Role

Chapter 3

Waning of the Crescent.
Added Sat Mar 20 15:07:19 2010 at level 23:

Lasentia's vision clouded over from the searing pain as the blade plunged
into her back. But the dagger did not go deep before she heard the rushing of
air through feathers. The assassin heard it too however, and managed to jump
back. Two arrows flew into the air occupied a moment earlier, a third
managing to bury itself in the thigh of the assassin as he rolled back. Three
elves came down from the trees, blades drawn. The assassin had rolled back
and assumed a defensive stance, having drawn a black shortsword from his
belt, the dagger now in his off hand. The man had not moved however. He just
sat there, eyes closed, grinning.

In a flurry of steel and flesh two of the elves struck instantly for the
assassin as Issandril tried to rouse Lasentia to her feet. Her vision cleared
somewhat, as she heard the sounds of fighting behind her. Her companion
managed to get Lasentia's arm around him and lifted her to her feet and she
found she could stand on her own. As she looked over she saw the two elves
had the assassin surrounded and were pressing in. Seconds later she heard the
sounds of pain and death as strike after strike tore into the assassin. And
laughter. Terrifying laughter. She turned her head back to see the man
standing now, laughing as the two other elves turned from the dead assassin
to face him. "Pathetic that one. Bested by a pair of elves." His voice was
cold, emotionless, and enough to cause a shiver of fear in Lasentia. The cool
night air grew still, but the energy in it was unmistakable.

A heartbeat. Two. Three. The two elves stood with their blades ready waiting
for him to move. Issandril had backed Lasentia behind him with one arm, his
other other kept a blade between him and the man. There was little time for
him to react however. The man's left hand whipped up drawing a blade from a
hidden sheath and knocking aside Issandril's sword. From nowhere a ball of
ice manifested and slammed into Issandril and sent him sprawling backwards
onto Lasentia. The other two elves lunged for the man with the motion in an
effort to save them both.

Issandril forced himself back to his feet, a large wound on his chest. His
gentle voice now stern and his breathing labored "Get up Lasentia." She could
see the other two elves fighting the man, but they were badly outmatched and
each already had numerous bloody wounds on them. She watched in horror as the
man knocked one elf to the side, and swung his sword back across in a counter
arc that caught the second off guard, slicing through his torso. "They may
die, but you must remember the sacrifice they make. We shall honor them for
what they do for us, though our fate may soon be joined with theirs."
Something was different. Issandril was no longer acting like the doting old
fatherly elf she had always perceived him to be. There was a spark of
something intangible in him, like a memory long forgotten now recalled.