Having had a long talk with his people during their meal, he convinced them, albeit hesitantly, to show themselves to the Humans. While he rested on the pillows in his tent, Aralt reflected on some questions his people had posed to him.
‘By what means can we determine if they will accept us?’
‘If we got involved, wouldn’t we face repercussions from the Elves?’
‘In our state, can we even fight back?’
With careful consideration, Aralt realized they had a point. They barely had enough man-power; most of it going to the little resources they had with them. And because most of their strongest were gone, it was hard to budget the man-power they needed to survive that long trek from their former home. With his green eyes piercing the dome from his tent, and his arms behind his head, he decided he was going to change a few things that he proposed. As a leader, he needed to make prudent care of the decisions he would make; now and the future.
He would sleep on it until the earliest of mornings; when the unfamiliar nature sounds woke him. His body quivered from the wind change as he got up. Taking his great axe and adjusting his armor, he left the tent to see that everyone else was waking up. Perceiving everyone, he lifted his hand and released a fire signal; a set of three flashes to grab their attention. Most of them turned to him, anticipating what he would say. Aralt coughed, “Morning men, I thought long and hard last night about the meeting, and I made a few changes. I will go myself, while you all prepare to leave if things go wrong.” He then noticed Malik and Faizan coming up, nodding to them in acknowledgement. “I will not stop you if you want to come with me though, however with the way things are… I rather have more allies than enemies, especially with our circumstances. Get yourself ready for an evacuation if necessary. Wait for my signal if that is the case. Otherwise, I will be back.”
He then gave a wave to let them know he was done, watching Malik and Faizan going to him. Aralt then mumbled, “And I know…you are going to come with me.”
“Mind-reader, are we?” Faizan stoically said, “Especially with what happened in the past with you. Safer than sorry.”
“I’ve been sleeping!” Aralt shrugged, hating the reminder of past mistakes. “But anyway, will Azim be coming along?”
“I think it will be for the best, since he knows which ones helped him.” Malik shifted as Azim came behind him, showing off his innocent face. Aralt chuckled, as he leaned down with hands on his knees, “How’s your hand?”
“Doing better.” The boy rubbed the bandaged hand. “It still hurts, though.”
“Hunting traps will do that,” Aralt rubbed the boy’s head, “best stay away from them, eh?” He stood straight up and centered on the pathway they would have to take. “And stay with us. We’ll be visiting the hum—ans?” He noticed something was off; the smell wafting toward the camp like a silent invader. Even his people stopped and reacted to the reek that came upon them, and it wasn’t positive. “How far away was this human camp?” Aralt asked Malik.
“It took…maybe minutes? Took longer because I was marking the territory to remember the path.”
“And Azim mentioned there were those skinny monsters?”
Malik nodded.
That alone was enough for Aralt to understand. “Azim, maybe you should stay here,” he said as he took ahold of his weapon. “I think the Elves found their prey.”
----------------------------------------
His panicked horse outside jolted Raygnar awake from deep slumber. He stood and glanced out the window to assess the situation. At first, he only noticed his horse snorting as he paced around the makeshift stable. Frowning, he wondered what was causing it stress, so he investigated from where he was. The window offered a view of the village below and the cave he originated from. Someone stood there, in the distance. It took him some time to understand it. Trembling, he fled the room and descended the stairs. He didn’t even care if he woke anyone up; in fact, he wanted everyone up! Almost jumping down the stairs, he slammed the door to Mrs. Stark’s room. “Mrs. Stark!” He cried as he got to her side, shaking her with vigor.
Mrs. Stark took a while to wake up and saw Raygnar’s clammy skin and incomprehensible words. “R-Raygnar, what’s going on?”
“Wake the kids! We need to get out of here!” He whispered, “The Pencari are here!”
“Wh-What?” Mrs. Stark gasped, her face turned snow-white, and her body shook. “How? This is impossible-,” she muttered as Raygnar helped her out of the bed. The loud ringing of bells boomed through the settlement, silencing everything else around them. Piercing through every inch of the foundation, the increasing volume of panicked screams soon followed it. Mrs. Stark, aware of her mobility limitations, turned to Ragnar. “Wake the children up. I will gather all that I can here.”
Raygnar nodded and did just that. She grabbed a bag that thankfully sat on the floor next to it, gathering as much of the books as she could. By then, the Pencari were approaching fast and the shouts of determined men planning to intercept them. Room by room, Raygnar clenched his jaw and woke up every child to evacuate. The humans were going to be swatted like flies unless something happened. He could do something, but would his father approve?
As he was waking the children, he got to his room and snatched the gray box and dialed. As the box beeped for connection, he resumed his task to waking the children up. However, one room was strangely empty when he entered. The room was empty. A breeze came in through the open window, however, which confused him. Before Raygnar could process the scene, the box dinged, signifying a response from the other side. “Father! No time to explain! I need help! Pencari! Danger! Get your armor and weapon!” He screamed into the box as the children followed him. The children showed varied emotions; all of them whimpering out of the sheer pressure they were put under. And they just got some respite. How the world can be cruel, I will never know…
As they came down, Mrs. Stark closed the curtains of the house. Despite not being a fighter, Raygnar cared about their safety. He urged them all to follow him. “Let’s get to my cart. I have something I prepared in case of an emergency.” The Draconic Elf left with them through the back door where his cart was. He knew he needed to calm his horse down, just enough where they could run. And for his father, or perhaps Thor, to answer his prayers…
The children and Mrs. Stark huddled inside the cart as Raygnar hurriedly tried to calm his horse and get them ready. Once Raygnar calmed the horse and attached it to the carriage, he jumped in the driver's seat and fumbled through his bag to take out his thick book. From the book’s back, he retrieved a paper adorned with mystical sigils. Something that was only for emergencies. He strongly believed that now was an emergency. The struggle was getting closer to the house and to the stables. “Damn it,” Raygnar cursed under his breath as the children and Mrs. Stark slowly ducked down.
If only he knew where this ‘Ronan’ was, they might not be in much danger. The creaking of the stable door confirmed the approaching death. With the air around them turning stiff, Raygnar’s eyes bulged as they frantically looked around for anything to help. The horse, whom he had calmed down, froze and stared at the door.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Raygnar then found something worthwhile; a wooden barrel that weighed just enough. Arcane magic seethed from his outstretched hand, hovering over toward the barrel and wrapping around it like a snake. Spell prepared, he anticipated the door’s opening. His breathing eased, trying to stay quiet. The jiggling of the door handle stopped, only to be replaced with loud bangs. The door was being hit by something. Whether by feet or the ‘dark powers’, Raygnar didn’t care. He only needed to know they were attempting entry. Just fling this at them, and hope it distracts them enough…enough to run like hell. From the gray box he left, a voice emerged.
“Raygnar…summon me. Now.”
Eventually, the door flew off its hinges, flying toward Raygnar and the cart. Taken by surprise, he flung the wooden barrel at the flying door to intercept it. Wood on wood clashed in mid-air, giving Raygnar time to grasp the paper from his pocket. Speaking the Arcane words, he threw the paper forward as a masked figure dashed toward him. With only seconds to spare, the paper flashed a bright light; engulfing the entire stable. Covering his eyes, he backed away and prayed that it wasn't too late...
----------------------------------------
Ronan barely got into his armor and his weapons as he stormed down the stairs. His father, doing the same, slammed the door open. “Ronan, get everyone to the jailhouse and use the secret entrance! Start with the Church!”
Ronan was familiar with the secret entrance. In case of cavern passageway problems, there was an underpass leading to the surface. There was no lighting, however, and it could be a disadvantage to them if bloodthirsty beasts followed them.
“What about you?” They ran out of the house, seeing the area around them falling apart. Black shadowy figures jumping from one tumbling roof to another. His own people screaming and separated like they were being caroled.
“I will get those monsters off you. I....” He stopped the scene in front of them all too familiar to him. His body turned stiff, but he instead gave off a quivering smile. “I will meet you there.” His voice was... falsely bright. “Now go! Hurry!”
Ronan blinked, backing away slightly before turning away and running. The surrounding area was in complete chaos, a fire slowly built on what was once called a bittersweet sanctuary. Battle cries surrounding them like buzzing wasps. Bodies of both Pencari and humans piled up in the streets. Wooden light poles started to fall, trying to block the pathways as the combat grew more intense.
Bolt after bolt, Ronan kept firing at what he considered enemies of his people. Sweat dripped from his head as he ran through the blazing area. His mind focused on one thing:
Get to the church.
Amidst broken poles and dead bodies, he scanned for threats. He aimed his crossbow at the Pencari and fired, temporarily immobilizing them with shots to their legs, while the men and women delivered the finishing blows. His throat burned with each breath he took in as the church was within sight. He picked up the pace, jumping over the now broken fence. His mind raced, knowing danger was going to be in front of him.
Black winds came out of the church, the wooden shutters flew open to join in the chorus of destructive melody. Ronan’s pulse raced as he reached the broken door. He witnessed the Pencari’s renowned masterpiece when he kicked open the rest of the door.
The once holy church instead was brimming with wicked and crooked fantasies of their enemies. Ronan noticed a tall figure with pointed ears, completely engrossed in something else… if only for a moment. His steps were slow, but it screamed power as his red eyes met with Ronan’s. But this man was different; pale blonde hair almost similar in color to egg shells. His hair and face appeared excessively immaculate. The man’s armor even showed; a long black cloak resting comfortably on metallic armor, with a symbol of a tree and two swords crossing each other into an ‘X’ behind that tree. Underneath the armor was clothing comprised an indigo color and a brown belt with a long piece of metal covering the groin area.
Was this man a Pencari? Ronan couldn’t tell, but he had red eyes... pointed ears, and he held the head of... their priest.
His nostrils flared and the strength inside him increased. “Die, damn you!” He took his crossbow out and fired. Unfazed, he tossed the head aside, and the winds intensified. Surrounding the ‘Pencari’ were flying creatures; terrifying looking, skinny, and its wings almost skeletal like. It wasn’t until Ronan jumped back that he recognized them as bats. He observed others across the church. Thankfully, they were alive; huddled into the corner. He could see the absolute terror in their eyes, seeing their entire world crumbling in front of them.
As he attempted to grab another bolt from his quarry, he was hurled to the side and ended up landing on the stone statue. He felt the wind knocked out of him as he collapsed onto the floor. Gasping for air, he tried to get up. But a foot slammed into his hand, causing him to scream in agony. The sobs of the terror-stricken people followed his pain. Ronan gritted his teeth, tilting his head to see the man. A closer look revealed the man’s prominent cheekbones and minimal wrinkles, with piercing eyes that seemed to gaze right through him. The winds died down as the supposed fight was over.
They engaged in a silent battle of glares, vying for dominance. Ronan’s hand felt more pressure from the steel boots, prompting him to gasp in excruciating discomfort. “Humans,” the man scoffed, “You’re not worth my time.”
A battle-axe flew through the church, barely missing the enemy’s head. Seconds later, Huon jumped at the man, who retracted back. Relieved from the pressure, Ronan got up and fumbled for his crossbow.
“Where the hell is Priest--” Huon got his answers when he saw the head, his eyes widened before concentrating back at the Pencari man. “You son of a bitch!” He ran forward to grab his axe and once again went after the man.
“Huon!” Ronan tried to grab his attention, but he knew it would be a waste of time. Once the crossbow was in his hands, he ran toward the people. “We need to go! Come on! Move!” He yelled, waving his arm forward. With great effort, they stood and dashed. Wooden benches were breaking from Huon’s massive charge. The surrounding winds tried to pick up again, stronger by the second. With no choice, he tried to push everyone further ahead of him.
But the bats were coming at full force. He felt his whole body pushed back, flying out of the church and onto the grounds. Church furniture and statues landed with a loud thud. Ronan got up as fast as his body would allow. “Fuck! Fuck! Everyone! Are you okay?” His voice became hoarse, trying to shout as loud as possible. Were any of them hurt? Was Huon even ok? Coughing up blood, he sat up, hand pressed against his side as he struggled to get on his two feet.
Examining his surroundings, he, unfortunately, saw a body; a child’s body. Laying on a pool of their own blood, underneath a huge broken piece of the statue. Ronan’s chest tightened. “No...” He whimpered, “No, no no!” In an instant, he was at the child’s side, trying to lift the broken piece out of her. “Don’t die! Don’t you dare--!” He pleaded, but in his mind, it was a lost cause. Not moving, no sign of breathing... nor life.
Whimpers of pain filled the surrounding air. Some were alive, but the growing anticipation of who died writhed on him. Huon grunted from a distance, his body over piles of rock with blood trickling out of his mouth. The man, the Pencari, stood there, unphased by the carnage he caused. Some survived, injured. Others crushed like insects. “Bunch of worthless cockroaches.”
His flat voice was enough for Huon to give off an intense gaze, blood rushing into his ears. On his knees, he gradually went to his feet. “You--”
The Pencari eyed him with an unvexed expression. His mouth pressed together into a thin line, but nothing else. He lifted his arm. The nefarious winds were returning. “Ronan.” Huon called out, “run.”
“Huon...”
“Go!”
Ronan shook his head, cheeks burned alongside his vacant eyes. “Everyone, to the jailhouse! Let’s go!” His voice cracked, staggering out of there with some who survived the high winds. Huon intended to purchase them some time... if only for a few seconds. It saddened him that out of the people he saw last, only seven were still alive.
Only seven... not twenty...
His legs threatened to give out as they tried to go through the familiar streets torn up. It reminded him of the city ruins on the surface, the rest of his ancestor’s life before all this. With a hand clenched, he tried to keep up with them until the jailhouse was within their grasp. A sense of security enveloped him, putting his worries to rest. No furniture was disturbed miraculously.
Once inside, Ronan called out, “Go downstairs and at the end of the hall is a hatch, open it and go downstairs. There are torches down there to guide your way!” He knew there were more people; he just needed to find them. People fled downstairs while Ronan bravely ran back into the fiery hells, where his enemies lay in wait and his friends of need of back-up.