Thread: Cries of War // FallenNinja & Cyanide

For generations this war had been fought, if one would do the math with the life-spans of the elves versus the fertility rate of the humans, you'd see they were not evenly matched at all. The humans would get their victories, in small doses, usually what was known as 'gorilla attacks', a tactic elves themselves had perfected, but never knew how to evade. So day after day, week after week, year after year, the humans would throw themselves at the Elven borders in an attempt to break the supposed stale-mate. The humans could no longer spread into Elven lands, and what was around them on the other sides were inhospitable-- or at least uncomfortable. And the Elves could no longer push the Humans back, their race was growing faster than the elves had anticipated. Elves had started creating plans that varied from their usual 'wait and see' tactics. Their Queen was getting older, and she had sworn to see the end of this war before she passed to the other side. And so, the training for a new group of fighter had began. A group of elite male warriors, the toughest of the tough. The males had been blessed by the gods, had inscriptions written into their flesh to make them stronger and given blades, shields and bows crafted to be the lightest, yet strongest they could. These warriors would train for a single human generation-- from the time they started puberty, until they were deemed adults. Among the ranks of these warriors-- Templars, in the common tongue-- was a singular female. Unlike the other females of the elven race, she was not blessed by the goddesses. Her magical abilities were lacking to say the least-- no better than a males-- and so she was deemed one. What the Elves did not expect was for the single female to excel and later become the General of her own personal army. She led many victorious battles against the Humans, and a singular failure. The failure was not her fault, no one could ever blame her for being weak. Her men had looked up to her and prayed her name louder than some of the gods in rumor, she was a spectacle in battle her armor a glistening silver with blue accents running along the curves of her muscles, her face hidden behind an imposing mask, enchanted to give her further sight. Her failure was something that would be written into history, something that would embarrass the elves yet her name would not be shamed. It had been a long battle over a stretch of land, she had been leading an assault on a farmland that had encroached on the elven territory. The long white hairs from the finest mare was being plucked in the wind some atop her helm, under the mask her lips were pursed in distaste looking into the battle field. Unlike some of the stories that had been crossed over to the Human world, she did not enjoy bloodshed, she was just very good at it. The battle was going as she had expected, the human farmers had fallen back to get the soldiers to come and protect them. The battle was being swayed into Elven favor, even as the weakest of her men took to their wounds and fell dead. What she had not expected was the furry of arrows to take to the sky, all touched by fire, with aim she had never seen a human wield. The arrows took down many of her best men, leaving some of her offense with holes, and quickly she did what she knew she had to. She joined the fray. The battle was written to have been epic, alone she had killed a score of men, before something hit her in a way she'd never been hit before. Somewhere off in the distance her delicate ears heard the ringing of a child's cry and no matter how many throats she slit and heads she lopped off, it would not stop. Distracted by the echo in her helm, the woman never noticed the blade that came up and entered a weak point of her armor. And she fell, and bled. Vaguely, as blood loss started to make consciousness slip from her she could hear her second in command call for them to fall back. They could not see her eyes open from under the helm, her lips moving in slow circles, tongue lapping at suddenly dry lips. None. 'I'm going to die.' The woman thought weakly as she closed her eyes for what she believed to be the last time.