A Spectacle of Red
This ... this isn’t how it was supposed to go. It was supposed to be easy. Routine highwayman buisness. Wealthy looking fellow wanders through the wrong part of the country ,we take out his guards in an ambush , strip him of his belongings , and sell him back for a hefty ransom. Done it a dozen times before , shouldn’t be an issue , right ? Yeah , that’s what we thought.
The thing that should have given us a bad feeling that this was no ordinary rich fellow - if It even was a fellow. He travelled completely alone through these here woods , draped in weird looking garbs of multicoloured silk and what looked like ... spun gold ?At his hip he had a sword , sure. But even from a distance one could tell that that sword was just one of those expensive , fancy looking ones nobles use to look important. But , despite all better judgement, we walked out onto the road, as per usual. Four of us in front , four in the back and two on each side. And then the stranges thing happened... he cheerfully greeted us. “Oh my , what a band of strapping young men you all are - to what do I owe the pleasure ?”
You know that feeling when you see someone or something , and your gut just drops and every fiber in your being just wants to run as fast as you can ?That’s the feeling that crept into me the moment He started to open is mouth. That silvery voice , that oozing confidence and ... something else. There was something else behind those deep lavender eyes.
“Well good afternoon to you as well , good sir. It seems like you , regretably , haven’t paid the toll to pass through here. So I , regretably , would have to ask you to pay up” Something in me already regretted Garl saying that. “A toll ? Oh my , I did not know I had to pay a toll to pass through these here lands ! But , regretably , do not cary nary a coin on my person, nor any other belongings of interest to such enterprising gentlemen as you.” “Oh that’s fine”, Garl smiled , like the fucking idiot he was. “That sword of yours- that should cover up the toll just fine.” I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw taht figure slowly walking up to Garl , a look of sincerest inscencerity on his face. Which , I only now had noticed , was framed by way too long and pointy ears - an elf ? No, that wasn’t an Elf. Something close maybe. But definitly not an Elf.
He unbuckled his sword from his belt , and with an almost presentary flourish , he handed this gorgeus blade , held in an equally gorgeus scabard. Were those fucking mythril inlays ? I ain’t never seen the stuff before , but from what I’ve heard it looks like “starlight given form”. And that definitly fit the bill here. “Well now ! I’m glad we got through this here buisness without any unnecessary complications ! Now , if you would please...” Garl didn’t get to finish that sentence. Adimitly , it’s hard to speak with five long , painted fingernails almost an inch deep in your throat. As Garl dropped to the ground like the sack of shit he was , that elven-looking fellow drew his blade in a flourish so absurdly flashy it had to be from one of the fighting styles those weird Tal-folk use. And did he just ... lick his fingers ...? With a stance that looked like it belonged in an opera performance , he stood there , his lips curled into a smile , lavender eyes taking in the horror in the other men. “Shall we ?” He danced through our guys. Sometimes holding his long , slender blade in one hand , sometimes in two , and sometimes - I swear it on my still good leg- he didn’t hold that fucking blade at all. I don’t think I need to tell you that little ol’Bran , barely 18 winters at the time , almost shat himself as he stood there, watching his fellows get cut down. And that wasn’t even the worst yet. You see , despite the fact that we were highwayman , we were pretty much equipped as any mercenary would be. Armor and weaponry were well kept. So , it came as it often happens on the battlefield. After cutting down another hapless man- I think Josea was his name - the Elf-things blade got stuck somewhere between all those ribs and armor. Which , in any normal circumstance , is a death sentence. Oh it was , believe me. But not for Him. He let go of that blade an instant after it had gotten itself firmly stuck in Josea’s chest , and he turned around and started chanting und his breath. Some weird , singsongy stuff in that accursed silvery voice of his. And now that I remember it ... I think i saw his skin turn almost ... pale blue there for a second ? What happened to poor Ravel after that is still , to this day , the most horrifying thing I have ever seen happen to a fellow man. As Ravel swung at him, seeing an opportunity now that his blade was gone , the Elf-thing danced aside and just lightly brushed Ravel’s cheek. Have you ever heard the phrase “blood freezing in your veins” ? That’s what happened to poor old Ravel. In an instant , all his blood froze. And it froze fast enough for it to form icy spikes that pierced his skin and probably everything under ot as well. As one can imagine , moral wasn’t high after what the few last standing men , including me , had just seen. So , we did what every highwayman , when faced with unfavorable odds , does. We ran for our fucking lives. At least , we tried. I could hear them , you know ? Through the trees , I heard them cry and yelp. But I kept running. And running . And running. I ran until my lungs burned like fire and my legs were like dessert jelly. And then some more. But I didn’t run fast enough. Somehow , that Elf-thing caught up to me ,and I swear to the Gods above , it pounced on me from what feels like ... 30 feet or so ? It hit me with enough force to send me sprawling , and I only stopped when my body hit a treetrunk. Before I could get my bearings , I felt a boot on my chest and a warm , wet blade at my neck. “Now now , we’ve been running enough for one day , haven’t we ? But , alas , were are my manners ? I haven’t even inroduced myself properly yet ! Caoillain Ardyll , Scion to High House Boreas and Messenger to the Court of Seasons - at your humble service.” He was covered in blood , from head to toe. His fair , blonde , almost white hair , was matted with blood , and his robes had taken on the all to familar maroon of half dried blood. And still , there was this smile upon his lips. But his eyes... there was a yearning behin those lavender eyes. “But alas , all things , how ever fun and endearing , must come to an end. And , since a story , however whimsical or full of drama , cannot be told without anyone to tell it , it shall fall to you , my dear enterprising friend , to tell those whom you meet , and who have an ear for a good story , of what transpired here on this most auspicious of days.” And then he ... just left. Cleaned his sword of any blood left ,and just sauntered off into the woods, humming a cheerful tune to himself. The common room of The Tipsy Tanar went quiet. He had told this story many times , in the 40 odd years since it happened. Many people would come to the inn just to listen to him tell this tale for thewhat feels like three hundredth time. But hey , it ment a few extra coins for ol’Bran. He could use them , honestly. That tackle from the Elf thing was hard enough to crush his ankle , and when he had found his way back to civilisation all those years before, it was too late for that leg. They didn’t amputate , no , but his left leg was barely usable- and growing older didn’t help. It still hurt sometimes , almost as if to remind him to retell that story. Why did he retell that story that often anyways ... ? And it was on this day , in some shady Inn in New-Aurim , that a grown man shat himself , as a tall , Elf-like man , dressed in almost kingly attire , walked through the front door and greeted him with “Bran , my dear old friend ! I do like your retelling of this tale - though i do have to say You left out the best parts”