The dark elves of Syn.

Once men and elves, dwarves and dragons, all the creatures of the earth lived in peace. But that was only because a common enemy united them. After all the evils of the world were destroyed mass armys had no wars to fight. No kingdoms to conquer.

But the trouble did not start there. No, not til hundreds, almost a thousand years after the last enemy was vanquished. The elves kept to them selves as, did the dwarves and other species.
But men who's numbers grow so much quicker than the others soon out numbered every other race. And naturaly, men lost their ties to the other races, and soon they began to fear what they did not know. It was not long before a fanatic religion began to spread through the human world, proclaiming that men were the superior species, the greater race.

It was not long before it's followers began to hunt down the other races. At first, they had no success. Until the humans king fell ill. And his eldest son was converted to the religion of Das Rein.
"The Pure" Eventualy his zeal lead him to his end. He marched out of the capitol city of Licht with a small poorly armed force of fanatics against his fathers orders.

His crusade to purge the world of non humans soon brought him to his fate, when he beseiged the forest of Syn. Home of the dark elves. Their archers and assassins anihilated the small force on the very night of it's arrival.

The dying human king, blinded by his own imminent death ordered his people to go to war with them. It was not long before the legion of humanity armed it's self and waged war. With the religion of Das Rein declared the faith of the people, humanity soon overwhelmed the rest of the world and spread it's beliefs like a cancer. Through sheer force of numbers and fanatic faith, they laid waste to everything that lay before their armys.

After three long centurys of war there are no dragons left in the north, no more dwarves in the south and the elves of the west have been hunted night to extinction. The last of them, united under the banner of a dark elf named Druos wage a silent gorilla war on the army's of Das Rein.

This is a last stand. No hope for victory is on the harizon. They do not expect a miracle. All that is left is to see how many humans will join them in death in the black forest of Syn.

My name is Drezlin. I am a dark elf, though the name is often misunderstood. I am not evil. I live in a dark forest, I am highly adept to night. I can see through the darkest of nights, and have the agility of a cat. Our hair is raven black, as are our eyes. Which may lead some to fear us.

I have been alive for several ages. Long enough to see the world saved, only to fall back into darkness. There is no evil lord of ancient power manipulating the world this time, only the human religion of Das Rein, and there BlutKrieg. Or blood war.

All of the old ways lay forgotten, residing some where in the past. A past the humans will never again know. I once fought beside their ancestors. I once bled with them. And now I knock another arrow and release...

The humans hand flys up to his eye, feebly clawing at the feathered shaft protruding from his skull.

It breaks my heart. I know this is wrong. Yet I watched these very people slay my brothers and sisters. My mother and father, my wife and my children. I still have Aleas blood stained into my cloak...

Dropping from my perch high up in an ancient oak, I draw a long dagger as I fall. The knight below me does not sense it. Only after my blade is burried to the hilt in his neck does he know I was ever there. I leap off of the man and his massive horse, flying to the trees before the humans realize what has happend to their leader.

With tears in my eyes, I weep for what was, what is, and what will be as I knock another arrow to my bow.

My name is Amelei Cor'Va'Shar, I belong to small band of humans who are resisting against the followers of Das Rein, and as such I have infiltrated the armies of Das Rein. I fight beside the humans slaying these elves by day and by night I must sabotage them from the inside slowly. I am a small human in stature but it belies a deep inner strength that carries me forward as I attempt to carry out my orders, yet why I am here killing these dark elves, they have done nothing it was we who attacked first.

A noise from behind causes me to turn my slim light weighted short sword at the ready , I turn only to see the Commanding officer on the ground a dagger buried in his neck I start only slightly glancing quickly as I barely dodge an arrow that would have caught me in the eye had I not turned as I did. Moving quickly compelled by some impulse I tug at the dagger not being able to remove it at first. I throw my wieght behind me and slowly drag the dagger free, shoving it in my boots I jump to my feet, grabbing a small throwing dagger at a noise to the left of me, catching a quick glimpse of a young elven male I let the dagger loose, grimacing in shame as it slams full force into the elves chest sending him flying back to the ground, the voice in my head screaming to me all the time that it is murderer I kill these elves as a deception, I forfeit lives for no reason other than to complete the mission, how many more must die.

With a groan that the other human soldiers around me mistake for the thrill of bloodlust, I attempt to slip as far back as I can so as to spill less blood noticing a fallen human soldier on the edge of the battle I walk over, kneeling before the man I glance around me, seeing no other humans who are not otherwise engaged with fighting the elves I slide forth the dagger used to kill the Commanding Officer, as the man looks up to me pleading in his eyes he reaches a hand out to me "Help me sister" he begs, with a nod of my head I bring up the dagger and slam it into the mans heart "This is the only help I can offer my brother" at this moment I collapse forward onto my knees the dagger still gripped tightly in my hand as the grief grabs me momentarily. I listen to the battle raging around me, ready to strike if I must but loathe to make the first move, tears flow silently down my cheeks my blue eyes dulled as I watch them hit the body of the soldier I just killed.

The arrows flies, but by some miracle the young woman escapes death and the arrow buries itself into the dirt. Despite my failure... I am glad.

Yet with a masochists determination I knock another arrow to the waxed string of my long bow.
I do not know if it is hate for them that make me scowl, or hate for myself and what I am doing.
Springing to my feet to avoid a poorly aimed arrow I run down the length of a thick branch and dive . In mid air I let lose as the officer turns his armored head towards the movement he cought out of the corner of his eye. I soon put an arrow in the very same eye for all of it's efforts.

As apraoch the ground I flip once to land feet first, almost before my feet touch I began sprinting fast, back through their scattering formation. I wrap my bow over my shoulder and run foreward drawing two more daggers. A massive man wielding a heavy battle ax bellows as he raises it for a finishing blow. Under him lays an elf, a knife hilt sticking out of his chest.

In complete silence I run foreward, a shadow moving through chaos, and then I leap. I sink both daggers into the giants back. And draw them out quickly. My eyes catch those of the dying elf, he mutters something through the blood gently flowing from his lips but the din of battle drowns it out.
As his gentle black eyes glaze over a seneless rage over takes me, and I burry the daggers into the dying man again, and again, and again. I come to only just in time to dodge an unwieldy blow from a young soldier, his broadsword cleaves deep into a tree and gets stuck. With out a moments hesitation I slit his throat.

He falls into my arms, and I look into his eyes. I curse myself, This is a mere child... He can not be over sixteen seasons old!
I feel utterly forsaken. The world itself seems twisted. In my arms the life blood of a youth flows onto the ground... At another time, and another place, I would have seeked to avenge such an atrocity... But this time I was the killer.

I let him slide to the ground. And flee before any one else takes notice.

Taking a deep breath, I bring myself back to reality and hastily withdraw a small skinning knife using it to remove a small corner with a marking to identify the individual stitched into it from the dead soldiers tunic , a rage beginning to build in me when I realize that I shall be the one who must tell this mans family of his "honorable" death should I survive, should any of us survive this.

Jumping to my feet at a noise above me I glance upwards raising an arm instinctively to cover my eyes, remembing where I am I shove the piece of cloth inside my glove, grabbing my shortsword and rushing forward , I shove it into the kidneys of an elf who is coming up behind a young boy, using all me weight I push the sword deep into the his kidney hoping the pain will cause him to pass out allowing me to let him live. I stagger a bit as the elf goes to fall to the ground withdrawing my blade I look up to the young boy whos life I had just saved, tears threaten again as I see the fear and gratitude in his eyes. But quickly these feelings change as the elf at my feet moves and the boy before me acting on fear and instinct brings up his sword and slams it into the elfs chest as he takes one last breath I stare for a moment as if transfixed by this sight not knowing what to do.Turning quickly I rush forward as if to join in the fighting an arrow catching me in my shoulder as a hot searing pain races down my arm.

Pivoting quickly, I run to the left hoping that the one who shot that arrow will lose me in the crowd slamming full force into an elf with a dagger drawn I fall back, kicking instinctively out shoving the rough heel of my boot into her leg causing her to fall across my legs , sitting up quickly I scream once in pain as her blade bites into my calf, using the hilt of my sword I slam it into the base of her neck causing her to lose conciousness. I drag myself from under her body my arm and leg both hurting, the smell of my own blood mingling with that of elf and human alike as I right my shortsword in my hand and move off ripping a piece of cloth from my tunic not realizing it is the one with my identifying mark, I quickly tie it around my leg with one hand as best I can to stop the bleeding from the wound. My sword at the ready as soon as I am done, my inner emotions threatening to cause my body to tremble as I look at the chaos before my eyes, the bodies of elves and humans as well dead for no reason.

Druos' eyes dwell on the battlefield, his consciousness reaching out to every cry, every scar. A sword swings for his torso, instinctively he blocks with his arm, contact with the golden colored gauntlet on his forearm causes a spark. His pupils narrow, and with his other arm he grabs his attacker by the neck. The soldier is easy to subdue, a common grunt. What would be slight pressure from his hand manages to make the feeble human drop his weapon and try to release himself. Druos, one of the eldest of his remaining kind, looks deeply into the man's eyes, sensing great desperation. The kind of desperation he also felt. He couldn't feel his free hand wrap around the hilt of a small knife, but he could feel the hopelessness. And in a second the man was on the ground, his body still.

He was not the strongest of elves, but his element of swiftness was keen enough. The battle was coming, the forest was becoming a swarming hive of humans. It was a perversion, their intention was to destroy his home and all that it meant. He placed the knife back into the scabbard that hung from the sash around his torso, and quietly he unsheathed the sword that rested on his back. His obsidian eyes were adept at displaying fury and indignation. He uttered not a word to his brothers and sisters, he trusted their instincts as he trusted his own. He knew that no formation or battle tactic could stop the rival armies.

The deep brown colored leather armor that adorned his gray robes was cracked. A hood hung over his head, and he wore no crown over it. After all, he was no king. He was a silent leader, perhaps it was a worthy strategy. He was not defending beauty, he was not defending love, not purity, not worth. Not choice, not freedom. What he wanted, was to cripple them, make them just as tired, make them just as broken. He knew nothing but comfort and discomfort even mattered anymore, they owned this world now.

He charged. Five of them waited, he lifted his sword. They blinked, they flinched, they fell. He swung at them, again and again, cutting through their every thought and confidence, destroying their morale with every dying comrade. He sword drove deep into the torso of the next soldier, and the elf twirled around and the body slipped off the sword and collided with the mossy forest floor. There was no sound, and the others charged, hoping to catch the advantage. His sword carved through a metal shield and came to a stop near the arm behind it, and the rest of his body followed the movement, knocking the human over and off the weapon. Arrows flew all around, and he stung at the remaining two before him, badly cutting the leg of one, and the throat of the other. He raised his arms, bringing the tip of his blade to his breast. He released, and it plunged into the breast of a dying grunt, he tried desperately to impede the needle with his broken sheild.

I reach back to my quiver and pull out another black feathered arrow and knock it to my bow string. I draw the long bow back to full draw, and run through the dense forest around the outskirts of the battle, again waiting for the time to strike.
It presents itself in the form of a seargent trying to rally his faltering soldiers. He holds a massive broad shield over his head for cover from the rain of arrows that is cutting the human patrol to pieces.
Drezlin runs full speed through the underbrush, and the prefect moment unfolds, he lets lose the arrow and it speeds away between two trees and into the unprotected side of the seargent. He falls, and his men fail, they cast their weapons aside and flee.
Drezlin drops three more of them as they flee, his comrades pick off the rest.
Drezlin chokes back his emotions. and starts walking back through the carnage. Occasionaly stopping to dispatch a wounded soldier, help a comrade or salvage an arrow.
He makes his way back to where it began and looks for his dagger in the Knight he had slain at the onset. Only to find it is gone, as he looks around trying to pick up a trail an elder places a hand on his shoulder.

Drezlin, you are wounded. Come let us dress the wounds. Drezlin looks at him quiizically for a moment, his eyes losing focus on the faint disturbed trail he had managed to pick out. What are you talking about ? I have not been wounded. Drezlin replys heatedly. His eyes look over the fallen, human and elf, bleeding and dead, together on the ground. And again his shatters.

The elf looks at Drezlin sadly, sympathetic grief showing his tear clouded eyes. My brother... His long slender hand rises to Drezlins cheek and follows the border of a deep laceration running from his ear to his chin. and back down another from his fore head and down across his lips.

Drezlin reels slightly from the shock. All the eyes of the elves around him come to focus on his face, there Scarless faces reflecting sympathy and distaste.

A srtong breeze rips the hood off Druos' head. The blood dripping from his sword lands feet away. His hair leaves his face and reveals a look of sorrow. He walks towards his brothers in arms, he watches them tend to the wounded, he watches as they regretfully silence the remaining enemies.

He places his sword on his back and waits. There was no victory today. Each casualty decreased hope among the dwindling elven forces. He could see no happy ending.

I am Andoriel, a dark elf. I am but a mere child to my brotherin, but a wise woman of 50 years to my enemy. I have seen many battles without seeing them at all for I am blind. My eyes may be glazed with white, but they are not blank. Even in my youth I have been forced to mature faster than I should have.
Smelling, sensing, feeling death, but I shall never see it. My mind and body could not handle anymore than what I have endured, my rank being to tend to the wounded and clean up the bodies after battle.

I run my hands absently over a wounded soldier's midsection, paying close attention to any reaction he has to my touch. I feel a flinch beneath my hands along with a soft growl emitting from his maul. "Broken ribs, I see," I mutter, a warm, yet concerned smile tugging at my lips. "You are in no position to f- What's this?" My eyes widen as I sift my fingers through his long, raven hair picking up a scent that is all too familiar; blood.
I swallow hard, feeling his heart beat in a terrible rhythm, hands soaked with this thick liquid. I quickly tear a strip of fabric from my robes, pressing it against his head to slow the bleeding. Nothing was working. Eyes growing misty and falling shut, I pull my hand away quickly, feeling the warmth leave his body. I choke on my own breath as he takes his last. I bring myself to my feet, staggering towards the noise. I raise my hands slightly for guidance. My other senses are magnified from my lack of sight.