Flames
were everywhere. The small village was being burned to the ground, and thick
black smoke rose into the night air, making it seem even darker than it was.
Seregor stood about ten feet away from Dauth, his black mithril breastplate
reflecting the light from the flames. His long, white hair was pulled back in a
ponytail, and there were several droplets of blood on his face. In each hand he
was holding a short sword, both of them being rather bloody themselves. Sweat
beaded on his gray skin, a combination of weariness from battle and the heat of
the fire. Dauth was wearing a black leather coat as armor, one sleeve missing.
His short black hair was standing up, messy as usual. His spear lay on the
ground beside him, and his red eyes were staring into the face of a young elven
maiden, who he held firmly in his grasp. She had long blond hair, also rather
messy, and her white dress was speckled with ashes and ripped in spots.
Seregor watched Dauth, as did several other dark elves who stood in the center
of the burning town with them. “Have not we done enough already?” he shouted to
his friend over the roar of the fires. Dauth looked over to him, a wicked smile
on his face.
“Of course we haven’t,” he replied, his voice sounding particularly evil. “This
war will never end so long as drow and these other elves walk the same earth!
We can ensure our survival only by eliminating them!” he turned his gaze back
to the maiden, who had her eyes shut tightly and a look of fear on her face.
“And we might as well have a little fun with them in the process…”
“Then just kill her,” Seregor ordered. “She deserves no more suffering.”
“Nonsense,” Dauth said, still looking at her face, “it will not be suffering.
So long as she doesn’t fight it, it may actually be pleasurable for her,” he
licked his lips slowly. “Besides, I’ll kill her when I’m done either way.”
Seregor frowned, narrowing his eyes at Dauth. But the latter was too busy with
the elf now. Dauth released one of her arms, using his free hand to grab her
dress and begin to tear it off, exposing her round breasts to the other dark
elves, who were now cheering. Dauth’s grin grew even more. He again licked his
lips, looking at her chest. Suddenly, she raked her nails across his left eye,
slicing through his skin. Dauth released her and stumbled back, immediately
taking hold of his face. Blood trickled down his black skin, and he looked at
her hatefully with one eye.
The maiden covered herself quickly, stepping back and spinning, only to find
that she was surrounded by drow warriors and there was no escape. She slowly
turned back to Dauth, who scowled at her. With lightning speed, he backhanded
her, sending her to the ground. She let out a scream as he was on top of her,
pinning her arms down, staring into her face. His left eye was dripping blood
down onto her soft, pale skin, and she tried to turn away, but he grabbed her
face and directed it towards him. “Look what you have done,” he hissed, “this
will cost you much more than your life.”
He released her face, slipping his hand down between her legs and kissing her
on the lips. She tried to scream again, but it was muffled. Seregor turned away
and began to walk back to his camp, as the rest of the dark elves looked on
excitedly. A cry rang out from the maiden as Dauth continued, but to no avail,
as a punch to the face silenced her. Dauth tore off the shreds of cloth that
were left on her body and unbuckled his belt.
Seregor was back in the camp in about ten minutes, the village burning rapidly
not too far off. There were dozens of tents erected there, and other drow were
moving about quickly. Seregor was approached by two drow, dressed in black
breastplates similar to Seregor’s. They bowed, breathing heavily and rising at
a fast pace. “Lord Seregor,” one of them said sounding tired, “we have finished
gathering the prisoners.”
Seregor nodded, looking towards the ground. “How many?”
“Three men, five women and four children,” the other replied. Seregor nodded
once again, stroking his chin. He began to walk further into the camp, the
other drow following close behind. “What would you have us do with them sir?”
Seregor spoke as he walked. “Kill them all…we were ordered to take no
prisoners. But listen carefully,” Seregor stopped walking, the two drow almost
falling as they did the same, surprised. “The women are not to be touched. I do
not want them to suffer any longer. Just execute them,” he began walking again,
but stopped and turned to them after a few steps. “And I want their bodies
impaled, and placed along the trail leading to this village. We must send the
message that none are safe so long as our enemies continue to refuse us our
right.”
The two elves bowed again and turned, walking off into the night. Seregor
watched them go, biting his lip. Regret filled his mind, but he quickly told
himself that it was necessary to end the war. A heavy conscience, he walked
into his tent. He looked down, noticing that he was still carrying bloody
swords in his hands. He placed them on a table in his dimly lit tent, grabbing
a rag and wiping them clean slowly. When the blades shined in the dim
candlelight, he was satisfied, and sheathed them. It had been the same routine
week after week for years. The war was originally fought openly, in the fields,
armies meeting armies in fair combat. After twenty years of constant battle and
no end in sight, it slowly developed into a shadow war. Sure, there were still
large battles between armies, but much of the action was behind lines.
Seregor let himself fall onto the small cot in the tent, staring upwards. He
thought about how things used to be, when the war was still young. When he and
Dauth fought the enemy fairly, when they faced armed combatants. But they were
great warriors, and their skills were called upon to wreak havoc upon elven
towns across the countryside. Terrorizing innocents, chasing them, capturing
them, killing men and children, raping women, that was all that they had been
doing for years. A new village every week, sometimes two. And still, there was
no end in sight. Seregor was beginning to question some of his actions. He
would indeed lie through another night of little sleep, as though it pained
them, they would need to move in the morning to avoid enemy attack.
*****
They moved out at dawn, leaving the smoldering ruins of the village behind
them. The thick smoke still filled the sky, which would lead the enemy to the
village. But they would find only burnt houses, and the impaled bodies of men,
women and children along the path to the remnants. Several hundred drow now
marched in the dull light, Seregor at their helm and Dauth not too far behind
him. A gentle breeze blew in from the north, the trees and grass swaying
gently. Luckily for the drow, the smoke from the village was moving in a
direction they were not. The scouts had informed Seregor that the closest town
was over the grassy hills to the east, about a fifteen- mile walk. Of course,
the rolling hills would hinder their progress a bit. It was not really a
problem, however, as they had crossed worse terrain.
Seregor was silent as he continued on, scanning the area slowly. He was taking
in the gorgeous scenery, the beautiful greens that blanketed the countryside.
But, at the same time, he was keeping watch for signs of activity. Should the
enemy be spotted, he would give the order to prepare for battle, and the entire
lot of them would be ready to fight to the death with whatever stood in their
way. They, of course, took no prisoners, so if they saw any enemies, they would
kill them all, and hunt down any that escaped. It was critical that their
presence not be known by those they were facing in war, or else they would
undoubtedly be destroyed. Now, the path of burned villages let the enemy know
that there was something there, but the had no idea what. It was more psychological
warfare than anything else.
They were walking for the better part of the day, but their bodies were
accustomed to this routine already. They were virtually tireless soldiers, who
knew only how to fight and how to get to the next fight. That was how they
lived their lives. But, due to the targets that they would strike, they had
very few casualties. Any injuries were few and far between, and most often very
minor, and death amongst their ranks was almost unheard of. In two years, they
had lost but ten men, and nine of them had perished during a brief skirmish
with enemy soldiers near the
But what they were doing was becoming more and more taxing upon their leader,
Seregor. He was beginning to develop a conscience as he became older and more
experienced. He had been fighting since the beginning of the war, over twenty
years of combat. His skills were finely honed, but his heart was heavy. It was
not all the fighting that was weighing down on him; he much enjoyed facing
other warriors in combat. It was all the innocents that he and his men had
murdered that was bothering him more and more with each town fallen in their
wake. But he hoped that his actions were speeding up the end of the war, to
help his people realize their goals. To have their own land, and be away from
the other elves who treated them with such prejudice.
That was often what he thought about while they marched. He contemplated their
causes, the war, and how his contributions were affecting it all. He did not
want to be known as the man who slew the defenseless should his side lose the
war, for that would just create another stereotype for his people. But
everything was still unclear. All he could do was continue to fight and hope
that everything would settle down and end soon.
They were moving rather slowly on this particular day, and stopped several
miles from their next target for a short rest and a meal. This would also cause
more time to pass, and bring nightfall closer. That was when they preferred to
attack, as it gave them the greatest advantages over those in whatever town it
was they were reducing to ashen ruins. Dauth and Seregor sat together, somewhat
silent. Dauth’s left eye was bandaged, and it was stained slightly red. He wore
a grave look upon his face, seeming almost ashamed of himself for what had
happened to his eye. He stared off into the distance, back at towards the smoke
which was now out of sight.
“Another night of bloodshed, eh Seregor?” Dauth asked his friend absently.
Seregor glanced over at his friend.
“Indeed it will be,” he replied, running a hand through his long, white hair.
“This next town is supposed to be the biggest one we’ve hit in months. And you
know the rules, no survivors. We need to remain organized this time to ensure
that not a soul escapes this village unless it is through death.”
“More fun for us, eh?” Dauth turned to face his comrade. “This life is growing
boring, you know…we need more excitement…more death and destruction.”
“That is not what we need, Dauth. Peace is what our hearts desire, every one of
us, and if not that I would rather be fighting trained soldiers rather than the
defenseless of these lands,” Seregor said, his gaze directed at the grassy
ground before them. “It is taking a toll on me, and I know not how much longer
these actions I can continue…”
The look that Dauth gave Seregor was one of mixed emotions. He seemed to agree
somewhat with his friend, but at the same time it seemed as though he was
viewing Seregor as weak. The two fell silent. Dauth’s glance once again moved
towards the last village they had struck, whilst Seregor kept on staring at the
ground.
The sun was shadowed by thick clouds, and it was already evening. Many faint
lights could be seen where the town lay, soft orange and yellow glows in the
darkened sky. A ring of darkness surrounded the place, unbeknownst to those
within, who were busy with their suppers after a long day. Soon, however, the
ring of darkness became a thin ring of flame, and those flames were loosed
through the air, falling upon the outermost houses and quickly setting them
ablaze. A sudden panic began to spread through the town, moving quicker than
the flames that now threatened it. But the drow did not move from their
positions, keeping the town surrounded, ready to slay any that tried to flee.
And flee they did. Hundreds of screaming townsfolk, mostly women and children,
attempted escape. They directed themselves into a wall of blades, being cut
down by the drow. A number of the men in the town took up arms and swung at
their attackers, hoping to break the ring, but to no avail. The drow were
unwavering, and each held his position, letting the townsfolk come to them.
Another wave of flame was fired into the village, now illuminating the area
with a bright orange light as it burned to the ground. Thick black smoke rose
into the air, and soon the scene was a very familiar one, as several drow were
dispatched into the town to eliminate any survivors that may still be lurking
within.
Seregor watched silently from outside the town, Dauth having gone off to take
pleasure in the hunt. His black armor reflecting the brightness of the flames,
he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Another town destroyed,” he said to
himself, “and hundreds more dead. I wonder…” he directed his gaze upwards, towards
the sky that was now filling with thick black smoke. Like that he contemplated
everything for a few moments, until his concentration was broken by the
screeches of dozens of horns blaring out through the night sky. Then, in the
darkness, drow eyes piercing it and seeing like it were day, Seregor saw them.
Clad in dazzling silver chain mail, bearing flags and spears and swords and
bows, all around the town. There were hundreds of them, hundreds of soldiers,
all of them belonging to the Royal Army of Felnas. They had been discovered.
“Shit!” yelled one of the drow as they all turned to see themselves encircled.
They readied their weapons for a real fight, dropping into defensive stances
and their eyes glowing all shades of red and yellow in the shadows.
Seregor sheathed one of his short swords, and cupped his hand beside his mouth.
“Fall back into the village!” he ordered, and the command was passed around the
entire village as drow began to move into the concealment of the fire. Two
notes sounded out, and a wave of arrows came towards the drow, many crying out
as they fell before reaching the town. Seregor ran with all his might towards
the place, slowing down only to help one of his men who had fallen with an
arrow in his lower back. Seregor groaned in pain as he felt his flesh pierced
by an arrow, the noise ringing in his ears, but on he pushed.
In the center of the town, the surviving dark elves gathered. Their numbers
already were halved, and Dauth paced about cursing as he learned of what had
happened. “Son of a bitch,” he said, his voice almost a hiss. “How in the hell
did they find us?” he asked Seregor, who was gently letting down the injured
drow he had helped.
Seregor looked up to Dauth, his eyes flaring red, increased by the glow of
flames all about them. “We’ve only been doing this for five years, Dauth…it’s
about damn time we were caught,” he growled to his friend, then pulling the
arrow out of his arm as he winced in pain.
Grit his teeth. “Maybe if you hadn’t ordered all of them to fall back to the
village our chances of escape would be greater!” hissed Dauth in reply. Seregor
rose quickly, and locked his gaze on his friend, piercing him. Finally, Dauth
turned away and took a few steps. “I await your orders, oh brilliant
commander,” he said, sarcasm and hatred in his voice.
“You listen to me,” Seregor said firmly. “I’ll not have this insubordination
any longer. Our forces were surrounded, Dauth! There is now way to escape! Half
of us were already killed by arrows alone, what the hell do you want us to do?”
he looked downward, just now noticing the group of elves huddled together, fear
in their eyes. They were women and children, dirty and battered, one of the
lady’s gowns torn. Tears streamed down their faces as they held each other close.
In the center was the woman with the torn gown, crying harder than the rest,
her arms over her chest. Seregor turned back to Dauth, his eyes now burning.
Dauth turned back around. “Well Seregor,” he began, “what do you propose we do
now? Await a storm of arrows to end our lives?”
Seregor took a few steps towards Dauth, shaking his head. “You never get
enough, do you?” he said, turning his face away. There was a silence, and only
the noise of flames could be heard as the entire group of drow had their eyes
fixed on their leaders. “They won’t fire arrows into the town,” Seregor finally
said.
“And why wouldn’t they?” asked Dauth defiantly.
Seregor pointed his sword at their prisoners. “Because they know that there is
a chance that there are survivors.”
“They also know that there’s a chance there aren’t any. And they know that we
are here,” Dauth snickered. “And you are well aware that there isn’t a damn elf
alive that wouldn’t want to see us dead.”
Seregor fell silent as he slipped his blade into its sheath. His left arm
snuggled against his side, dripping with thick black blood, he ran a hand
through his hair. “You know, not everyone thinks like you, Dauth. I know that
these people’s lives mean nothing to you…hell, they mean almost nothing to any
of us. But they are people the enemy is fighting to protect, and they will not
risk the lives of these innocents just to take down ruthless murderers like us.
They know that we aren’t worth it.”
Dauth shook his head in disgust. “What the hell happened you, Seregor?” he
asked, his brow furrowed, as his one exposed eye studied his friend. “We are
fighting for a cause, and if you don’t believe in it than none of us do. You
know that no price is too high for that cause. Wake up, Seregor.”
Seregor once again fell into silence. He directed his gaze downwards, staring
at the ground. “We haven’t much time,” he said at length, raising his head. “We
must attempt to punch through their forces, and break out and back to friendly
forces.”
He spun about, not really aware of the directions as he was not familiar with
the town. “Anybody know which way it was that we came from?” he finally asked,
in a raised voice.
Several drow pointed in one direction, and Seregor nodded. He glanced back at
the remaining townsfolk as he began to walk in that direction, a frown across
his face. “Dispose of them…we can’t have the enemy sure of our plans…”
Organized in one section of the town, the drow met the elven forces in combat,
battling as quickly as they could before they were flanked. Seregor with a long
sword began to cut through enemy soldiers as they poured into the town from
that side, Dauth and his spear battling alongside him. The sounds of combat,
the clang of metal, the screams of dying men, and the unsettling noise of flesh
being pierced and bones being broken filled the air. Seregor watched and fought
as his allies were cut down, often being hacked up even more after hitting the
ground by several enemy soldiers. Just as he had slit the throat of one of
those soldiers, he turned to see Dauth being pushed backwards, into flames.
A scream filled the ears of the combatants, though only Seregor noticed it, as
Dauth’s body hit the fires, being burned. He flailed about as his clothing
burst into flames, and Seregor dashed over as fast as he could, lopping off two
heads and an arm on the way. He immediately threw Dauth to the ground, helping
him to roll about and extinguish the flames, when he felt another piercing
pain, this one on his side. Looking up, he saw the face of an elven warrior behind
the spear that was now stabbing him in the ribs. With one fell swing of his
blade, the spear’s wielder was on the ground, and Seregor grit his teeth as he
pulled the weapon out of his side. Grabbing Dauth, he began to run as fast as
his feet could carry him, past all the enemy soldiers, and into the night,
blood covering he and his friend.