The Calm Before the Storm

“How many?” Feinour kept his posture low as he spoke, hidden as he was in the thick foliage of the forest, it was still important to be cautious.

“I count sixty, about twenty mounted, as well as some monstrous beast at the forefront, most likely the leader.” Aleya relayed her reconnaissance as she shifted to face him, blue eyes narrowing in concern. The Watch Sister was clearly on edge, her bow crackling and sparking impatiently in her grip.

Feinour let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, “very well, we proceed as planned cousin, you know what to do.” The Aelf woman swiftly clasped his forearm in bonding, the moment of sudden tenderness breaking the tension that hung in the still air.

“Till we fall unto death my prince. I will not fail.” She spoke swiftly and without ceremony, before disappearing into the undergrowth to join her sister’s already lying-in ambush.

Feinour held onto her words for a moment, before softly uttering after her rapidly moving form, “Light of Avelorn be with you, Aleya.” He rose from his knelt position, brushing the doubt from his mind, he turned to Mara, the Spellweaver calmy regarding him with glowing emerald eyes. Aleya may be a brave warrior, but it was Mara where his full confidence lay. The mage was exceptionally gifted, possessing arcane talents far beyond that of an ordinary Aelf. He moved alongside her, brushing his cloak behind him as the green material flowed like a rippling stream.

“She is hasty, eager to spill the blood of our foe.” Mara’s words were soft as always, there was no malice or intent behind them, just truth.

“Yes.” The reply was simple, weary.

“You doubt her ability also?”

“In a way, but these wars cannot be won with strength of arms alone, cunning serves us well.” As if to illustrate his point, he gestured to the slinking unit of Shadow Warriors in the distance, a clarion hawk’s cry answering his own as they moved stealthily into position. “Tell me, how many more of our kin will die today? How many more will not make it back to their homes, to their loved ones?” It was more of a statement than a question, even before the words passed his lips, he knew how it sounded. Pained. Worried.

“I cannot predict the outcome of every battle Feinour, nor every life, each soul is woven differently to their own tune, dancing on unseen strings.” Mara gave him a twinkling look as she leaned on her staff, “I may die today, so may you, life decrees it so, life fates it so. It is a cruel, fickle thing sometimes.”

“That isn’t particularly reassuring.”

“No? Perhaps I could guarantee your death right now if it so eased your worry of what fate may have in store for you, a swift blow to the head maybe?” she rapped a knuckle on her staff and gave a small laugh, even with impending doom encroaching upon them, she still managed to smile.

He did not answer her question, his own hidden smirk at her coyness dropping like a stone as he turned to regard the enemy’s movements in the far clearing, hulking warriors clad in bristled plate and mail. They stomped through the forest with no care or thought, defiling wherever they tread with the stench of chaos. All this war, the conflict never ending, he wondered if perhaps it would ever end. But in his heart, despite Mara’s small comforts…he knew it would not. His people deserved peace, deserved respite, yet had been denied it again and again. The Nomad Prince gripped his starlight spear tighter, eyes narrowing in anger at the wanton displays of indiscriminate destruction in front of him. He dragged himself away from the sight, now answering the Spellweaver’s statement with a curt reply of his own, “Each life lost we will repay tenfold Mara, each soul departed a hundred more of theirs shall meet their end. I swear it.” He paused, letting the words hang like morning dew in the air. “Let us begin.”

Mara nodded, bringing her runic staff up and about her head, green ethereal light danced over her form like smoke, slowly, she began to chant, an ancient tongue, of wars fought, lives lived, and history written. Feinour felt his skin spark at the proximity to such potent life magic, yet he did not move away, continuing to regard Mara with calm features. At last, her chanting ceased, and just when the smoke enveloped her completely, she slammed her staff into the ground with a thunderous crack. Flowers sprouted immediately upon its contact with the ground, a wave of energy blasting out in all directions, blowing through the undergrowth and causing tree branches to shake uncontrollably, as if they too felt her feelings of retribution. As it reached their foe, roots appeared to spring up from the soil, ensnaring and trapping the surprised Chaos Warriors as they roared and hacked at the sudden prison in alarm.

The trap was sprung, now Avelorn’s full fury could be unleashed.