Revenge of the Elven

Chapter 1

The hour was growing late but she wanted just one more ale at the tavern of her beloved city; a city she had a hand in protecting for years. It was her home the city of Marrengate as depraved as it might be it was hers, to protect even more so for this depravity. She fell against the bar as she waved at Foli, the barkeep, to serve her but knocked over a tankard in the process. She covered her mouth laughing cheekily as she realised what she had done, her friends behind her cheered the drunken clumsiness.

“One more, Varrell, and then I must ask you take yourself home, or I’ll fear for your safety. None of our citizens want to find their hero in a drunken stupor on a street corner, now do they?” he asked as he handed her the newly filled tankard.

“Good man,” she said and raised her tankard to him before joining her friends at their table.

“Are you going to be alright getting back home tonight, Varrell?” her good friend Decan asked her.

“Of course,” she slurred.

“I am more than happy to accompany you, if you so wish it?” Arlan asked her. She looked at him with her drunken eyes.

“You would probably try and sleep with me, again,” she said, and they laughed.

“Well, it was fun last time, if you remember it?” he replied making her laugh also, “No on a serious note; I would just protect you, Varrell, that is all I wish,” he said and put his hand on hers. She smiled drunkenly one eye slower than the other.

“You have been drinking ale too, my friend, one of your flame blasts might catch me instead,” she replied.

“I would hope you’d have more faith in my powers than that, Varrell,” he said.

“You are a powerful warlock, Arlan, I do not doubt your ability, only your aim after the amount of ale we have all consumed,” Varrell replied and they laughed.

“I just have to stumble a few feet to find my bed, so I’m fine,” Decan said, leaning back with hands interlocked behind his head his orcish teeth seeming more prominent as he grinned.

“I am jealous,” Varrell muttered as she began to feel tired and think of bed now it had been mentioned. She looked at her ale and then at her remaining friends. “I think I will end it here, actually,” she decided and stood swaying a little. Arlan steadied her. “I’m fine, honestly,” she assured and then stumbled towards the door. It was quite a long way for her to go since she lived in the upper parts of the city and right now, she was in the commons. She walked just a few feet when she was attacked from behind. She drew her sword but stumbled and fell beginning to sober up but not quite in time. Her attacker moved unnaturally fast, shifting from space to space seeming as though all around her at once, or perhaps there were more than one.

“Varrell!” she heard and looked to see both Decan and Arlan at a distance but suddenly there was a cry and she turned to see at the steps she had been about to ascend on her way home a body rolled down it landing at her feet in a slump; hooded in black and blood pooling around it. Her friends hurried to her side; their own weapons drawn; she looked up to see her rescuer. His fierce burning eyes bore through her very soul, amber like fire. His hair was a pale blonde like the softest summer cloud golden from the sun’s rays but his being was enshrouded in darkness like the longest winter night. The elf introduced himself by tearing out the heart of a would-be assassin that had almost taken her. The fringe of his hair almost falling in his eyes but staying just out of the way as he stomped down each step towards her, she did not know whether to thank him or draw her sword against him.