was also weaker by comparison. Hopefully it would be enough at the very least to slow him down a little.

 

[Gerra]

Raising his shield, Gerra caught the blast of frigid air on its oxhide surface, hunkering behind it. A thin layer of frost began to form on the shield, the cold seeping through, reaching for the warmth of his flesh. Parts of his exposed body caught in the blast felt the chilling effects as the skin began to numb.

Loosing a savage roar, Gerra hurled his spear at the elf with appalling might.

 

[Infernal]

Diving for cover, the elf managed to miss the spear as it impaled itself deep into a random wagon. Taking a breath for himself, he looked out from his cover to his opponent. The spell had been somewhat effective, but not as he had liked. Perhaps if he used it more, he would be able to overwhelm the giant before he could perform the finishing blow.

"I had hoped for a better challenge." He taunted, panting. "Guess you can't expect much from simple minded raiders, eh?"

 

[Gerra]

A deep, vibrating chuckle that shook the air like a restless caldera was the only answer the elf received.

Then the half-giant lowered his shoulder and burst into a sprint, he hit the side of the wagon behind which the elf hid like a charging bull elephant upon the savanna. The wood of the wagon groaned. The wheels came off the ground and the entire thing tipped over, hopefully catching the elf beneath a mess of oak and canvas.

 

[Infernal]

He saw the running tank of a man and knew what to do. Climbing up onto the wagon, he had to time it just right if this was going to work. When he was just about to hit it, Telenar jumped, performing a flip and finding himself just behind the behemoth.

"Ray of frost!"

Yet another spell, but this time, he would get the full brunt of it. If it worked, he may just have the upper hand, and if not well, his dream of becoming a Lord will be a nice memory before the end.

 

[Gerra]

The wagon toppled. But there was no trapped elf. Instead, more icy air blasted Gerra from behind. His back arched and he let out a cry of shock and pain. Frost spread swiftly across the expanse of his nearly-bare back, the scraps of the black robe that remained no longer smoldering, freezing to skin.

The half-giant spun on his heel, shield sweeping out in a brutal strike aimed to stun the elf, break him, or send him to the ground.

 

[Infernal]

Even with an attempt to block the sword with his sword, it seemed the reversal of the roles these tools played did not work out in the elf's favor. He was knocked to the ground, his ears ringing from the force, groaning as he felt the pain going through his body.

At the moment his legs refused to work, and all he could do was roll onto his back, looking at the monstrous being as he tried to take a breath. "You sure do hit hard" wheeze "You big bastard." wheeze "I am willing...to accept your yield..."

 

[Gerra]

The half-giant cocked his head to one side.

“Very well,” he rumbled.

He removed his arm from the shield strap and held the large oxhide aegis in both hands, extended out, as if offering it to the downed elf.

Suddenly, he raised the shield on high and brought the wooden rim down toward the elf’s prone form in a two-handed, bone bruising slam.

Once.

Twice.

Beyond the half-giant, those Abtati not engaged in cutting down resistance began to chant a refrain from the darkness.

“Djinn. Djinn. Djinn.”

 

[Infernal]

One hand held onto his sword with dear life, the other, in performing a series of rapid fire magical gestures, was raised in an attempt at shielding himself from the blows. The first was jarring, the second felt like it had fractured the bones in his arm, causing him to scream.

In that scream, he summoned up all the strength in his body for one last attack. Through a combination of willpower and adrenaline, he brought up his sword in a wild thrust to pierce into Gerra's chest. Had he not used the spell Blade Ward, the attack would have most certainly broken him entirely. Now was his chance to end this freak of nature, and win himself his victory not just for his life, but for his dream as well.

For all any man or elf ever has is his dream, for it gives him purpose in this, a world filled with chaos and adversity.

 

[Gerra]

The tip of the sword sank into Gerra's chest and a soft, sharp intake of breath escaped his lips. He dropped his shield and seized the width of the blade in a bare hand. The edge bit into his palm, blood oozed forth. Whether it was the elf's beleaguered state, the effort it took to lay prone and thrust up, the simple lack of reach, or some combination thereof, the strike was neither so true nor so fast as intended. Gerra's implacable strength, however, would not be denied. Blood seeped from between his fingers, but the blade stopped cold, buried several inches into the meat of his chest.

Gritting his teeth, Gerra made to stomp on the elf's face with one enormous foot, whilst wrenching the blade out of the fallen warrior's hand and his own chest. Hot ichor bubbled out of the hole in his flesh and dribbled down his torso, disappearing beneath the remnants of his scorched clothing.