Talik was now a city of chaos when once it had been the pinnacle of aristocracy. In a constant state of civil war, it was hard to go anywhere without fearing for your life; agents of the other bloodlines were plentiful and thei assassins, though never talked about, were always present. There was no longer a way to feel safe in the city she had grown up in, and that was the one thing that struck home true for all of the bloodlines. Their city had become the home to brutal sites of conflict, where elf laid sword against elf and the once hidden spells of destruction were unearthed where none previously existed.
The sky had turned a horrid, hard grey, and a blistering cold swept through Talik’s white-marble streets, forcing the most hardened elves to pause, and the weakest to shake as a leaf does in high wind. The harsh scraping of boot against paved ground filled the air; the whip of long, silver hair against the wind silent as a butterfly’s whisper. Hard, paced breaths escaped thin, flaring nostrils, and several small birds ruffled their feathers in surprise as a shape passed them in the streets.
Adri’nys of the Yr’dulaen bloodline was the last-known descendent of her family, and held the last blood ties to potentially assume control of the throne, provided she played her cards well. Adri, as it turns out, though, is less-interested in becoming a Queen than ever. The things she’d seen since the brutal murder of their rulers had turned her stomach to even the idea of commanding these beings’ respect. What happened to their old ways? The noble times when the high elves and dark elves were actually distinguishable between one another? These creatures that the elves she had grown up with had turned into were just as violent and as wanton as the rumours told of their dark kin – maybe even more so.
Shapes followed shape, the sound of more boots against ground and the harsh, staccato clattering of metal against metal followed. Yells, shouts, snorts of dark laughter and rabid war-calls tore through the near-silence of the street. The heiress whipped through the street, braced against the cold despite her delicate, waifishly-thin clothing. The sounds of war behind her brought her to throw a glance over-shoulder. Panic echoed in her heart, but the fire of determination she had held since she was a child burned brightly within her heart, and she remained an impenetrable fortress of pride. The glint of pure gold and bone-white material hissed against the sun as she drew the weapon from her back, long, elven fingers draped carefully over its hold. The quiver at her hip rattled as one of its arrows tugged free, and the elf suddenly turned, aligning her arrow and bow in an instant, pulling back, and letting the armour-piercing bolt cut a swath through the air, whistling against still wind before it struck its target: A tall high elf brandishing a repeater-crossbow nearly lifted from his feet as the arrow met his forehead and plunged through bone and flesh alike – his body hit the ground, but the rest of the chasers barely gave pause.
The silver-haired elf muttered a prayer to the goddess and aligned her next shot, downing a rapier-wielding sheepish elf with a spray of gore. It was time to move again. Bow in hand, she turned, braced her taut, elven muscles, and sprinted away. Something in her brain tingled, and she gave a reflexive duck; an arrow embedded itself in the marble building ahead of her, and she swore under her breath, hanging a sharp right.
The sun had been swept behind the clouds now, and the high-rising buildings on either side of the elven warrior cast eerie shadows over scenes of death. Those uninterested in the chase, the ‘normal’ elves, struck by the civil war but not involved directly, preferred to stay inside. She leapt over the body of a high priest and slid around the corner again, heading downhill. The sounds kept coming closer – rattling of metal and the crude shouts of bloodlust. Why they wanted her dead, she was unsure, but it didn’t matter much now. She was marked, in some way or another, she assumed, because of her blood. Blood. All this over a crown. Did they forget the teachings of the goddess? He who commits murder is denied access to the heavens and to the Goddess’ helping hand.
q95;
Out of the corner of her eye, something stirred. She paused, scanning the area for the source of movement. When nothing did stir again, Adri’nys frowned and turned toward the back-street, raising an arrow to her bow and straining against the bowstring to down another one of her former allies. To have to do this was madness, but it was a matter of self-defence. Why had everyone gone insane around her? Her family was dead now – a result of this dreaded civil war. Another one of her former friends fell – and another soon after, until there was only a couple of crazed elves left, chasing her downhill. Still, she was no idiot; to get cocky here and strike the rest of them down was a fool’s errand. She turned and bolted, thankful for her long, powerful legs and tall frame that had allowed her to maintain something of a lead against her chasers.
She checked her quiver – then her backup. Adri’nys would need more soon; if only she could make it to her makeshift home without being followed soon! Her sprint brought her to the border of Talik’s upper level, guarded by a low fence of white stone. Beyond that, a series of tall, thin, marble poles stood proud against the cold winds – they surrounded the entire city of Talik, and above each of their heads rested a small, unlit fireplace. Why light the city fires if the enemy you were bracing against was your own kind? She looked left, right, then behind her, once again pausing as she glanced the hint of movement. Resigning her paranoid thoughts to stress, she brought her weapon to eye once more, lifted an arrow to its sights, and brought down a particularly weedy-looking elf with nothing more than an unlucky grazing shot. The only one of them left was a bald high elf of unusually enormous stature. “Delesn es miines urh asternethelnas oen, (At least you won’t be hard to hit,)” She muttered under her breath, bringing up another shot and loosing it into the male with deadly accuracy. It struck his chest and pierced his heart; but the bulky, masculine form still barrelled forward, albeit with an expression of agony plastered upon his features.
Shocked, the waifish elf drew another panicked arrow back and launched it into the (closer) target’s neck, watching it tear through a vital artery and most of the elf’s oesophagus. Undeterred, the durable tank howled in pain and bee-lined for the confused she-elf, an expression of utmost hate spreading itself over his features and obviously overtaking the immense pain he felt. With a panicked glance around, she looked behind her. The thin pole that held the unlit fire was close... but... close enough? If she stayed, she was dead. If she jumped, she might not be. She threaded her weapon over her arm, swore, and took a step back from the low, stone railing, and then powerfully threw one leg forward, feeling it meet the railing with promising solidity, the other swinging past as she tensed and lunged over the railing.
Wind whipped through her hair, and the most surreal feeling enshrouded her. No hand reached out and grabbed her ankle, and as if time had momentarily slowed down, she heard the deep, disdainful roar of the tank-like elf as he reached the railing and fell over the edge. Then her position became apparent once more, and with cat-like reflexes, she opened her arms and caught the stone pillar that held their city fires aloft, feeling her body rattle with the impact as she slid her long legs around its circumference and hugged it close. Nothing gave way, and she never thanked the foundation-builders of Talik for sparing no expense in erecting these pillars.
Breathing slowly out, the elf refused to look down and began slowly sliding down the pole, thankful for its perfectly-smooth texture and the grip still left on her shoes that allowed her to slow down when necessary. Touching the ground at Talik’s ground level, she grimaced at the sight of the male tank-elf’s corpse – it had obviously struck ground fairly hard. “Essferdaen ir vesdel urh, yt... (That could have been me...)” She breathed, muttering another prayer in his name and looking about her position. She was further away from home than ever before now, and in this city, she had no friends. Her expression hardened.
q95;
The lower level near the site of the fire-pillar was no less lavish than the upper levels, but held the distinct tone of hard greyness that the upper-levels did not. No signs of life – just barred and shut homes. Even the market was quiet and still. A shiver crept up Adri’nys’ spine, and she swept her long, straight, silver hair back into style, tucking strands behind her left ear but allowing her right ear to be hidden by shimmering length. She breathed inward, recognizing the choking scent of spent flames. Something had been recently burned – she suspected one of the buildings around here had been hazed to the ground. The ground bore small puddles of water, their edges hardened by the cold and turned black ice. It was that horrid temperature; the breeze was bitingly cold, but her physical endeavours covered her brow with small beads of sweat. She wiped them off, not wishing it to freeze and cause complications.
The elf paced forwards carefully, into the darkened, grey streets of Talik, quite unaware as the presence behind her approached. The being’s careful steps were not careful enough, though, as its leather-pressed boot crunched over gravel. Adri’nys whipped back, bow at the ready, and struck her assailant hard in the side of the neck. An animal grunt of pain sounded, and the elf – a scrawny male youth of wiry physique – fell to the ground with a whimper, arm trapped under his body. He groaned, and the female placed her heel squarely upon his sternum, pressing hard to force him to react with a cough. “Erssek. (Speak.)” She demanded.
The youth gave a coughing splutter and attempted to sit up – she pushed down on his chest and shook her head. “Erssek. Eit. (Speak. Now.)” She hissed.
“Almaek di sles! Amn! (Let me stand! Immediately!)” He croaked. His words were short and distinctively male, showing none of the graceful elegance and vowel stress of the female elfspeak.
“Vos. (No.)” She said, voice edged with venom.
“Asler biknersfasdel, j’yuis fael! Almaek di slesvan! (I observed you jump, came to check on you! Let me stand now!)” He shouted up at her.
Something about the youth told her not to trust him and to slay him where he laid – but that would hardly be better than what she was trying to avoid with her high-kin. What she blamed them for. Her expression softened, she eased her heel back, and lowered a hand. “Eassle’nyl felsvani nellmii enstersnat. Uis nei. (I thought perhaps you had come to kill me. I’m sorry.)” She mumbled, helping the man to his feet. He shook his head and then rubbed his chest sorely.
“Esdek qesvennellae. (No matter, it’s understandable.)” He muttered, stuffing something into the back of his belt and then shaking his previously-trapped arm free of tingles. His sky-blue eyes passed over her grey-blues, and he regarded her with a half-nod. A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth, but then disappeared. She mustn’t be getting ahead of herself.
“Ios disfvertaaknele ui, noicc Yr’dulaen Adri’nys nosccvallen. Nes? (My name is Adri’nys of Yr’dulaen; what is yours?)” She asked, reaching out to offer her hand to the elf to shake. He reciprocated by taking her hand in his and smiling, his short blonde hair playing about his ears like a fire licks at wood.
“Izlen. (Deceit.)” He grinned, before bringing his fist into contact with the female’s jaw so hard that she was barely able to translate his answer into horrified rage before everything went dark.
q95;
The following six hours passed between sleepy blinks for the she-elf. The lower level; more elves; the rocking creaks of a transport carriage; the sharp, cold feeling of metal against her wrists; the sleepy morning sun turning to bright noonday light. She felt no pain, only tasted the blood in her mouth. She was not coherent enough to even lift her head and see where they were. The familiar scent of Talik was gone. There were rougher, deeper voices, that spoke in tongues she recognized as common. Why on earth would elves choose to speak in common?
Another sleepy blink. Cold earth met her cheek, shoulder, arm and hip as she was thrown into a dark, small space; Something metal clicked behind her. She managed to check her shoulder... and there were no weapons there anymore. Her leg ached something horrible, as well as her jaw.
Several more hours passed before the elf was able to raise herself upright (were they hours? She had no way of knowing). She sat in a small, square cell, her wrists bound in thick leather cuffs. She shook her head, the dirt and leaves of the ground below falling from her hair almost instantly. She looked down to her leg, where a massive bruise was growling on the side of her thigh. Her gaze shifted upward, to the bars, as she leaned foward and placed her hand over the bruise she needed to heal. Muttering a few soft words of prayer and forcing her magical energies through her hands, she felt the distinct, pleasant tingling of her leg healing, and then as she became aware of her jaw, she healed that as well. Magical energies for now exhausted, Adri lifted herself to stand. “Aesd’vallen vysek uie laeennal? Usdh Mallaenhas!? (Where have you delivered me? Where am I!?)” She cried pathetically, still weak from having been knocked unconscious, though she could feel that fire inside her heart burning strong. She would be righted soon.
The elf that had tricked her peeked his head around from a corner, and he approached, having heard her cries of distress. His face was no longer joyful nor young. It spoke of a hard coldness, betrayed by his tousled blonde hair. “Dazkuht! (Shutup!)” He shouted, kicking the bars on the high elf’s cell. “Ysvr naescalladen e. Usut. (We’re selling you. Behave.)” He growled, before leaving her cell, ignoring her cries of horror and rage as she shook the bars of her cell ragged and hard, continuing until her voice cracked and distorted. Her throat sore, Adri collapsed back into her cell, sitting on the cool, damp earth and pulling her knees up to her chin so that she could cover her eyes with her folded arms. She began to cry.
The fire in her heart began to wane. She would escape. She knew she would. Now was a time to cry, though...
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