Span All Worlds

A Fairy-Tale Meeting

"There is nowhere for you to run now, Queen Alvina!"

The young warlock jeers at me, brandishing his dagger near my throat. I rebel against the magic that keeps my arms pinned at my sides. The dim moonlight reflects off of his pasty yellow skin. His teeth are crooked and sharp as he smiles. His dark eyes bore into my soul. This warlock is only a novice, but he is powerful nevertheless. He has been trained in the Shadow Realm of Othro, probably a student of Rothvigar the Ancient.

"Rothvigar taught you well," I gasp. We are in a clearing in the woods. Anything could jump out and change the game, whether a friend or foe of mine. I must remain aware of my surroundings. The warlock smiles in triumph, letting his pride cloud his focus for a fleeting moment.

"But not well enough!" I yell. "Okvar bỏn vola!"

Flaming hot energy pours from my veins, burning through his restraints and into his flesh. He howls in pain and falls back. A smirk spreads across my face as I pull my sword out of its sheath. His pride was his downfall. When he confirmed that Rothvigar was his master, I knew exactly what kind of elf magic would defeat him.

"Shall we fight in hand-to-hand combat instead?" I taunt. "I am bored with sorcery duels. They offer little challenge."

"You have been toying with me!" The warlock cries in horror. He staggers to his feet. A trail of blood leaks down the side of his chin. He wipes it off with his long indigo sleeve.

"Indeed," I answer. "Now draw your weapon!"

Reluctantly, he unsheaths his sword. His eyes flicker with fear.

"Agh!" 

I let out a deep, throaty war cry before attacking my opponent. My sword arcs towards his shoulder blade. He trips backwards but manages to block the strike. But he has lost his bearings and the duel is already won. I easily disarm him with a flick of my wrist. His sword flies through the air and lands neatly behind me.

Using basic spells, I bind him.

"Lutera."

He is incapacitated. His arms twist themselves into a pretzel in front of him and his mouth glues shut. He looks at me with bulging eyes and squirms against his restraints. Resistance is futile.

"I'm an elf queen, scum," I whisper, drawing near. His eyes grow wide with fear. I will let him go free, as is the honorable custom of our people, but he will suffer much torture at the hands of his master, Rothvigar. I release the binding and throw his body twenty feet away from me, towards the path leading to Othro.

"Go back to the shadow realm, wretch!" I call after him. He staggers away. I watch him until his indigo robes disappear behind the trees.

"So I guess you don't need saving after all."

Who could sneak up on the elf queen herself? Only a master of Elvin magic could fly under my astute discretion. I quickly turn around, sword drawn.

Clink!

Sword meets sword.

I am surprised by the strength behind the weapon. Whoever wields it is a seasoned warrior. I raise my eyes to meet my opponent.

Intelligent hazel eyes. Broad aquiline nose. A slight lopsided smirk, revealing a dimple on his left cheek. Not a handsome face, but an interesting one. A face that I feel as if I already know. Perhaps one that I've known well, in another lifetime. He is about five inches taller than me. His grip is firm but agile on his blade. He has studied his technique well. Whoever this man is, he is a worthy opponent.