Thread: Against the Dark Ones (Emperor_Nero and I)

Aelnoria ea ylthia! came a strange, fluid cry from the trees, the tone one of full urgency, but also, in it, a tone of elation and pride. The language, to the ears of any experienced linguist, would be so distinctly fluid and crisp to be anything but High Elven, the language of the powerful and purest of Elves. The only ones that now remained. It was Prince Ethril of Annealorie, the fallen Capitol of golden woods and magical wonders and quiet study, who made this call to arms. He, dressed in the goldenleather armor known as High Elven war garb, seemed to step from the trees themselves, a beautifully formed wooden how in his grasp, pulled to full draw, dangerous, beautifully curved warhead on the tip of the finely crafted arrow. It took only a tenth of a second for his arrow to be aimed and released, knifing through the air with a soft, musical whistle and slamming into the fleshy side of the dangerous mount. To anyone else, it might have looked like a miss. But elves don't miss. Not with bows. As soon as the arrow was away, Ethril drew two blades, maybe a foot and a half in length, holding one in each hand, the blades made of pale wood and silvery metal, not adorned with any form of decoration. Yet they were beautiful in their simplicity. Such things Ethril, among other elves, valued highly. Beauty without high value. But the beauty of the blades was not important now, as the vicious mount spun to attack him instead. He didn't wait for it to lunge, instead leaping through the air before it could attack, delivering a series of cuts across the beast's back as he flipped through the air over it. In a blinding second, the beast spun about as Ethril landed, blood seeping from the wounds just inflicted, but in no way done for. Ethril sheathed the knives in a quick motion as several additional arrows shot out of the forest, burning themselves in the creature's body. Del nareia aolen oloniea. Ethril said, stepping back from the beast. In that instant, the wood of the arrows stretched and grew, forming roots and branches that snaked down to the forest floor, burying into the ground, pinning the black feline. More roots laced over it's being, trapping it and slowly pressing it to the ground. The roots themselves seemed to drag it to the ground, and bones snapped as the huge body was finally dragged into the earth, a tree growing up from the place where it had vanished. Ethril knelt by the tree, and four other elves slipped out of the shadows, two male, two female, all armed with a how and two similar knives. They knelt by the tree as one, speaking softly, this time in English. The Forest, our Mother, we kill not for bloodlust or anger, but for our freedom and your purification. That which has been killed, will be returned to the earth so you might feed from it's being and make it clean once more. May we find peace in knowing we too shall eventually feed the trees and life of this world. They said, in voices like song and tone quiet and peaceful. Then the tall, elegant, white-haired man with sharp pointed ears, dressed in an emerald colored armor turned to the young woman he had just saved, considering, as the other elves stood. He motioned to one of the female elves and she slipped up to his right side. Emea, he said, the name sounding like 'em-eh'. Chased the other mount down and bring the young male human to the Stronghold. We will meet you there. He instructed, and the young elf gave the human girl a quick glance before nodding. As you desire. She said shortly before sprinting away after the fleeing man and chasing panther, slender, agile body darting between trees. Ethril's attention now turned to Teysa. You must be the Princess we have been expecting. I haven't seen you in a long while, Lady Teysa. He said, kneeling and offering her a slender, long-fingered hand, the digits pale and strong, yet delicate and precise. Are you hurt? I apologize that our assistance arrived too late to aid the rest of your party. He said with a soft smile. The dark ones have been particularly active lately. Your arrival is a good sign, however. He said, helping her to her feet, a hand pressed lightly to her side as she stood. He let out a soft whistle, and three horses trotted from the trees. They were tall, slender creatures, much like their owners, and the remaining female and one male mounted two brown horses. The white one approached Ethril, nickering softly. I hope you have no problem riding behind me, as we have only three horses. Two of our kind generally run ahead of the group as scouts, and the rest ride. We can easily outrun our steeds, but cannot go as long. The slender elf said, offering her his hand to help her up, onto the white steed. We must be off to the Stronghold. The drow will soon look for the patrol that ambushed you.