"Most armed conflicts ended well before annihilation, as most armies would retreat if it was an option once they felt they lost too much. Even savage tribes like elvish raiders would do the same, as they tend to retreat should they run into a stiff resistance.

An exception for them however, is when the raiding party was personally led by their warchief. This warchief of theirs would have been the most celebrated warrior amongst them, and no raider would retreat in his presence, unless explicitly ordered by the warchief to do so.

Raider bands led by warchiefs have been noted to have ransacked towns and cities, as their unrelenting ferocity simply overwhelmed the defenders. Woe be to the unsuspecting soldier who ran into one of these." - Beveren Setesque, Historian and Chronicler in service to the Elmaiyan Royal Court, after the elven raids of 24 VA.

Faerghus Fiachna found himself in the most difficult fight of his life as he parried a blow from the brawny raider's axe with his own. It was such a forceful blow that it almost wrenched his weapon out of his grip, and he only barely managed to hold on to it.

The elf before him was taller, with longer, muscular limbs, and the force and speed of his blows was not something Faerghus could match at all. He had been pushed to the defensive shortly after the fight began, and only barely managed to avoid any crippling injuries so far. A few narrow cuts already adorned his body, and the way they stung reminded him well of the price of losing his focus.

He decided to use his trump card in the end. While he blocked a blow, he gathered what mana he had in his body, and concentrated it to the densest point possible, and then he allowed it to race through his arm and leap towards the raider.

Once it left his body, the mana took the form of a stream of flame, that glowed a brilliant white glow, which blinded his opponent for a moment and even forced him to squint. The compressed, superheated stream of flame splashed on the raider's face and chest, which caught in flames and burned with a sizzling sound, while Faerghus took the chance to deliver a chop to the raider's abdomen before he dodged backwards to avoid a haphazard counter swing and took a moment to regain his breath. Such a spell, which superheated his inborn fire affinity to look like light, always took its toll from him, and he could use it three, four times at most.

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To his surprise, the raider had not faltered, nor fallen. The large gash he had scored over the raider's abdomen closed before his eyes, while the gruesome burns on his chest and face flaked off, to reveal smooth, newly grown skin as the raider gave him a savage grin.

Just his luck to run into a strong life affinity mage as an opponent.

Faerghus barely blocked another double blow from the elf with his shield. The axe actually splintered and damaged his shield, but it still held, if barely. In response, he landed another strike at the raider, a deep gash to the arm, which his opponent ignored as the wound closed soon after it was inflicted.

He had not meant for it to do more than distract his opponent though, for he used the moment of distraction to unleash another stream of white-hot flames at the raider's face, and then another, then a third on top, draining every last bit of mana he possessed in an effort to finish off the raider before he could heal the damage back.

To his dismay, the raider had not fallen. He looked straight at Faerghus even with the front half of his face being nothing more than a burnt skull, as eyes reformed in the empty sockets and flesh grew on the blackened bones. The savage grin on his lips only widened, and he gave another savage bellow that seemed to invigorate the other raiders before he charged at Faerghus once more.

With some nervousness, Faerghus tiredly risked a glance at his surroundings. What remained of his templars, were engaged in combat with other raiders. Diarmuid and Aideen were slaughtering their way through the throng of raiders, but they were still too far away. He was on his own, and only had his own skills and wits to rely on.

He shifted his focus to the defensive, since he already saw how he couldn't kill the raider even with magic, much less without, and tried his best to buy time until others could come and help him fight the raider. Heavy blows rained on his shield, which splintered further with each strike, yet somehow held on, while he desperately parried other blows with his axe.

A measure of hope bloomed in him as he spied his siblings breaking through the main throng of raiders and were making their way towards him with weapons in hand, yet that moment of hope proved to be fleeting, for disaster struck the next moment.

Faerghus felt a severe, excruciating pain from his left arm, as the last blow from the raider's axe had finally shattered his shield, and cut deep into his forearm instead, stopped only when it chipped into his bones

The pain caused him to be distracted for just a moment, yet that moment proved fatal, when the raider took advantage of it and plunged his sword into Faerghus' abdomen, the strike angled upwards to slip under his chest plate and into his ribcage, where it sliced through a lung and missed his heart only by luck and happenstance.

Faerghus coughed out frothy blood, and fell to one knee as the blade was painfully jerked out from his body. He saw the elven raider give him the same savage grin as his sword arm swung, and the blade traced a line through his throat. As he toppled backwards, he didn't even feel the pain anymore, and the only thing left in his mind, was regret that he had failed… and an apology to his wife and daughter for abandoning them so soon.

At his last moments, Faerghus thought he saw a shiny figure that looked like his grandfather waiting by the clouds, as if to welcome him… to the afterlife.