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The Moonlit Battle of Elvenesse, c. 18 SA


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The bell of Elvenesse clamored heavy, prompting citizens nearby to perk their heads with concern in their eyes. They began to whisper to each other, some opting to take their young to safety while others drew arms and began hastily towards the front gate. In only a moment, the once serene square became overwhelmed with both alarm and adrenaline.

 

Gailien softly watched, letting his hand sink from the rope of the bell. Before he knew it, there was an unfamiliar face barking orders at him.

 

“Go find the Sanethir!” they demanded.

 

Gailien nodded, bringing himself down the path with a rattle of his armor before setting off. Upon spotting Celiasil near the gates, the Sanethir of the Emerald Guard, he called out and stood at attention.

 

“I’ve been notified of a force of bandits on our roads, sir!” 

 

“How many?” 

 

“I wasn’t told, sir.”

 

“On me, Gailien. We’ll search the perimeters of our city,” he commanded, the two then making their way off.

 

They circled the cliffs and harbor, searching for any potential brigands or breaches in defense. Upon finding none, nor any questionable individuals, they returned to the gates with haste.

 

By then, a mass of the Wardens, Emerald Guard, and citizens alike had gathered, each wordlessly expecting command, so Celiasil roared out.

 

“Wardens and Emerald Guard! Hiuwane!” 

 

The warriors and guards assembled in a line before the Sanethir, shoulder to shoulder with their chins raised and hands clasped. 

 

For the next thirty minutes did the crowd continue to gather, the Elvenesse officers debating the next course of action while the guards patiently but anxiously waited. Much like the others, Gailien grew more eager as time went on, though his composure did not falter. Instead, anxiety found him when he heard a voice call out.

 

“Open the gates!”

 

Thus, the switch of a lever was heard before the gates ahead began to crank, promptly clattering open with the rotation of chains and gears and rhythmic drumming. The disciplined guards remained before the Sanethir. 

 

“Move! We stop at the bridge!” he commanded, and with a flourish of his hand, they moved off with the deafening scrape of metal on stone. "Cihn!" 

 

Gailien stopped with the rest of the rally, though he was unable to see much past the back of heads and helmets of those in front of him. The once hundreds of feet clamoring upon the ground fell to silence, only the rushing of the river nearby filling the air. 

 

Curiously, Gailien brought himself forward, slipping his way through pairs of shoulders towards the right side of the rally. He followed their gaze, and ahead, there stood a man clad in black armor in the middle of the road. An ax rested in his hand. He said nothing.

 

Likewise, the elven party stood calm but prepared. The Sanethir wordlessly remained at the front of the crowd, matching the unmoving stare of the indiscernible figure ahead. Although it certainly was not visible, Gailien felt like there was a smug grin under that helmet. 

 

Celiasil remained watching the road with patience, naught but the rushing of river water and breeze of pine needles making a sound. A stalemate played between the two for some time, though the armored figure would soon withdraw, disappearing around the corner of the valley. 

 

“Let's go.” Celiasil then stated flatly.

 

The valley floor grew cold and damp as night approached, the occasional gleam of moon rays shining through the canopy of the great red oaks above and upon the elven ranks. For the few that strayed too far behind or ahead, they’d be quickly ushered back to the main crowd with hushed scolds from their peers while the guards and wardens remained vigilant. 

 

Once more did they soon stop, finding themselves before a line of four bandits, whom each carried sharpened weapons. However, the relief was only temporary as a crumble of dirt and dust plummeted down from the walls of the steep valley, and with it came five additional armored men. 

 

The elven party split back to back, Gailien facing the line of five alongside Celiasil, who proudly called out.

 

“This doesn't have to happen! Leave our lands in peace.” he called, though provoked no response from the line of men on either side. 

 

Gailein had frowned unsurely after recalling the military vulnerability of Elvenesse. He looks to Celiasil, soon opting to draw his blade to face the bandits ahead once more. Whispers trickled between the cornered elven party in an attempt to deftly formulate a strategy, though, in the same moment, an arrow had been fired. 

 

The parties soon clashed, the elven party splitting into two in their struggle to face each line of bandits. Blades clashed and armor rang loud, the scent of iron quickly saturating the air much like the red upon the ground. Gailien had remained unharmed for a portion of the fight, though once he began to take note of his fallen allies, distraction had taken its toll once more — he had been met across the cheekbone with the pommel of a sword, where he sloppily countered its following strike with a counter of his own. 

 

At that, as the remaining bandits began to hone in on him, thus he turned and made off towards the city once more. He didn’t see, but he surely heard the clattering of their gear while they pursued him. Once the city gates came into sight, with rasped breath, Gailien bellowed out.

 

“Open the gates!” 

 

Once more, the gates groaned with a rattle, the inner gate beginning to open while the outer crept shut. The fleeing elven guard had just barely made it under the gate, which crashed to the ground just before the bandits were able to reach him. They instead stopped outside of the gates, winded much like Gailien, and merely stared with heaving chests. 

 

Gailien had found himself grounded on his knees, struggling to catch his breath as he looked towards their weapons. They shone slick with blood. The sight nearly made him recoil, though before he did, the armored men outside would soon turn and make their way down the path once more.

 

Gailien had survived, but it was clear that there was much work to be done.

 

“How far We of Malin have fallen.” 

 

Spoiler

go easy on me i wrote this in like 20 minutes

just my character's RP perspective of the raid that happenedf last night 

 

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An unchampioned ferrymen, afforded the name of 'Brick' sat in his lonesome hours after the ensued battle, nestling the cap of his boot into a mound of gravel. "Hours o' waiting, for two minutes o' battle." A weighted breath then passed the lips of the veiled figure, drawing his sword to a whetstone, making ready for that of future prospects -- his dreary gaze, casting to a powdered wig, a prize he had claimed all those years ago when he stood against thrice his force.

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Adzy sat as he was wiping the blood from his blade "I expected a bit more of a fight if I must be honest..." 

 

 

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Enyahs leaned upon the railing of the pathways to the trees well above the fighting. The bell did not alert him, nor even startle him. The old elf just watched the attack happen with bored eyes that had seen this so many time before. "White Rose, Flays, and what group is this now? What groups have formed an attacked for the two hundred years I was gone? All this time, and still nothing has changed but the people in charge, and the people attacking. Amazing."

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