Devoid of natural light the horde of war elves would have remained hidden in the hills were it not for their guttural roars claiming the night air. The defenders on the wall could only stand there frozen as the ground quaked from their encroaching stampede.

For one of the men standing on the battlements, life for him and his family had been nothing but struggle ever since Lord Kollo's bandits swept through his town and claimed it as their own. He had watched many of his friends and neighbours brutally slaughtered before his eyes. But his wife and daughter were spared. That was all that mattered. And the man was prepared to do anything to keep them safe. Including joining Kollo's band of miscreants. A decision that subjected him to a new world of cruelty and blood. Pain and death. A bestial output for his rage, a side of him that he wasn't and never would be proud of. But...his family was still safe and he was prepared to keep it that way.

But he was not prepared for this.

From what little torchlight lining the embrasures of the wall, the man was able to discern the shapes of the nearing army. He was barely able to notice the roof of shields sheltering the charging war elves. Killing them with arrows would prove difficult. Regardless, when the order was given it was obeyed. Arrows began raining down from the battlements clattering against running metal. But the wave showed no visible sign of stalling.

As the man readied his bow for another attack he noticed the sprinting elves in the front line suddenly shifting their shields onto their backs. The man couldn't help but instinctively step back when the elves suddenly shot forward with a frightening burst of speed and hurled themselves at the stone wall. Instead of a destructive crash, the elves neatly landed onto the vertical surface with sharp claws digging in.

Then they began to climb.

He watched in stunned awe as lines of war elves exhibited bouts of nimble dexterity as they scaled up the town's defenses. Arrows began falling from the battlements and the man shook himself to follow suit. He nocked the arrow and fired at will. His arrow missed an elf who effortlessly evaded the missile by lunging to the side before latching back onto the wall with his claws. The man noticed the other elves dodging the same way with only a few of them catching arrows with the shields re-positioned from their backs. No matter how many arrows fell, the elves continued to advance upwards. The closer the elves neared their peak, the more desperate the volley of launched arrows became.

With only a few arrows left in his quiver, the man fumbled with his weapon. But by the time he was ready it was too late. When he leveled his bow over the battlements, he was suddenly disarmed by a rising war elf. The elf hurled his bow over the wall before lunging himself at the man. Sharp claws buried themselves into his shoulders as the man fixated on the creature before him. He had never seen an elf before, let alone a war elf. Its pointy ears seemed to shiver violently, almost in ecstasy. Blood red eyes glared back at the man with a gaping maw of serrated fangs drooling saliva: the last thing he ever saw, as the jaw of blades sunk into his jugular.

Blood and flesh decorated the elf's mouth as he tore away from his prey. The red-eyed beast relished in the taste of blood before splitting the air with a carnal roar. The other defenders were struck paralyzed at the sight of the war elf, as though they would have remained unseen if they didn't move. That's when the elf shifted his hunter's gaze to the nearest defender.

At that moment the humans were jolted into action as they reached for their arrows and swords. But they were too slow. Throats were torn out. Chests were slashed. Bodies were tossed aside or over the wall. Arrows were fired only to hit their fellow man as they were propped up as shields. And the ones that did hit the elf did nothing to prevent the massacring dance. By the time the elf was finally downed, ten men were already dead and five injured. All the while, more war elves were vaulting themselves over the wall.

And as he watched his beloved town once again being invaded by a bloodthirsty force of killers, the man continued to bleed out onto the cold, hard floor with his eyes beginning to fade. His last thoughts of his wife and daughter, hoping that that they would somehow stay safe. That way he would know that everything that he had done was worth it.

***

Raecetor Vayam stood on a nearby hill overseeing the assault on the town of Sabara. These humans were weak. His small army mowed them down effortlessly as they screamed into the night like braying cattle. This wasn't a fight. This was stepping on insects. It was insulting. To both them and his warriors. Vayam shook his head ruefully. Long gone were the battles worth fighting. The only thing that stayed the same was the smell of blood the cold breeze brought with it.

"Raecetor?"

Vayam turned to answer his Lektüs, second-in-command, in the same tongue, "It's nothing."

The bulky Lektüs Muta stood by Vayam's side, arms folded with his long black ponytail whipping in the wind. He looked to be saying something more before a brother climbed up the hill to approach him.

"You found it?" Muta asked.

The brother nodded, "Yes, Lektüs Muta. But it is too narrow for a large force."

Muta turned to Vayam for approval, which Vayam gave with a small nod, "Send a small squad." Vayam continued to speak before Muta could interrupt, "Go with them, Muta. I know you're itching to spill blood."

Muta grinned his thanks, revealing two rows of razors while his ears twitched with excitement.

"All this sneaky business," Proel scoffed. Vayam turned to his old mentor crouching not too far from him. Proel's thin frame and white, wispy hair always reminded Vayam of someone that could've been blown away by the wind. But Vayam knew better. Proel continued, "Back in my day-"

"Back in your day we weren't fighting Paravellans," Vayam interjected, "We've talked about this-" Proel cut him off with a half-hearted wave of his hand, conceding to an argument they've had many times before. Vayam accepted his victory and turned back to Muta.

Muta wasn't deaf to the Raecetor's change in tone. "Bring back what is ours."

Vayam expected Muta to nod proudly, obediently and with honour like the true-born warrior he was. Instead, lines of worry furrowed his brow. An expression Vayam wasn't used to seeing on Muta's face.

Vayam was about to ask what the issue was before Muta spoke, "What if it isn't there?"

The thought had occurred to Vayam. "Then this town just wasted our time."

Muta was silent for a moment. But Vayam must have said something that satisfied him because the Lektüs' face lit up with a bright grin like a dog with a bone. In one swift motion Muta pulled out the large battle axe strapped to his back and pointed to the brother. "Let's have some fun."

After Muta departed down the hill with one of their subordinates, Vayam turned his attention back to the town's defenses. He could see very few humans left from where he stood.

"There's nowhere for you to run now you little rat."

***

"Why?" Marschal along with everyone else in the hall could hear Kollo whisper to himself in the dead silence. "What are they doing here?"

More silence.

Kollo shook his head at the lack of an answer. "I heard some of those bloodthirsty bastards had crossed the channel but...Why here? Of all places?"

Again. More silence.

"What's going-"

"You have something they want."

Kollo and his rabble all turned to the injured Paravellan laying on the ground of the fighting ring. Kollo gestured for the healers to move away from their patient, giving him a clear view of their bounty. "What was that?"

Marschal sighed before answering, "I said...you have something...that they want," Marschal had to push through his exhaustion and pain.

A brief pause silenced the hall once again before Marschal felt more than heard Kollo's footsteps rushing towards him. Marschal suddenly felt himself lifted off the ground by his raven hair to meet Kollo's face speaking into his own. "What are you talking about? What could I possibly have that they would want?"

Marschal ignored the small spray of spit to ask "Where's my sword?"

"What?"

"My sword...The one I had with me when you...took me. Where is it?"

"What does that-...The sword? They're after the sword?"

"Most likely. Yes," Marschal grunted, his hair pulling at his scalp from Kollo's steel grip. Kollo didn't seem to notice or care as his face dropped away from Marschal's. It took a while for Marschal to realize what he was thinking.

"No. That won't work," said Marschal. Kollo looked back up at him with confusion set on his face. Marschal continued, "I know what you're thinking...You hand it over to them...they'll still kill you...They don't take too kindly to thieves...who steal things from them."

"You stole the sword from them?"

"Nnno. It's...a long story."

"Make it brief."

"History lessons...are hard to brief."

Kollo clenched his fist tighter and pulled at Marschal's hair causing him to yelp in pain. Marschal raised his hands defensively to stay him. As Kollo weakened his grip, the Paravellan cleared his throat before answering.

"Once upon a time...in a land far west from here...lived a race of war elves who constantly terrorized human settlements in the region....Fed up with their treatment, the humans decided to stand up for themselves...and rebel against the elves...Of course war elves being war elves, the humans had a hard time of it...But in their struggle rose a man by the name of Artyr Calibur...who united and led the humans...in their battle against their oppressors."

Kollo's brow rose in recognition of the name. He continued to listen as Marschal gradually shook off his exhaustion.

"The humans were still struggling...but due to Calibur's military genius the humans were able to outwit the elves and gradually force them back...But the war didn't finally end until Calibur himself did something...that no man or elf would ever dare to do: he challenged their god to a one-on-one battle."

Marschal noticed the rest of the crowd listening in to the tale.

"It was absurd but for reasons unknown their god agreed to the challenge. There are multiple theories as to the specifics of what followed next, you know how history is. But all the theories tend to point to a depiction of an epic battle between a legendary mortal and an all-powerful god. But everyone agrees, elves included, that the god in the end was defeated by Artyr Calibur. And deprived of their deity, the war elves were forced to admit defeat. And THAT ladies and gentlemen is the story of how the first emperor of the Paravellan Empire came to be-"

Kollo shook his head, violently. "Enough of your patriotic shit! What does this have to do with why they're at my front door?!"

Marschal once again raised his hands to stay his torturer whilst stifling the urge to groan out in pain. "I-I'm getting to that." When Kollo ceased his tugging Marschal continued, "See, the elves have a different...interpretation...of those historical events." Kollo raised a single brow. "See, the elves don't believe their god was slain. They believe he was......stolen."

"Stolen?" That one word cut through the air like a blade. "How in Volenia's name do you steal a god?"

"By sealing him up inside a magical sword. Like the one wielded by Artyr Calibur the day he supposedly 'slaughtered' the elven god of war."

An expression of frustration and confusion painted Kollo's face at first. Then after a short while Marschal couldn't help but find it amusing to witness in live action the moment when Kollo's face lit up with comprehension of the situation he was in.

"That's right," Marschal grinned, "They think you have their little god tucked away somewhere in your humble abode." The glare on Kollo's face would've frightened any other man. But Marschal's grin never waned. "And they want it back."

Kollo's face only grew redder as Marschal snickered softly and continued to speak. "You know, there's a lot of conjecture about how he obtained that sword. Some say it was Calibur who forged it himself. But I have my own theories. I believe it actually-"

Marschal didn't have the chance to finish his sentence before Kollo roughly dropped him to the ground with a loud thud. Groaning in pain, Marschal rolled over to see Kollo storming off to one side of the hall. He seemed to be thinking to himself with little mind to the uncomfortable silence from the waiting crowd. Kollo strolled back and forth for a while before finally noticing his men eyeing him intently.

"What?" The word wasn't shouted but the crowd flinched away from Kollo. "Why are you all still standing around here for? You have a town to protect, don't you?! Go out there and do your jobs you worthless shits!"

On command, his men began to shift out of the hall like a prodded herd. Amongst the moving masses, Marschal noticed Kollo pointing out a handful of men to approach him. They obeyed as expected forming a small huddle around their leader. He knew it wouldn't be possible but Marschal tried anyway to listen in on Kollo's whisperings with his men. But it was all for nought as the men all nodded before separating off into different directions. Marschal noticed Kollo walking off with two of his men...while the rest were heading towards the Paravellan.

Marschal struggled to inch himself away from them. But for all his efforts, he still found himself lifted off of the ground by two pairs of hands that were none too gentle.

***

Marschal was carried more than escorted down a dim hallway before being veered off into a dimly lit room that Marschal eventually recognized as a library or study. Shelves of books populated the edges of the room which bracketed an open space in the centre surrounded by cushioned chairs and a small desk. Marschal doubted that Kollo used this room very often. Or maybe he did. Maybe Kollo was more literate than he seemed. But it was more likely that it belonged to the previous owner of this place.

After being dragged for most of the way, Marschal felt a little annoyed to be violently propped up by rough hands tugging at his dirty white shirt. While he applied more weight onto his standing feet, one of the other men approached the fireplace which was nestled into the back wall. Marschal observed as the man ran his hand along the top of the mantle. He seemed to be searching for something. Everyone waited patiently until the man's finger disappeared into a small crook behind the fireplace. The man must have pressed something because the nearby wall suddenly shifted, forming an impression of what looked to be a compartment door.

As Marschal remained fixated on the secret doorway in the study, he failed to notice the newcomer who had entered the room. By the time he did notice, one of his two overseers had released him to accept a small bundle of rope from the new stranger. Marschal didn't have to wonder too long what the rope was for before his guard began to weave the rope over and around his two hands, binding them together. The Paravellan gazed up at the thug with a cocked brow as if to say 'Really?' But his babysitter paid him no mind as him and his partner continued to carry Marschal off into the now open passageway into the wall.

Marschal was greeted with pitch black darkness. He could hear the other men filing into the uncomfortably narrow tunnel behind him. At that moment, a soft light bloomed before him from a lit torch holstered into a sconce on the wall. The opener of the door pulled it out of its bracket before heading off down the passageway, leading the way with a bright beacon. Marschal and the rest of Kollo's pack began to march down after him, on the pathway to oblivion.

Time passed as the small group of men shuffled through the underground labyrinth. Apart from the bubble of sound a company of bandits and a single Paravellan would make in a claustrophobic environment, they were completely surrounded by a cold haunting silence. None of the men spoke which suited Marschal just fine as he slowly regained control of his legs after being forced to walk on his own.

But after a while the silence gradually ebbed as an eerie susurration of faint screams seeped into the passageway. The men ignored it at first but the further they delved into the tunnel the more the noises of the outside world demanded to be heard. Were the men moving slower than they had been?

A mixed feeling of relief and dread stirred inside Marschal as the passageway eventually ended in an opening that he could only assume was the exit from these dastard catacombs. From the looks on the faces of the men around him, they seemed to have shared the same sentiments. With the open air before them, the sound of a town struggling to defend itself was now an inescapable reminder of the dire situation they were all in.

"Finally!"

He could hear rather than see Kollo's lackeys jump at the greeting. Leaning against the edge of the exit way was another of Kollo's men. Marschal might have remembered him from the main hall but he couldn't be sure.

"Where's the boss?" the stranger asked.

The torch-bearing leader in front elected himself to answer the query. "He's still up there. He had to-"

The stranger wasn't given the chance to receive the rest of his answer before his head suddenly separated from his shoulders and fell to the ground. Stifling a yelp, Marschal inched himself away from the rolling head before stumbling back against his captors. While the bandits scrambled to edge back into the passageway Marschal couldn't help but to gaze into the lifeless eyes of the bodiless head looking up at him. He had always vowed for the day that death wouldn't affect him the way it still did. When Marschal was finally able to quash the horror of a gruesome decapitation, his mind cleared up enough for him to feel disappointed in himself. Marschal turned to the sound of a headless body collapsing to the ground...and saw a large muscular war elf standing over his kill.

"Vus. Otist hoc."

Marschal's grasp on the war elf language was tenuous at best but he understood enough of it for his face to grow pale as the elf stared straight at him like a wolf at his prey. A part of Marschal felt relieved when Kollo's men drew their blades at the threat. But he knew it wouldn't be enough.

The war elf cast amused glances down at his enemies with a shark-like grin splitting his face. Kollo's bandits flinched instinctively as the war elf readied his bloodstained axe for battle.