Summer's Envoy [On Temporary Hiatus]

Ravens

Tale of Seros, The New World, 1690 C.E.

Humans are children stumbling around the gauntlet of war: loud, chaotic, clumsy, and emotional. 

Muskets echoed in the distance.

Up winding, wooded ways of the mountain paths we stalked. Sticking to shadows, ambusbing, flanking. We were Ravens, the elite vanguard of the Dark Elves, and the invaders had rattled our feathers.

Firearms, the humans call them - a befitting name, as their soaring iron scorches our skin.

After spending millennia in the shadow of the Faerie world's Summer Court we were now the last line of defense for all Fae folk in this war.

When they stop to reload their crude weapons is our time to strike.

As a Raven, I will fly into battle; be ever perceptive, assess threats; and, if necessary, bear my talons into enemies. This is my duty to uphold, my honor to bring, and my name to earn. 

We spotted our prey.  

My blood is cold. It grips me; it keeps my instincts sharp and astute. My mind is frozen: clear and immovable. Any knave that wishes to test their mettle against the Fae will find no pity from me. I am the progeny of Winter, a bond I share with my Dark Elf brethren fighting beside me. The preservation of the Faerie world is what guides my existence, and I would send my soul to Annwyn ere I let humans be its end.

By the time they discovered our attack, the skirmish was nearly over. Swift and silent, I danced through the enemy ranks, a creeping shadow over a dusk horizon. With fluid strokes, the razor edge of my obsidian saber sliced through those that dared siege our sanctified land. The humans started this war. They destroyed our homes; they destroyed the magic of the Tuatha De Danann, the great of all Fae. Without their magic, our world is lost. But I won't die yet. I won't give in without a fight. I won't let them destroy this new land we've found for ourselves.  

Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw the glimmer of three rifles taking aim.
They caught my flank. I was defenseless.

Damn it.

I turned, ready to die meeting my enemies' gaze, but the cry of a wolf abducted our attention. In an astonishing display of skill and celerity, a scarlet and silver blur bolted around my attackers. Within seconds each fell to the ground riddled with slashes of surgical precision and finesse.

Standing proud among our newly fallen foes was our leader, the constable of us Ravens and my closest friend, the Scarlet Wolf. He embodied the ferocity, cunning, and pack mentality of a wild beast. It was not long into his serve before he earned the name Wolf. Gripped in each hand were his signature obsidian daggers. Nonchalantly he stood over the small graveyard he just made, his attention focused on his blades.

"My fangs chipped... damn it. Their durability enchantment is finally weakening. I don't know how many more fights they have left in them," he muttered, not taking his vibrant scarlet eyes off his daggers. 

I smirked at him. Even in the heat of battle his cares in the world were minute. He was charming and loved to live his life with as few worries as possible. Much to our queen's dismay, his outfit was tantamount to his unorthodox personality: a leather jerkin and fitted pants, as opposed to the traditional uniformed armor of the Ravens. Even the light grey, disheveled, untamed mane tied behind his head was seen as rebellious.

I, however, was far more traditional than he, and as such proved to be a jarring juxtaposition. Unlike him, I wore traditional Raven armor: obsidian lamellar designed for speed and ease of movement, and, like our weapons, enchanted for durability. My straight ebony hair shagged around my head, almost masking my piercing golden eyes. Our only shared feature was one with shared with all of our kin: dark, ashen skin. I was the mark of the Dark Elf standard save for one thing, a memento from my childhood: a woven twine necklace with three raven feathers hanging from it.