MQ: Torn Between Scylla and Charybdiss

[Mage Hunter]

Closed to those recruited

Times had changed.

The Mage Hunter had been gone from her country too long. It felt foreign to her now, with everything that had changed. The people moved about the same, and the language was still the same. She realized perhaps sneaking back into her homeland was a bad idea for the first time since she had done so. The loss in the Cell tournament had cause the Girl to ponder a few things she had not thought of in quite some time. She wanted to go home, more likely, she needed to. She was homesick and now that she was here, she realized why she was homesick.

Nostalgia was once described as the act of taking memories you don’t clearly remember, and shining them up for posterity.

She never understood the quote until she set boot to the streets of the border town of Nauplez. When she had left this place, it was nothing more than a shithole of a town on the northern border of Alerar. Now that she had returned, she had seen the surreal change before her eyes. Industrialization had gripped her homeland and with it, gone was the serenity of the Kachuk Mountains. She could see the smoke billowing into the sky and despite the fact it was winter, it certainly did not feel so with the furnaces and forges going in the factories that would produce the wonders of Alerar.

This was not the country she had destroyed the Necrosition to protect. This was not the country she had nearly killed herself slaying Xem’Zund the Necromancer to honor. This was the new way of life in Alerar. It sickened her to see such callous use of Alerian resources, and could only chalk it up to the new Regime looking for any advantage over their neighbors in Raiaera. While the sentiment was something that struck a chord in the Mage Hunter and former member of the Kyorl, having been in Raiaera herself, it was hard to believe that they needed to destroy their stockpiles so badly.

People bustled down the street, pushing their way through the late evening. Drusilia could understand the notions. It was going to be a cold night and they wanted to get to places of warmth in a hurry. Moving quietly along the streets she found a tavern that had rooms for rent and moved inside, her eyes looking over the area. The place looked moderately clean, more than the usual dingy dives she had frequented in Ettermire. Tables spread throughout the well lit room as well as a few patrons. The bar wenches while not the buxom bimbos of over taverns, were at least not ugly enough to make you regret a morning after with them. The room was well lit giving a gentle glow about the area from a number of sconces that hung from the wooden pillars that held the roof aloft. Drusilia gently pulled her hood down as she approached the barkeep who looked at her before he barked out, “[Barracks is down the street.]”

Drusilia frowned at the offhanded comment before she said firmly, “[I’m not military, not anymore.]”

The man raised an eyebrow before he jerked his thumb down the road, “[They aren’t either. Go to the Barracks and save yourself the gold.]”

“[I haven’t been in country for years, what do you mean the Barracks isn’t military anymore.]”

Comprehension dawned on the barkeep’s face before he reached behind the counter and pulled a book out. Slapping it open he said, “[My apologies miss, I thought you were called here by the Kyorl. They were rather upset at the last member I let stay here.]”

Drusilia’s frown deepened before she moved to the book and began to enter her name and said softly, “[What has happened to the Kyorl?]”

Times it seemed, had changed.

[Avus_Insectium]

A major coincidence in Avus's life had lead him to Alerar.

Recent events made him want to find some answers about just WHO and WHAT he was. So he was wandering the four corners of Althanas in search of answers. His most recent stop after he'd traveled from Corone, was Alerar. Land of the Drow, and strangely enough, and unexpected ally. Somehow, Avus had a lot in common with the Drow proper. He found himself in the same tavern that night, dressed in standard adventurer's gear. He wore his hood up because he knew his appearance oft frightened people, but not the Drow. The Drow had seen things and done things, and they were a stoic, hardy bunch. Avus knew they would not shun him after the first night in Alerar, and he could conduct his business with them freely. Avus sat in a corner of the same bar that would set the scene for several lives that were coming, unknown even to them.

Avus was drinking natural juices, he knew the Drow preferred strong liquor like Vodka, or Tequilla but he didn't drink any of it. Avus was a big fellow, and was positioned in one of the tavern's corners. The table was made of solid oak, and he had nobody sitting with him. He'd already ordered dinner for the eve, and his analytical eyes were searching for answers. When the woman arrived, Avus took note of her. He saw the interaction between the bartender and the woman, and he heard them speak in the native language. Avus did not know Alerar tongue yet, he simply knew common tongue. It would prove to be a disadvantage for him not to know the language of the Nation he was going to be spending time in. An adventure he'd had in Raiaera was what actually compelled him to arrive in Alerar.

He was green, that much was certain. As green as rookies would come. But he was not daft either, he wanted to be certain his little side trip in Raiaera was the clue he needed. One of the members of Xem'Zund's remnant forces he defeated during that side job revealed a name, and revealed a place. Nauplez. Seek Nauplez, and find answers. So there traveled Avus, and he worked diligently to become acquainted with the natives. They were a harsh, cold lot, but some had begun to open up to the mysterious foreigner. He was finding work, and making connections. Turned out the factories of Nauplez needed people to work them. Though Avus was no engineer, he COULD go out into the wild lands and see basic ore. Ore that would be refined into ingots, and wood for lumber. He would also sometimes bring back wood for lumber, and food from his hunts in the wild land. Overall, he was not one to forsake a good act of physical labor.

He'd gathered equipment and gear for himself to travel long term into the wild lands. He was in the tavern that night to take a mere break and cash in on jobs he'd been doing the month prior. Though the industrial area was prominent in Alerar, Avus had embraced it. He would become the voice of an entirely new generation of hard laborers and workers if need be. Avus observed the female Drow that spoke with the bartender. She seemed to have a dangerous air about her, and had a good amount of gear with her. He did not understand the Alerar that was exchanged between her and the bartender, so he waited. He would observe the actions of the newcomer for a long moment, and perhaps she would lead him to the clues he was missing about himself. About who and what he was, and what was his connection to The Drow in general.

He placed his goblet on the table and waited for dinner.

[Musashi]

The early-afternoon sun pierced the windows of the old inn and struck Musashi square in the face as he awoke, slowly, from a deep slumber. Leaving oblivion and an already forgotten dream far behind, as the warrior accepted the waking world with a clear certainty that filled his being. He rose. The floor boards creaking their protest as they claimed his mass from the bed.

Peering through the dust filled sun beams Musashi took note of the town that he had only known by moonlight. And marveled at how different it was from his home. Industrialization, had gripped this nation with a fever, a rising tension was forcing the peoples hand. Whether it was a real one or propaganda he did not have the knowledge or the expertise to assume, but the march of progress was not always a happy one. Regardless of intentions. But His interest was raised, he would explore.
Moving from the window, Musashi washed and dressed himself. Collecting both of his Samurai weapons, their rosewood scabbards a bright contrast from the grey Hakama that covered his body, lastly he tied his hair into the traditional topknot that was synonymous with the way of life that Musashi followed.

A few hours passed, and they were not pleasant.

Though the area was warm for the time of year it was not the warmth of health but seemed similar to the warmth that you would get from a rash or infection. The area had once been greater than this. After reading of the country, before he left to travel to this part of the world, Musashi had learned of fresher lands, of serenity and nobility. This was desperate. Wrong. The samurai was not above fixing it. His grip surrounded the hilt of his katana, almost subconsciously, to acknowledge that it was still there. As useless as it would be, Musashi knew that things this big are changed more with words than with blood. With his limited knowledge on the Alerian language, remembering only that which would keep him alive, he wasn't going to do it alone.

With the sun starting to drop Musashi returned to the inn. To secure his room for another night and contemplate what he meant to do with his stay.

The bar was relatively empty as the warrior returned only a few patrons, quiet before the cold drove anyone inside. The Barkeep stood on his own behind the wooden bar. An old scar at the bottom of his wide chin marking him as more than what he seemed. Cautious eyes almost glaring as the Akashiman laid coin for a room for tonight and a drink for now down in front of him.

"Tonight. And Saki."

The single word reply was what he received the previous evening and was what he had received now as the barman turned to comply. A saki bottle landing in front of him Musashi leaned against the wooden surface and drank slowly as the generously named crowd of people started to trickle in He didn't turn his head or gave any indication that he was sifting through the conversations of the crowd. Most, if not all were in Alerian as it was their native tongue and to wish otherwise would be to dis-honor himself incredibly. And he Missed someone to converse with in his own language.

No, Musashi was not listening in to anyone's conversation. But to their words. Wondering if he had a chance to pick out anything he did know. He assumed his luck was in when the barman started to talk with a newcomer, only a couple feet to his right. But alas it was again in foreign tongue and kept to brief statements. He would need to hear some repetition. And they would need to stress it significantly for the warrior's ears to realize it.

Which they did on the repetition.

"Những gì đã xảy ra với Kyorl?"

Maybe he would learn of something here.

[Stormborn God]

Slowly, Archon walked into the taven, careful to not let his eyes show anything that wouldnt be needed to communicate. He scowled at the floor before sitting down at the bar. With a fake smile on his face he looked around, taking in the many peoples floating around, half drunk, and bumping into anything solid that existed, or didn't. With a deep breath he drew his hands together, and a tiny electrode of lightning formed between them, which snapped into blue and white life, threatening to escape his firm grasp, but it never would, as a god, he knew all of his element, the ways to tame and control them, the ways that you could set it free yet still control it, with only a thought. With a chuckle from Archon, the fury dissipated, and he turned as another patron sat down next to him. He looked simple, yet, carried himself higher, as men do, and what he respected in a person.

"Double whiskey." Archon said to the barkeep, who had seemingly gotten himself involved with a conversation with a woman at the bar, who seemed to echo a strength, one that rivaled some of a stone, something that few people had, and fewer knew of....

The two shot glasses arrived in front of him, and he took one in hand, closing his eyes, but remaining alert. He reflected upon the past so far, and the future farther...

[Mage Hunter]

The bartender had been explaining everything to her, and finally when she refused to believe it, he set down a piece of parchment on the bar. Picking it up the color drained from her face slowly, almost as if she had grown violently ill. Drusilia felt her heart hammering in her chest, even as she continued to read the page before her, and finally set it upon the counter. Looking up at the tender she said softly, “[Things have grown far worse than I ever expected…]”

The paper was written in tradespeak so all might know of the historical event. She looked upon it, hoping that the words would change, that her homeland wasn’t shattering itself at this moment, and threatening a civil war that would destroy everything she fought to protect form Xem’Zund the necromancer. Pushing the paper she shook her head slowly before she said softly, in common, “Give me your hardest drink.”

The tender looked at her before he too slipped into tradespeak, “Right, this one’s on the house. I have a feeling I just dropped something in your lap your return home was supposed to get rid of.”

It was at that time the doors were kicked open. Four men entering the tavern with a gate that said they owned the place. The looked about the area and seemed to drink in the dregs that frequented the place before the looked over the newer people. Finally one slapped the shoulder of the other and pointed at the human male that was sipping what Drusilia vaguely remembered he called Saki, “Look at that, is it a man or a woman?”

“With a dress like that it might be both,” Another said. The words were loud, obnoxiously so, and the feigned way they dampened them made it clear what they had come to do. They hadn’t come for a drink; they had come for something far more primal they wanted a fight.

Finally they looked upon Drusilia and a few whistles shot up from the men before one spoke to the tender, “You keep good wenches tender. She’s the prettiest I’ve seen by far.”

The tender looked at the Drow as she clenched her teeth tightly. Her hand went to her pack, which dropped solidly upon the ground before their nominal leader let out a loud guffaw, “Oh no, made her angry. Big tough girl, gonna cry over what the bad man said?”

The tender leaned forward and said softly, “Chairs are one silver a piece tables are a gold, I don’t care about the plates. Just level his ass and keep the property damage low.”

She nodded slowly as if registering what was said before she undid the harness that kept her blades across and at the small of her back. The men oohed at the act, pretending to get scared as they looked upon her, even as she carefully rolled up her sleeves. She then looked at the warrior they had insulted early and tipped her head before she looked at the bartender, “I would like my drink waiting when I get back.”

She looked upon the four of them and snorted with derision, taking in their lax stances. She thought she spied a patch on one’s arm and mentally catalogued it as something to inspect later. She noticed one had a club on his hip, probably as a means of intimidation. If she hadn’t nearly been choked to death by a Lich, she was sure she might have felt a twinge of fear. Instead it just told her she may be breaking a chair for a club of her own. The barflies that watched quickly exited the premises some of them shouting as they left. She could see formed huddling in the windows and sighed looking upon the four, “And to think I was hoping to come home and not have to clean up the trash…”

More laughter met her ears as they began to fan out looking at enveloping her quickly, that was until she kicked up a chair into her hands in a practiced maneuver. A few of them stopped laughing even as the leader snorted, “Think just because you got a fancy trick or two you can play tough. It’s cute, I’m going to enjoy dominating you tonight. It’s always nice when they fight back a little…”

Well at least, that’s what it sounded like he was saying, Drusilia didn’t wait for his exposition and had already thrown the chair at the talkative brat.

[Avus_Insectium]

Avus looked at the fellows that walked into the bar.

Always trouble starters when alcohol is involved... Avus listened to the quips being exchanged between the girl and the group of upstarts. He looked towards the barkeep who shot Avus a side long glanced, as if giving him the nod that it was okay for intervention. Avus nodded at the barkeep and started to channel his vast super strength. Standing up, he stalked towards one of the closest of the ruffians. Avus was witness to a few of the tavern's battles before and somewhat knew the rules of the house. Looming over the closest of the men, Avus had a serious expression on his face. He was going to even up the odds for that one lady there.

One of the ruffians spotted Avus. "What the fuck are you?!" The guy said in plain common.

For intimidation purposes, Avus lowered his hood and revealed his foreign appearance. He was more alien in appearance than even the Drow, and perhaps, that why he had found a home with them. "I do believe you owe the lady an apology." Avus said carefully.

"No. I owe your face a rearranging!" The thug yelled and swung his fist towards Avus's armored carapace.

Avus reacted and felt his claws extend to combat position. He had both of his hands equipped with natural claw like weapons, and that would be his primary combative tactic. He suddenly reached towards the man's arm. Grabbing at the center of the arm, he moved his hands quickly in an elegant fashion and what followed was the sickening sound of bones snapping in several places. The ruffian screamed as his arm became useless dead weight, and he fell to the floor clutching his broken limb. He stared at Avus in disbelief. But Avus was not done. He could not TERMINATE the ruffian, but he intended on teaching that fellow a lesson. The man had a look of complete fear on his face as Avus reached down and suddenly grabbed him by the chest. Asserting himself, Avus lifted the man up and off the ground, he then tossed the dead weight like a throwing discus, towards one of the closes of the ruffians.

"Look out!" The fellow that got tossed like a useless sack of trash screamed.

Avus felt a somewhat exhausted from exerting himself, but he did not show it in his face. What he DID show was an almost terrifying rage. His face, almost shaped like a giant grasshopper, was a mask of rage. His eyes seemed to burn with the singular intensity needed to focus on the task at hand. He would help the woman defeat her foes, simply because it was the right thing to do. Avus prepared himself for the attack the would inevitably come. He was hoping to buy the girl some room so she could defend herself better. One of the others began to flank Avus.

"We have oursevles a real Hero don't we here?" The thug growled as he said that. He readied his weapon and walked towards Avus.

Avus only smiled.

[Musashi]

His attention changed from mildly curious in Alerian to worried for the tall dark stranger. Hunched over the bar next to him, their conversation gaining a heavy weight as soon as they began speaking in common tongue. The paper laid infront of her baring some heavy news which had no effect on the stranger that had simply been passing through the small town at the time. The dark elf however was from around here it seemed. With a little luck she would be willing to help in his endeavours. If he was lucky enough. It may be the other way around. The drink in front of her landed by shaking hands and The samurai decided that such requests were best left for a calmer frame of mind. He elected to presently return to his own drink.

Before, however, the drink had even reached his dry lips the door was kicked open with such force that the wood cracked audibly as it swung and hit the wall. A too-sober-alcoholic thrown from his perch and to his back. The first to avoid the impending storm. Musashi made a point to not engage. Keeping his eyes lazily staring towards the bar as the fermented liquid made it between his lips. The Obnoxious arrivals attempting to ellicit a response from the samurai and, failing that, instead chose the nearest target to himself. The Dark elf was probably not their best choice. She caught his eye and nodded, a level of mutual knowledge passing between the two until it was broken. He watched her stand. arm herself and prepare for the accepted combat.

The weight of atmosphere had forced out many of the local drinkers that would obviously be frequent visitors, others had moved upstairs. A select few had moved to the stairs and watched from between the railings. Safely out of the wooden arena as four men surrounded one woman. No longer paying attention to anyone else. The leader, a heavily muscled man with little hair on his head and a deep brow laughed at each action the stranger took. Even her impressive weapons and stance. His eyeline fell to the bar, his two swords themselves laying on the bar, wrapped in their ever present scabbards of rosewood and considered. But no.

She had risen to the challenge, was well trained and armed. Confident and decisive. Musashi was sure that she could take her opponents. If she was harmed in the process then all the learning to her.

"...I’m going to enjoy dominating you tonight. It’s always nice when they fight back a little…”


Nope.

The naked blade lay on the wood of the table as a chair flew into the face of one of the smaller brawlers. The scabbard of Musashi's smaller blade, a wakizashi lay firmly in the palm of his hand. It spun easily and rested as it should. The wooden butt finding itself driven into the gut of the tough guy closest to him, foolish enough to include him partially in their little semi-circle around their target.

Knocking the wind from his lungs forced him to double over. Another jab, upwards, bruising his windpipe and forcing the thug up into the air. He landed on a nearby table covered in hastily emptied mugs of ale. Almost instantly the wood beneath him gave way entirely, splintering out into shards all across the floor. The lad wasn't in a state to get back up and wouldn't be for a few days. Leaving three thugs to the stranger. A voice to his left called out:

"What the fuck are you!?"

Followed quite quickly by a scream as a limp body flew into one of it's friends. Musashi's attention was drawn to the newest challenger. A large insectoid being that Musashi felt he had already met. Something he would address later.

There were three standing opponents. One, a leader. Club at his hip. And anther had only half of his functioning arms. If luck was going to continue going in this direction the whole thing wasn't going to last very long at all.

[Stormborn God]

"I distinctly remember that I left this country years ago, and it was, civilized. Not filled with thugs. " Archon mumbled as he shrugged off his jacket and grabbed his cane and unsheathed his sword. He smiled slowly, his hands gripping the pair of weapons ready to kill, or injure, anything in sight. years ago, he would have left the flace, and just found another roost, but decided to fight, stand, and if need was, o out in a blaze of thunderous glory. So he drew up his shoulders., and concentrated his will, allowing a bolt of thunder to rocket forth. The thug attemoting to attack the massive bug was thrown back, as the air in front of him was thickened, and was pinned to the wall for some time until it dissipated.

"Hey! Try not to damage it TOO badly" the barkeep yelled to the trio fighting, before ducking down again, retreating backwards to the back door, but staying in the kitchen to watch the action from his safe haven of an area. Archon laughed at the attackers, yet did not strike against the one that was left, as he had cried for help.The Stormborn God wished another challenege, and his runes glowed as he struck out towards the man, who was recovering from being thrown against a wall. he was strong. But little mattered when it came to thugs. The leader of the band, the one with the club, who was trying to "intimidate" the elf. Well, he was now going to see the force of, well, a bug, a samurai, and a God, along with an elf.

"Boss!" A voice cried as three new thugs ran into the bar, all holding wicked swords. They took one look at the quad of fighters, and they engaged. One of them charged Arcon, yetwas met wit a punch to the chest, followed up with a knee to the gut, knocking him backwards to the tables, where his eyes widened. Archon, one to be feared, showed no mercy, slashing, yet, a blade met his, with a hook, it twisted, but did not remove his sword from his hand. He laughed with a hearty chuckle, a slow, rolling thing, beyond the natural tones of the human voice. His voice sounded out the various tones of the words he spoke with n iron tone to the thug attempting to attack him, and to threaten the vague safety of his fellow fighters. The end result, with the others fighting fiercely, well, more like, barely breaking a sweat and still badly injuring the thugs.

"Nay i ask who you are?" He said to the Drow, as he walked over, loosing one of the three windstorms his had in his hand, which tore through the place, overturning a few chairs, but the structure itself stayed relatively safe. With nobody in sight resisting him, and no exertion msutered, Archon just walked over to the trio of others and said:

"Hey, name's Archon, and you people?"

[Mage Hunter]

Her opponent was hit by the chair caught unaware by the woman who seemed all too ready to deal some real damage. He fell to the ground the chair breaking under the rough treatment even while the Mage Hunter stepped forward. The man managed to crawl to his hands and knees before her boot met with his side, winding and causing a sharp crack. As he rolled over more joined the fight ready to defend their fallen brethren before a call immediately rang through the tavern.

“That’s enough!”

The voice held such authority that all the man immediately scrambled to their feet, and despite their injuries tried to hold a position of attention. Even Drusilia, as rusty on it as she was moved into a position of attention as a heavy boot hit the floor at the entrance to the tavern. Swift stepped carried another Drow in, an older woman who seemed more than ready to smash head sin as she called out, “Who started this mess?”

Her dress was the same as the hooligans that had entered the bar and caused a ruckus, but there was no doubt she was of a strong military bend. Her hair was black with streaks of white that showed off her age even as she moved between each of them. Her demand said once more with the tone of one not willing to repeat themselves a third time, “I said who the hell started this pitiful waste of time!?”

“I did ma’am,” Drusilia barked off immediately.

The woman moved to the Mage Hunter and looked upon her with a critical eye seeming to size her up before she said firmly, “What is your name recruit?”

“Former Captain Drusilia Liadon, Mage Hunter Corp ma’am!”

A whistle flew from the woman’s mouth before she looked at the men who had participated in the fight and spoke, “You got some guts waltzing back in our country Liadon. I’ll give you that. I suppose I should shake your hand for teaching these fuckups a lesson. As it stands the Lieutenant is going to want to hear from you. Were you summoned Captain?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Were you told your exile was over?”

“No, ma’am!”

“Well then I suppose I have to take you in custody don’t I?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The elderly drown looked upon the others before she pointed at them each in turn, “You three, you are currently detained for participating in a bar fight, until such time as the investigation concludes. You will be treated with dignity, unless you should resist arrest. Am I clear?”

[Musashi]

The weight of the new comers made Musashi wince almost instinctively. The newcomer's entering the bar however were diciplined and trained. Not like the thugs who had came here looking for a fight and some dominance. The thought of which made the samurai's skin crawl, leaving goosebumps up his arms and back. They had deserved it. The thought brought his eye-line moved to the smaller brawler who was struggling to stand to attention amongst the wrecked spolinters of what was once a table and an array of glasses.

So they were military runts? It seemed a waste to see such a lack of discipline with ranks that should be bound in honour.

The one in charge demanded who had started the whole fight. Musashi, sure that he had attacked without provocation was to turn himself in. He had acted out of place for the country he was in and should have stayed well out of it. Even it the four had been acting on the level of common beasts, demanding either a fight or a sick pleasure. He didn't know which he wanted to raise first. But they weren't going to be serving anyone after today. He put his hand up, Only for the barman to tear it down again, so fast that He felt that no one else had noticed.

"There's no leaniancy For strangers."

He wanted to protest, To shout out.

The stranger asked again but the Elf got it out first. Musashi was sure he had attacked before anything else. As they had both attacked on the same cue, Musashi and Drusilia were equally to blame. That may have been what the bartender meant. It made little sense. Was the elf: exiled and non-summoned; expected to have an easier charge if she was the sole focus of the bar fight than Musashi would, if he was only part to blame?

The thin finger jabbed towards him and then to the Insectoid and finally the Wizard.

He was to go to jail anyway? His eyes darted to the bartender, then his swords on the bar and the purse of coin beside them. The message was clear enough: Keep them safe and that's yours.

He bowed his head to the newcomer, he would of course go quietly. Moving to stand beside Drusilia as the steel of his blade was secreted away by the barman.

[Stormborn God]

“I hereby charge you with counts of damage to another’s property, assault amongst other charges.”

This all was going over Archon’s head as he tried to comprehend how their system of “law” was used, because for some reason, the people who came in like they owned the place, even as they had sat and tried to attack, somehow, weren’t criminals. The building, which had it’s oak and various other wood paneling had suffered little to no structural damage, excluding the four or five tables which lay in splinters along the walls, and the many chairs and glasses that had shattered into hundreds of parts, along with a little bit of blood from the head of the man who had hit the wall. As the guards walked towards them he recited to himself.

“For a thousand year I have echoed, as the thousand words that have spun my past into existence, as spiders spin web, the words that I have writ in my blood, from which it seeps from the wounds I inflict, and have received, and how I have see that there are men, how the way that many have seen that he can describe to a detail the way the sky bends before it falls, and how the world has learned that in it’s billions of years that humanity was not too useless to notice, and therefore to say “We’re not pre-packaged with memories or programmed with stories.” They have noticed that they are one, they are all, for they write their own past in the thousands of words that you have writ…”

The one that was apparently called Drusila was responding to what looked like the eldest of the other elves. She talked as if she was a soldier. Archon smiled, and grabbed his whiskey, and swallowed it down.

“If I might interject.” He said as he looked down and brushed off his sleeve. “Might want to look behind you”



-Credit to Shane Koyczan, and Pavel. Both of which have been inspirations-