Eros

Hail to the King - 2

Alora breathed in the scent of the forest, and opened her eyes. Enormous dark trees rose to heights that contested with human castles. Their great branches sprouting littler ones, interweaving to cover the sky. Leaves veiling the sunlight into a lavender gloom.

At the request of her father, the chieftain of the Silverthorn tribe, Alora accompanied her elder brother to the Bladeweaver.

For over a month she was away, and indulged in humans' distractions, not once felt homesick. But surrounded by the lilac forest, she felt a sense of serenity that had been absent since she left.

She wrinkled her nose when a strange smell caught her.

"Alora!" Eldridge called, an unusual panic to her brother's firm voice. Her run turned a dash as she recognized the misplaced smell. Smoke.

Alora reached her brother and crouched behind the bush next to him. Her face deadpanned in shock.

Her village was on fire.

A human magus, clad in elaborate robes of crimson and gold, stood on top of a small hill. He blazed his hands with flames, spinning fiery spheres between darting fingers, and hurling them upon the huts that were not yet torched.

Soldiers in red and gold armor clove swarmed the village, slaughtering the elves that managed to escape their burning homes.

A female ran in front of the bush they hid in. A soldier chasing her down. He pummeled her to the ground with a gauntlet fist. Then he heaved his sword for the killing blow.

Alora pulled her hunting knife from her boot and pounced onto the soldier's back. Upon clash, she slammed her blade in between his breastplate and helmet. The soldier collapsed to his knees before his sword's swing was done. Blood gushed down his neck, repainting his armor in livelier red.

Alora wrenched the knife out of the soldier and rushed towards her fallen kin, helping her to her feet.

"Flee!" She yelled, urging her forward. "Run to the Bladeweaver, tell him what happened here!"

The elf dashed her first step towards the woods when an arrow whistled past, and burrowed in her head. The villagers' dying screams became a muffled, distant sound in the back of Alora's mind. Her eyes followed the shot elf as she hit the ground.

Alora faced her unblinking stare, watching death snuff the green glow of her eyes. The arrow jutted from her forehead, blood dripping along features that seemed so familiar. Only then she recognized Grenda, the keeper of the tribe's youngest. Childhood memories of her motherly care came in a swarm.

The screams returned, each piercing her like a knife, putting holes in her sanity. She choked on the stench of burning flesh, tears gleaming with anger.

They burnt my home. She felt her heart knot with pain, and pound with violence.

They murdered my tribe. She felt the heat of fury spreading through her body.

They must suffer. She felt an immense surge of power.

Her eyes' verdant glow blazed, engulfing them in green inferno.

Several soldiers had noticed her and their fallen comrade at her feet. They charged.

Alora raised her hands towards them. Her fingers flowed to motion with her wrists, as if weaving invisible threads in the air.

The first of the soldiers was steps away, and Alora's fingers swiped in beckoning. The soldier's run came to a sudden halt, his body smacking against the ground as his feet were yanked from beneath him. Thick, dark roots wrapped around his boots.

He kicked in an attempt to break free, but their grip only tightened. Then they looped around his feet a second time. A scream tore from his throat as his plated boots caved in and his ankles fractured. He heard similar screams from the comrades, and looked behind him.

Dozens of dark, bulky roots sprouted from the earth. They grappled soldiers to the ground, forced through the gaps of their armor, and into their flesh, eliciting an harmony of horror.

The soldier swung his gaze back to Alora. A flame of determination lit his eyes.

He picked up his sword and swung at one of the roots holding his ankles. The blade hacked halfway through. The root's grasp weakened and he swung again, freeing his foot. As he tried to crawl further, the other root clenched at his broken ankle.

He nearly turned to hack it as well before seeing Alora looming over him. He jerked his arm up, his blade slashing to her thigh.

A root burst out of the ground and struck against his wrist, seizing his sword-hand. His courage was gone as his eyes met hers – freezing before the burning fury of her glare.

Alora twirled her index finger. Another root slipped out the dirt, slithering around the soldier's neck like a snake. He clawed and yanked at it to no avail. She stared into his eyes, and clenched her fist.

The root convulsed, squeezing his neck till it snapped.