Veabris - Those Who Ran (pt 1)
Northern Cyrod in the height of day. It was grey, snowing, yet no wind struck Veabris’s face. They were here, the three who ran, yet they hid themselves under the cover of snow.
A single step, a broken twig. A rustle behind. One was in the twigs that would form a bush in a warmer season, another was somewhere behind the Mer, and the last...was here.
Veabris turned, staff in hand, looking, watching, waiting.
Suddenly the whistling of metal cut thru the air, and the staff spun to meet it. The man took hold of his sword and swung again, causing Veabris to sidestep the blow and bring the staff down on his knees, knocking him to the ground.
An arrow sung over Veabris’s shoulder, cutting the fabric, breaking the very top of the skin. The archer aimed and released another, yet now the elf had seen him, and the arrow was framed in a bubble of magic, stopping near inches from the Mer’s unblinking face, before being sent back at full speed to the sender’s own eye.
The man on the ground, seeing his only opening, grabbed the elf’s leg and pulled the Mer to the ground with him. Both their weapons out of reach, they grappled.
The man swung his fist only to be met with dirt as Veabris gained enough room so the head darted downwards at the attack. The man felt his chest get kicked from under him as he toppled to the side, unable to breath. Veabris scrambled for the man’s sword before plunging in down his neck.
The elf rose quickly, wiping blood from the mouth and nose, only to feel a sharp pain in the back of the Mer’s head. Everything going black....
