Feathered Flight

The hustle and bustle of the Farstrider Square was as lively as ever. Proud Blood Knights in their black and Crimson armour going to and from their vaunted halls the Rangers and Farstriders sitting in the shade of their own quarters in within the city. Elves of both Sin’dorei and Shal’dorei walked the streets alongside other members of the horde, though much rarer than the former. Above the grand training filed stood the great forges. The beating heart of Sin’dorei armaments, the hypnotic rhythm of hammer striking steel was a constant in the Square.

Between the Halls of Blood and the great forge were the training fields. Soldiers of all kinds milled around this open square, training or instructing. A few Blood Knights were sparring. A seasoned Farstrider with an eyepatch instructed some rangers in how to handle a spear. A Spellbreaker here and there were practicing on a target dummy. Others were simply observing.

In the midst of all the noise and sights of the square stood a tall elf with crimson hair and fair skin. Clad in red elven steel half plate armour and a crimson tabard a few shades darker than his hair. An elven, gleaming black blade as a crest on the tabard. From his shoulder hung a great black and red cloak hung from his shoulder, concealing much of his form beneath his shoulders. In an outstretched hand, clad in a clawed red gauntlet was a mighty warbow nearly as tall the elf. A construction of wood and metal plating the bow looked to be  positively ancient.

An elf with a bow in hand was not uncommon. Especially not when wielded by one clad in the armour of a ranger, with an emblem on his shoulder signifying his rank as a Farstrider. He was calm, stoic in his features, verdant gaze set on the target dummy around fifty yards out. He stood with his left side facing the target, his chest pointing slightly right of the target. His right leg behind his left, pointing outwards at a forty five degree angle from the target. Breathing in heavily he reaches for the bowstring with his right hand. The taloned fingers pulling it back. And as he did so, an arrow made from arcane energies conjured into existence. Steadying himself momentarily the archer closes his eyes.

His consciousness is unexpectantly pulled from the training field, a great stone bridge binding an Island to the mainland, great alabaster white and golden walls off in the distance on the greater landmass. A Blood Knight with similar crimson hair in a top knot, sternly looking at the Farstrider. He spoke, but no words came out. As he left, the Farstrider looked down solemnly, a single word whispered “War.”

His eyes snap open, pulling the string back, anchoring the the arrow beyond his cheek, his right elbow raised. Gnashing his teeth he let go of the string with his index finger. His gaze twisted into a glare, as the Dummy transformed into a human soldier clad in grey and blue steel plates, a golden lion on a blue tabard and wielding sword and shield. His middle and ring finger left the string, sending the conjured arrow soaring across the field. Striking the figure in the helmet’s eye slit. Huffing the ranger reaches out for the string again pulling back.

‘

His mind was filled with visions of an elf with golden tresses, her mischievous smirk made his heart ache. Memories of the two sparring each other, grinning and laughing the entire time. Even as he tackled her to the ground, sun shining above them. Memories of the two embracing one another, and their lips meeting dominating his mind.

He released another arrow into the target. And like a well oiled machine his hand reached for the string. Pulling back the string and firing again. Even as some of the soldiers training glanced towards him he kept going.

The memories of the woman turnt grim. Clad in Blood Knight armour that seemed to fit her so well. Grinning even as the two saluted next to one another, the crimson haired blood knight before them. An equally tall elf clad in fineries of a magister next to him, face stoic even as they spoke of trouble in the Highlands south of their home. The memories twisting into an upturnt field of fire and gore. Soldiers of all races clashing against one another. The same whisper from earlier reverberating through his mind again “War”. This continued for several moments until an image of the woman from earlier appeared, soaked in blood, arrows sticking out of her back, her eyes empty.

A low snarl left the Farstrider. Even as he continued to fire at the target, which at this point was looking more and more like a pincushion. Each arrow taking to their feathered flight in rapid succession. The Gemstones scattered across his armour whirling to life, a soft arcane glow filling them even as a dull hum surrounds him. Runes lighting up on both his armour and bow. An arrow forms, though this one seems less tangible than the rest. Burning with the same arcane energy as before. As it flies off and strikes the target a loud bang can be heard.

The entire square stopping dead in their tracks. Watching in confusion as the dummy explodes. The plethora of arcane arrows detonating due to the sudden instability. Lowering his bow, the Farstrider sighs quietly, even as the elves around him go back to their own business. The sounds of anvil striking steel returning as abruptly as they disappeared. Walking away from the field his eyes are full of determination, a cold unbridled fury burning in his feltainted gaze. The fires of determination litt as he walks off.