Lucent hadn't been able to relax in a long time. Not that Lucent actually relaxed. He merely waited for his next assignment. Lucent's idea of relaxing was sitting on the edge of the gates at the front of Yomenïampa, watching the elven children learn the art of the bow. He couldn't help but smile. Elves were fascinating creatures, the embodiment of tranquility. Lucent was no saint himself, but he always admired skill and education above all others. As the elven teacher instructed the little ones on how to properly string a bow, Lucent stood and stretched. It was still early morning, the sun barely peeking over the large pine trees that scattered around the outskirts of the town. The fresh morning breeze wafted over the area, giving a slight nudge to ever branch, letting the needles sway against their will before breaking off and fluttering to the ground. The earth below was a harsh brown, almost blending into a dull red. The faded tracks of hooves from a small flock of deer are imprinted into its soft surface.

As Lucent’s accurate eyes landed upon the deer tracks, he immediately felt a tug near the back of his mind. That gnawing feeling of hunger. He knew the feeling all too well. His hunger was not like a normal craving. It was a lust, a strong desire. It could almost never be satisfied, and it always lingered in the pit of his stomach. However, years of harsh training of both the mind and the body allowed him to keep it dormant for as long as three days. It was the power of will. He was a hunter, though, and the thought of freshly slaughtered deer brought his tongue over his lips in a sinister motion. His blue eyes scanned the opening in the forest, the slitted pupils’ searching intensely. Finally, he spotted his prey. A family of three. One buck and two doe. He crouched low and prepared to lunge, knowing he’d be able to at least grab the buck with the use of agility.

That’s when it happened.

The deer rose from grazing on the fallen needles, their ears perked and alert on the top of their skulls. Their alarm caused Lucent to wonder as well. He knew it was not his own presence, for he was too far away for them to sense. Stopping their practice, the eldest elf stepped in front of his students, eyes narrowed in suspicion as a group ascended over the hill near the horizon. The sun’s rays cast their bodies in silhouette, but the motion of one of the party was unmistakable to Lucent, especially in his line of work. The drawing of a bow. With the whispering sound of a fast current of air, a barbed arrow landed true in the neck of the elf, spewing blood from the wound in thin fountains. The children screamed, but were soon silenced by more accurate bowsmanship. As the moved down the dirt road, Lucent could make out their form. A group of bandits, consisting of Goblins and one Drow. A smile crept across Lucent’s lips even as the ground below him became sullied with blood.

“Don’t let even one elf escape your grasp. This entire TOWN will pay for killing my brother…” The Drow said to the Goblins, his voice dripping with hostility. Lucent suddenly recognized the dark-skinned man. They called him Black Gale. He was the oldest of the Storm Brothers, twin warriors who were known for their merciless ways. His youngest brother, Dark Thunder, was killed a few weeks ago by elven warriors who protected a group of Humans. Lucent knew the story, but had no idea that the elves were from Yomenïampa. Seems his being here was a stroke of luck. He hopped down from the gate pillars’ top, landed a couple of feet in front of the advancing group. By now, the town was aware of its approaching fate, and many elves were seeking shelter. The warriors who killed Dark Thunder were strong, but Black Gale had slaughtered them all. He was on a completely different level of power.

"Black Gale. I'm surprised you still seek revenge. I suppose the lost of a relative digs deeper than an actual wound, though that's a pain I know nothing of. Regardless, you threaten a peace that shouldn't be threatened. I'll have to stop you." Lucent said, before reaching into his cloak and pulling out a large, thick red staff with gold orbs at either end. Black Gale narrowed his eyes, but gave a dark sneer and flicked two fingers toward Lucent. At that instant, a total of five arrows shot at him with amazing speed. However, Lucent was slightly faster. He brought his staff up, before spinning it and slamming down, then arcing up, jabbing into the air rapidly. The barbed projectiles were made of steel and wood, and the force of his blows caused the wood to crunch and splinter, falling to the ground in harmless pieces. Lucent chuckled darkly as he placed the staff back in it's sheath.

"So, that's the speed of Silence, eh? Yes, I've heard of you, Lucent, the fabled Spotted Assassin. Your power and agility are rumored to be that of legends, but when you step in the way of a storm, that rumor shall be tested!" Black Gale snarled, before unsheathing a large, two-handed black sword. It's obsidian blade caught the light of the sun as it rose above the pines.

"Storm? All I see are five Goblins and a Drow. I may not be able to stop natural disasters, but a group of bandits is nothing to Silence."

Troile had come to Yomenïampa seeking supplies-- a day's excursion, at best. Times were different, these past days. Up in the mornings, asleep at night. This was absolutely...unnatural, for a necromancer. But it was absolutely vital that she return to Lomedor before midnight. Leaving her experiment alone made Troile uncomfortable.

The city of the elves was foreign to her, a place of great beauty, and great strangeness. Mesmerized by the grand design, Troile could do little more than stare. The patrolling archers never gave Troile a second glance, accepting her heritage and her right to be here unquestioningly. They know I belong here, and I know I have been here before--this place is unavoidable, for an elf. But there is no vertigo when I look up at the high bowers. No deja-vu at the gates. I know how the towers were built--I could draw a basic diagram in the sand illustrating the design, but this is the first time I have ever seen it, I swear! Sighing in awe, she wrung her hands together, tearing her eyes away from the great city buildings. I've got to stop thinking about this. This is a distraction, a distraction to my purpose here! I live and walk the world, and I have a purpose in mind. That is all I need to know.

She climbed the stairways up the enormous, ancient trees to reach the shop in question, her body knowing where to go even though her mind did not. Troile dismissed this subconsciously--there were direction signs up here, after all-- but any visitor to Yomenïampa would know that finding one's way around the labyrinth was a lot more complicated than just following the arrows from here to there. On a whim, when she reached the top, Troile looked out from a balcony window at the city gates. There, an archery trainer instructed a group of young elves in the use of bows. Too far away to hear what he said, she was impressed by his ability to demonstrate as well as verbally instruct. Troile caught the gist of his lecture by the motions of his hands. She was not the only one interested, it seemed. There was another figure nearby. A dark-headed elf who Troile assumed was a warrior also watched the archery instructor, along with several nearby deer. Those deer stray too near the city gates. Danger lurks wherever our kind make their homes. Elven, human, whoever. They are tame, and they will die.

Taking her attention away from the pastoral scene, Troile found herself at the doorway she sought. This was the city's best apothecary-- Nepenthe Hainglade. As she opened the heavy wooden door, Troile found herself face to face with the pudgy, scarecrow-faced elf. He wore a long overcoat, and precious gems in his ears. The ostentatious display, Troile guessed, was for effect only-- most frequenters of these places looked for alchemy's "quick fixes" and trusted the word of a mystic. Hainglade had good business sense and played the part perfectly. Hainglade's expression of surprised quickly turned into irritation at the sight of Troile.

"I'm sorry," Troile said, backing away from the elf.

"It's all right," Hainglade replied, face reddening. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but knew better. "We're not open yet. Come back in two hours and then we'll do business."

Two hours? Did I do something wrong? "Yes, sir. I will. Thank you," Troile added lamely. She stepped aside. The much larger elf pushed his way through her without regard for the necromancer, but not quite rudely enough to give offense.

So I'll be here for another two hours. At least this is a pleasant prison. Troile descended from the trees, slowly making her way back to the gates. She intended to spend the rest of the morning watching the archery instructor. Once she arrived, Troile nodded to the dark-haired one already there, and made a seat in the tall grasses.

Everything happened in a fraction of a second. Red appeared along the instructor's neck, and a drow-made arrowhead emerged from his throat, covered in ichor. The children screamed in useless agony, until they too said no more. Troile flattened herself against the ground, glad that the grass was thick and the ground was brown. Her poisoned dagger was in her hand in a flash.

“Don’t let even one elf escape your grasp. This entire TOWN will pay for killing my brother…”

Damned evil drow, Troile seethed. He will lose his tongue for that latest murderous blasphemy. Currents of fear ran through her bones, but the force of outrage was stronger. If you send them to the Shadowlands, I swear they will come back to harm your people. And I will help them do it. She analyzed the situation, trying to figure out her best plan of attack. Unable to use brute force, Troile would rely on subtlety and trickery.

"Black Gale." the warrior spoke, "I'm surprised you still seek revenge. I suppose the lost of a relative digs deeper than an actual wound, though that's a pain I know nothing of. Regardless, you threaten a peace that shouldn't be threatened. I'll have to stop you."

Now is an excellent chance. Be ready, Troile. Aim at the goblin on the far side.

"So, that's the speed of Silence, eh? Yes, I've heard of you, Lucent, the fabled Spotted Assassin. Your power and agility are rumored to be that of legends, but when you step in the way of a storm, that rumor shall be tested!"

She rose ever so slightly from her hidden position in the grasses, making her way soundlessly to a favorable spot about five feet from the goblin. Even at this distance, she could smell the goblin stench.

"Storm? All I see are five Goblins and a Drow. I may not be able to stop natural disasters, but a group of bandits is nothing to Silence."

Now! Troile pulled back the Shroud long enough for the voices of the victims and other creatures to slide through. There was, of course, no physical connection between the planes, but the effect of thousands of years of pain and horrific agony came through like the judgement of a God. Troile struck in the midst of this confusion, plunging her blade into the chest of the goblin. Quick as lightning she thrust herself back into the grass, holding onto the hilt of the dagger so it would come with her. With that, the connection to the planes broke, the screaming coming to a sudden halt. In its absence, Troile could hear the echoes reverberating through her mind. No. Pay attention. Plan your next move!

Although Avénnian was now beginning to feel the pressures of his duties upon him, he still had one more stop. He was dressed rather elaborately as he made his way through Yomenïampa wearing his white jacket with golden embroidery and similarly designed pants, as well as the matching boots. A winged blade hung at his hip, and each step caused his ashen hair to waver from one side to the other. The nostalgia of this city was nearly overwhelming as memories from his childhood flooded his mind. Everywhere he went he was greeted with sparkling smiles from his fellow Elves who knew well of him.

It was, perhaps, more attention than he would have liked, though he was rather used to it by this time. The process was nearly monotonous as he smiled, waved, and nodded with respect to those he passed. Nonetheless, he was enjoying himself, for though he was once an ascended atani he could never forget his own kind. It did his heart well to see the thriving city. No, this city does not thrive, it lives.

Frosty eyes sparkling with inner joy, Avénnian deftly made his way down to the ground, his boots crunching with each energetic hop and jump. Some of the young males were following him, attempting to keep up with Avénnian as if to test their own skill. Avénnian grinned widely and looked back at them as he jumped, narrowing his eyes in a challenge.

"Oh? What's this?" He laughed aloud, then suddenly picked up his speed. "Catch me if you can!" He felt like a child all over again, though his actions were solely to see the smile on the children's faces. They laughed as well, calling out for him with challenges as they attempted to keep up. With his keen eyes, Avénnian counted them. One, two, three, four... five. Five, eh?

Their little game continued until Avénnian's white boots finally touched the ground. One youngling in particular had shown great skill and followed him closely, landing next to him. The others soon followed, and Avénnian placed a hand on the closest boy's head with a chuckle.

"You're quite the skilled one, aren't you?" He arched an eyebrow, and poked a finger to the boy's head. "Now, you just concentrate that hard on your studies so that you can become well-learned as well." The boy shook his head and stared at Avénnian with hard eyes, but soon broke into laughter. Avénnian smiled, as the sound did his heart good. Yet, he sighed, and made his way over to a tall mount grazing next to a tree. The children "ooh'd" and "ah'd" at the sight of a brilliant white unicorn as Avénnian placed a hand on the mount's neck and hoisted himself up. Straddling the mount masterfully, he saluted them.

"Be good, you hear?" He chuckled, and turned on his mount, his heart singing a song. It would have been wonderful to end his visit like this, for he strode peacefully from Yomenïampa's borders just in time to see an archer instructing a group of children. Again, he smiled. I must live, to come home once again. He spurred his mount forward, but a horror struck outside of the gates. The instructor was striken by an arrow, dying from the neck wound. Avénnian's lips parted slightly in shock, and his heart went out to the screaming children. He was even more hurt, however, as the children were each silenced, one by one.

Is this really happening? Can I be dreaming? Avénnian turned his head to see a group coming upon the path to the city. He was still partly in shock. Surely this was not happening. Who would dare to attack this city, these people?

His question was answered as he made out the group to consist of several goblins and a single drow. A drow. The counterpart of an elf, here?

“Don’t let even one elf escape your grasp. This entire TOWN will pay for killing my brother…”

As these words rang into the air, they struck Avénnian's pointed ears. His heart dropped from its elevation and lingered in a dark, dangerous place. His eyes became icy as he studied the form of the speaking drow, each little detail of his person. It had been so long since Avénnian had felt so very angry. Feelings that he had long discarded as an avatar of holiness welled up within him like a monstrous beast, and in such a short time it was of unparalleled ferocity.

Even as another appeared before him, challenging the drow, who apparently claimed himself to be "Black Gale", Avénnian hardly paid the other any mind. The elf lacked any words whatsoever, as his mind raced to grip his consciousness. Somehow he managed to pull back the beast, and concentrated on the most important matter at hand. Even the swift sneak-attack on the goblin escaped his notice as Avénnian's mount suddenly dashed toward the elven instructor and children.

When he came within range, Avénnian hardly waited for his mount to slow, wheeling himself off onto the ground hastily. Quickly he knelt to the body of one of the children, placing a hand under the child's head. It has been a while since I've done this. Regardless, it made no matter, for Avénnian's magic was now surging at the need called by the situation. The child's body as well as his own began to glow with a brilliant white light, so bright that most could hardly look upon them without shielding their eyes.

His eyes were focused on the child as he flowed his magic into the body, and his breath faltered as he did so. Steadily, Avénnian, steadily. He had nearly forgotten that his unlimited powers were now gone, and the rate at which he could flow his magic had decreased. He closed his eyes, focusing on the body within his arms. Please. He prayed silently to his patron Goddess. It frightened him a bit to be unsure of his own powers at the moment, though before long he felt movement.

Opening his eyes, Avénnian's blue pools met with the green eyes of the child in his arms. Those emerald irises soon shut, however, as the pain from the arrow wound returned and the child groaned in pain. Avénnian pulled the child closer to himself, a single tear escaping his eye. I have brought him back, now I must keep him. Their bodies continued to glow as Avénnian put his healing spell into action.

"It's alright, just bear with me. Everything is going to be okay."