Disclaimer: A little piece that basically evolved out of an idea for a single fighting scene. Pretty violent and action heavy. You have been warned ;).
The forestland was vibrant with life, shining like green silk under the golden rays of the midday sun. Despite the late year, every bush and tree still stood in full bloom, hosting verdant leaves, glowing pedals and ripe fruit like in the height of summer. The ground was almost tidy, covered with lush, carpet-like grass in a near-absence of shed foilage or deadwood. Wild flowers and herbs spread their exquisite scents, mixing it with the smell of grass and earth, and the warm air was filled with the song of copious and exotic birds. It was the perfect image of harmony and vigour, like an eternal paradise of growth and life that had banished death and decay from its midst.
It also was both battlefield and cause of a never-ending war.
A fresh breeze came travelled from the northern sea, rustling through the treetops and sending a few birds of blue and yellow into flight. Through its frantic movements, one of the birds lost a single feather that hoovered and swirled on the wind for a moment, before beginning its slow decent towards the clearing. It had almost reached the ground when it landed in the open palm of a gloved hand.
The Elf had silently emerged from the tree line, first staring at the feather and then at the trees from where the birds had departed. He was tall and lean, his body wrapped in forest-coloured leather armour and a green hooded cloak. Below the hood his hawk-like and war-painted face was framed by a short mane of blond hair, held back by a simple headband. He carried an elegant curved longbow and a full quiver, as well as two short swords, daggers, and several heavy throwing knifes in a baldric around his torso.
The Elf waited, remaining out in the open and presenting a perfect target, but nothing took his bait. He listened, the long ears protruding from his hood twitching in an effort to pick up even the smallest of sounds. His eyes scanned the surroundings for any sign of a looming threat. Only then was he convinced that he was indeed alone. His muscles eased up a little, and he knelt down to examine the tracks. His expression was stern and tense, the natural glow of his sapphire-coloured eyes suppressed to a minimum, no more bright than the last flickers of a dying ember.
His seasoned eyes took in the scene before them, readily absorbing all the land was ready to share. The spoor was fresh; a couple of hours old at most. Insects had criss-crossed the hoof-marks, but the edges of the prints were still firm, showing the tracks of a single deer, moving eastward through the forest.
Or so it seemed.
Liannos was not so easily convinced. Ever since he had departed from his group on little more than a hunch, proof of the enemy's presence had been scarce, and always it had been disguised as something perfectly normal, something easy to miss; like moss growing on the wrong side of a tree, or a few plugged leaves from a tree only found in a different part of the forest.
The same held true for the tracks. The distance between the steps suggested a large animal moving at quite a pace, but the ground around the tracks was barely churned up and the imprint itself too neat and even, suggesting that the animal had moved slowly. It made no sense, and because of that it made perfect sense.
The tracks were fake. They were made not by an animal but something much more dangerous; a cunning predator that announced his presence and issued a challenge to anybody knowledgeable and perceptive enough to see it. Dare to come after me, it taunted. Dare to pit yourself against me.
Liannos intended to do just that.
He followed the tracks deeper into the forest, over a few rises and past the occasional outcrop of rocks that dotted the landscape. The forest was getting denser, the spaces between trunks shrinking and filling up with all sorts of bushes and brambles. Following the tracks would have become much harder at this point, but a few steps into the thicket the tracks miraculously vanished. A smirk crossed over Liannos's lips. He would not have wanted to set up fake tracks here either.
Groping his way with his foot before actually putting his weight on or behind it, he moved on, following what seemed to be an ancient trail, slightly less overgrown and difficult than the terrain around it. He was making slow progress, and only through discipline and years of training he was able to keep his body alert and his mind vigilant and focused on the task at hand.
His prey was not the only thing active in the forest. Liannos encountered all kinds of tracks as he scoured the woods, ranging from deer, lynx and bear to what looked like sizeable pack of Gnolls roaming around. The thought of the forest being desecrated by more brutish raiders did not sit well with him, but he couldn't allow himself to get distracted at this point. Hoping that the monstrous humanoids would end up walking straight into arms of a ranger squad, he moved on.
It was half an hour later, that he finally found the first solid clue of what he was looking for. He was following the trail through a growth of trees and ferns, when he spotted a thin rope stretched close to the ground between two trees, half-hidden in the shadows under the ferns' leaves. It was not a conscious find. The rope was woven from different plant fibres, almost undistinguishable from the ferns in texture or colour, and therefore hard to spot. What had given it away was merely its shape. It was straight, a perfect line, and as any woodsman knew; nothing in nature was perfectly straight. Not even in Quel'thalas.
Liannos moved closer and knelt down. His eye roamed over the primitive construction. The rope was leading around the trunk of one of the trees, holding in place a bent branch that was studded with wooden spikes. Tripping over the rope would have released the branch, and a heartbeat later the unwary traveller would have been gruesomely impaled by the wooden spear-points. It was a good trap, reasonably well hidden and placed among a route a pursuer was likely to take. Still Liannos distrusted his find. Most common archers and scouts would have doubtlessly fallen prey to the trap, but they would hardly had the skill to pick up the trapper's trail in the first place. He was certain of that, and that meant that the one he was hunting had to be as well. So why place a trap that was beneath one's full capabilities? It had to be some kind of feint or decoy, meant to lull him into a false sense of security or direct him to where his adversary wanted him to be.
Liannos looked around, searching for other traps or clues that would enable him to make sense of the situation, but he came up empty. It was unlikely the trapper expected that this trap would cause a pursuer to become overconfident, Liannos concluded, so its purpose was to push him into a certain direction. The question was only which one. The terrain appeared the same on both sides. Disarming the trap and continuing on his current route was also a possibility, but again: what if this was what the trapper intended, anticipating that his pursuers would not allow themselves to be so easily diverted? Liannos groaned. He hated these kind of mind games, for they never took you anywhere, and he needed to make a decision. His current position was vulnerable and exposed, and staying in a place like this was a sure way to get himself killed.
Then it hit him. What if this had been the plan all along?
His eyes widened and darted up, just in time to see the shadow descending upon him. A massive green body came crashing through the canopy of the trees, hitting the ground like an avalanche, and nearly stunning the startled ranger. Three-toed feet dug deeply into the earth as legs the size of small tree trunks bent to break the fall. Sunlight glittered on the clean spots of two otherwise sullied cleavers, and a grinning, tusked face rose to glare at Liannos beneath a fierce-crested mohawk of red.
''Boo,'' the Forest Troll whispered, only inches away from the Elf's ears. Then, before the shudder that followed even had the chance to travel all the way down Liannos's spine, the Amani lashed out.
With a speed born of decade-honed reflexes Liannos threw himself aside at the last moment, the blades hissing past him by no more than a hairbreadth. Already drawing back his bow while rolling to his knees, Liannos aimed at the Troll's head and fired. His aiming was immaculate. The arrow leapt from his bow and straight towards the Amani's face, but instead of thudding into flesh, the arrow hit steel and shattered on the troll's axe blade. Liannos blinked in surprise, then cursed as he barely dodged another swing threatening to cleave him in two.
With the enemy all but within his grasp, the Troll became a veritable whirling cyclone of death and destruction, hacking and slashing wildly, cutting through vines and wood like it was nothing as Liannos tried to escape his wrath. The ranger ducked and jumped, somehow managing to stay alive but without any chance to so much as draw another arrow from his quiver. But he was not helpless. Not yet.
Ducking under a vicious swing, Liannos grabbed his bow with both hands, and swung it upward in a tight arc. The orb-shaped end of the bow's arm cracked like a club against the Amani's chin, snapping back his head and sending him reeling for a second. The second was all that Liannos needed. He jumped back, readied another arrow, and drew back on his bow, just as he Troll's head snapped back to glare balefully at him. The expression shifted quickly as the Troll beheld the arrow aimed at him, and once again his weapons swept up to cover his vital organs.
Only that they were not the target.
Blinded by his quick reaction, the Amani could not see how Liannos, a wicked smile on his lips, lowered his aim and sent the shaft hammering through the Troll's foot, pinning him to the ground. There was no cry of pain. The Amani did not even wince. Opening his guard a little, he stared down at his pierced limb, more annoyed than hurt, and tore it free, pulling the arrow easily from the brittle earth. Bellowing a battle-cry, he surged forward again, but the arrow still jutting from the foot of his sole hampered his movements, and almost tripped him on his first step. Liannos gained a few precious seconds. Without another thought, he turned around and started to run.
Liannos was fully aware that at close range he was at a disadvantage, and so he cut through the forest as fast as his feet would carry him, keen on bringing some distance between himself and the berserker. He swerved left and right, ducking under branches and leaping over bushes, making use of every bit of cover the forest was providing. Darting past another tree, he almost fell when the trunk suddenly all but exploded, spitting splinters and chunks of wood after him. Glancing back, he saw several great cracks, as well as the throwing axe buried in the wood that it had caused it to burst open. Cursing under his breath and trying not to imagine what a hit had done to his body, he ran on.
After a hundred yards or so, he spotted what he believed to be a trail – lynx, if he was not mistaken – leading towards a high-grown thicket of brambles and thorn-ridden bushes. Liannos cut to the left and sprinted towards it, the sound of the lumbering Amani not far behind him.
His heart leapt when he spotted the tunnel-like opening where the trail met the thicket, and he forced his body to give it all he had. The few meters felt like miles, knowing that any second that some gruesome cleaver could tear into his back and reduce him to a bloody carcasse. Liannos was not ready for that. He wanted to live, and even more importantly; he wanted to beat the Amani.
He reached the opening and dived, sliding feet-first into the thicket, thorns and sticks tearing at his face and clothing. Quickly he scrambled to his knees and crawled on, desperately trying to keep his bow and cloak from getting caught up in the branches. Behind him the Amani roared in frustration, unable to follow the smaller Elf through the opening. Liannos's relief was rather short-lived, as a few seconds later the sounds of snapping wood and uprooted bushes announced that the Amani had no intention of giving up just yet and instead forced himself a path after Liannos.
It was humiliating for Liannos to crawl through the dirt in order to escape the Amani's axes, but it seemed to work. Despite the fury with which the Troll was cutting after him, and the pathway he was crawling through narrowing at several points, Liannos was gaining ground, and at this moment that was all that mattered. Muddied from head to toe, he eventually emerged from the thicket and stood up. The Amani was still lumbering behind him, but only the sound he produced managed to pass through the thicket that kept the Amani out of sight. Free to move as he liked now, Liannos smiled as he disappeared between the trees.
Now the real hunt could begin.
Almost an hour passed before Liannos decided it was time to circle back to the thicket, searching for any hint of the Troll's passing while trying to leave none of his own. He suspected that the Amani was doing the same. It was unlikely that the brute would be patient enough to hide once more and hope that Liannos would stumble into another ambush. No, the Amani had tasted blood, and was doubtlessly out there, eager to finish what he had started. Liannos knew it just as he felt it, and over the years he had learned to trust in his instincts. In the forest, surrounded by enemies and beasts of all kinds, it was usually either that or to die.
Embarrassment still burned brightly within his mind, and Liannos chided himself for his own arrogance. When he had set out to follow the signs of the intruder, he had thought little about the safety of Quel'thalas or his people. All he had seen had been the challenge, and the promising thrill of the hunt; the prospect of the fight so exciting and tempting compared to the dull duty of schooling the cadre of Silvermoon's archers in the ways of the wild. But it was more than just boredom that had made him succumb to the allure of the hunt. He liked to believe that his discipline and sense of duty were far too strong to be overcome by such a lesser motive alone. But what was it then? Liannos pondered on the thought. In the end, he concluded that what had made the hunt to irresistible had been the audacious insult the Troll's challenge had represented, not only to Liannos as an individual, but also to the entirety of the Ranger Corps.
The Rangers were the elite of Silvermoon's forces, the protectors of its borders and – in their eyes – the uncontested kings and queens of the woodland. Every single one among them took great pride in these facts, and Liannos was no exception. For an intruder to slip past their watchful eyes was more than an attack on Quel'thalas: It was was an attack on their identity, and on the integrity of their group, on what made them who they are. There had been no way Liannos could have ignored this. He would not allow for an Amani, no matter how skilled, to besmirch the glory of the rangers.
It maybe came as a surprise then how easy it was for him to admit that the Amani was probably more attuned to the forest than he was. To Liannos, recognizing this posed no contradiction to him being the superior combatant. Being able to think and move like a true creature of the forest was without a doubt a vital part to being a scout and woodsmen, but it remained a feat only as long as one managed not to become one of the beasts you were hunting. Rangers were not part of the natural circle, but they understood it, and used their skills and knowledge to blend in, manipulate and ultimately master the primal forces that surrounded them. Such a state of mind was clearly beyond the primitive capabilities of the Amani. They were no woodsmen having learned to move like creatures of the wild. They were merely predators pretending to be woodsmen; doubtlessly deadly but unable to rise above their limited nature. Their skills were no skills at all, but merely instinct, and instinct alone would never be able to compete with a combination of honed instincts and a civilized mind. It was this potent blending of the two that separated the Elves from the primitive races, and what gave the warriors of Silvermoon an distinct advantage over the inhabitants of Zul'Aman. This was why Quel'thalas would not fall; not as long as rangers like Liannos defended it.
When two ranged combatants were pitted against each other, in a terrain as difficult as the deep forest, the ensuing fight was very different than that of two swordsmen. While skilled swordsmen also needed to take their environment into account – lest they risk loosing their footing or finding themselves lacking the space to properly operate their weaponry – it became the decisive factor for bowmen. Against arrows and throwing axes, the only defences that were truly reliable were cover and good hiding places. Of course, being able to deflect enemy attacks with reflexes bordering on the supernatural was nothing to be scorned at either.
When swordsmen circled each other before the first blow was struck, the archer's equivalent consisted of countless minutes, sometimes even hours of manoeuvring, and each time the swordsmen retired after a series of blows, the archer retreated back into the forest, and the deadly game started anew.
This was exactly what happened Liannos and the Amani clashed within the depths of Quel'thalas; seemingly endless periods of waiting, of advancing and retreating, interrupted by brief flashes of raw and feral violence. Within the hour, the two hunters clashed three times within the evergreen arena, but despite the tenacity and ferocity of each confrontation, both warriors somehow managed to avert death at the hands of their enemy, emerging bruised and cut, but alive.
Liannos was leaning against a tree. His breathing was heavy and ragged, and blood from a cut on his leg continued to drench through his doeskin leggins. His cloak was gone, cut away by his own hand when the Amani had grabbed it during their second clash. His skin was still itching and chafed red where the fabric had bitten and clawed into his throat, and despite his quick reaction, he had still lost half of his ear in the sweep that followed. The wound was still bleeding and the dull throbbing it send hammering to his head was leaving him nearly deaf to the surrounding sounds.
Routinely, he checked his quiver, taking some comfort in the sixteen shafts still remaining. It was amble ammunition. If he was not able to kill one single Troll before exhausting them, then he did not deserve to live.
He glimpsed over his shoulder, past the tree and into the part of the thicket where he was expecting the Troll to be. Finally, luck seemed to be on his side, for a fraction of a second later, he spotted movement in the corner of his eye; a tiny dot of red flashing through the green.
Liannos swerved to the right and jumped at the trunk of a middle-aged oak, bracing himself against the wood and using the power of his legs to launch even higher, straight into the tree's branchwork. He landed in perfect balance, on a thick and gabled branch that groaned and rustled softly under his weight, but carried him nonetheless. He jumped on, tumbling and twirling from one tree-top to the next like an acrobat, his bow still ready and eyes straining to find their target.
A few moments later the Amani showed itself. The savage axe-thrower appeared from behind a dense bush, rushing through the forest with great strides, the difficult terrain doing nothing to slow him down. For a short moment he was oblivious to Liannos's eyes resting on him, but as Liannos took aim in midair and pulled back on his string, the Troll's head suddenly came up, and the bloodshot eyes widened as they spotted the Elven ranger within the treetops. The Troll gave a balefull snarl, but the taunt was cut short as Liannos loosened his shaft , the arrow whipping through the air and smashing through a sappling just inches in front of the Amani. Even from the distance, Liannos could see a flicker of fear pass through the Amani's eyes. It was short, but sweet and Liannos drank greedily in the sheer pleasure of the sight, before landing on the next branch fork and continuing the hunt.
The Amani tried several times to break away and close in on Liannos's position, but at this distance and on higher ground, Liannos held all the advantages, and every time the Amani tried to come close, he was greeted with arrows flashing his way, forcing him to either back up, or suffer another injury. By now Liannos had adapted to the Amani's parrying skills and every arrow he sent was aimed at a different part of the Troll's body.
Liannos was about to loose his next arrow when the Troll made another sudden turn towards him. Unable to suppress a grin, Liannos adjusted his aim and fired the arrow to catch the Amani in the belly unless he retreated. But the Amani refused to back away this time, and the arrow struck home, thudding into the Troll's belly. The axe-thrower winced, but was otherwise undaunted and kept on coming at Liannos.
Sensing that the Troll was trying to force a decision, Liannos jumped towards a studier branch and knelt down, distributing his weight evenly even as he readied another shot. This was it, he thought grimly, yet exultant. This was were this battle was decided.
He pulled back on his bow.
The first arrow whipped through the air, humming directly towards the Amani's head. The Amani swayed aside at the last moment, and the arrow darted past him, hitting a rock and ricocheting into the forest with a screeching scream. A second arrow took flight, but even in his reckless charge the Troll managed to bring up his blades and cut it in two before it could hit him. A frown appeared on Liannos's elongated brows, and his bright eyes began to bristle with cold fury. He reached more forcefully for the next missile.
The Troll cut left and right, avoiding any discernible rhythm or pattern in his moves. Liannos took his time, then he shot, and even through the Amani tried to evade the arrow, it still skewered him and sprayed a small gust of blood into the air. But by now the Amani had gotten close, and he returned the favour by reaching back and sending one of his cleavers spinning towards Liannos. Instinctively, Liannos pulled his own legs from under him, gripping the branch he had been standing on with the back of his knees as he was falling backwards. The whirling blade cut through the air where he had stood just a moment ago and exploded against the trunk of another tree, ripping off large sections of bark and chunks of wood before bouncing of the sturdy wood and falling to the ground.
Hanging from his branch like a giant bat, Liannos turned the momentum of his fall into a pendulum-like motion. He notched another arrow as he swung towards he Amani, aimed and shot. This time, the Amani did not so much as move a muscle in his defence, and the arrow hit him squarely in the chest. The Amani reeled under the impact, and gasped in surprise and pain, staring at the shaft protruding from his body in disbelief. Instead of going down, though, his lips curled into a savage, frustrated snarl, and he gripped he arrow, snapping it effortlessly and threw it from him in an act of defiance.
Releasing his hold on the branch, Liannos somersaulted to the ground. The landing was less graceful than he had wished for, but it still allowed him to recover quickly and conjure yet another arrow from his quiver. The shaft sprung from his bow a moment later, darting towards the Amani, but missing him as the Troll managed to sway his massive body out of harms way.
Maybe thirty yards still separated them from each other, and that distance kept shrinking fast as the Amani charged again. Knowing that this was his last shot before the Troll would be upon him, Liannos's hand reached for his quiver for one last time, pulling two arrows from the quiver simultaneously. Rather than keeping one in reserve, he nocked both of them to the string at the same time, then drew back on it with all his power. He forced himself to remain calm, carefully controlling his breathing even as the Amani brute kept coming closer and closer. He waited to the last second, until his eyes could spot the white in the Troll's bloodshot eyes. Then he fired.
The powerful arms of his ancient bow snapped forward and sent the shafts slicing through the air. Metal screeched as the Amani brought up his blade in defence, but at such a close range, even his reflexes were not fast enough to save him. The first arrow glanced off the axe to hammer into the Amani's torso just as the second one did. The power behind the shot was so great that the Amani was almost uplifted as the projectiles hummed home, and despite the momentum of his charge he was thrown reeling backwards, fighting to stay on his feet.
Liannos did not move. He had frozen when the arrows had found their mark, starring at the Troll with widened eyes and racing thoughts, trying to will the Amani to fall.
But he didn't.
It took the Amani several staggering steps to regain his balance, and even when he did he bent over like on the brink of collapse, spitting blood for several moments. But then he righted himself. His eyes found Liannos's, and as he stared into the Troll's baleful eyes, Liannos felt how, for the second time and more forceful than the first, a shiver travelled down his spine. It was like a premonition of impending doom, and as the Amani reached back to hurl his second axe at him, Liannos knew that he would not be able to dodge this one. His heart fell, and all discipline and pride forgotten, he convulsed like a frightened animal, grabbing his bow with both hands as he tried to hide behind it, just as the Amani grunted with great effort, and sent throwing axe on its fatal journey. A sickening snap erupted on the clearing, following by a cry of anguish that rose from Liannos's lungs. The weapon exploded against him, lifting him off his feet and tossing him through the air. He hit the ground hard, the impact forcing the air from his lungs and stunning him. He felt dizzy, his heartbeat suddenly hammering like thunderclaps in his ears and a wave of nausea swept over him, threatening to engulf him. It took a moment before it dawned on him that this was more than he should have felt, that he in fact should have not been feeling anything at all.
With a groan, he opened his eyes, the Amani forgotten for the moment as he looked down at himself, assessing the severity of the wounds he had suffered. He strained to rise, but pain flared up in his shoulder, wrestling another groan from his lips and forcing him back down. Nevertheless, pieces of lacquered wood tumbled off him, and it was only then that Liannos realized why he was still alive.
He had been lucky. The axe had only ripped a nasty gash into his shoulder, but his pain became meaningless as he stared at the fractured pieces of his bow, shattered in the desperate parade that had doubtlessly saved his life. It was ludicrous of course, but the bow had been an ancient heirloom that had accompanied him half his lifetime, that he had come to regard as an extension of his being. Somehow, dying seemed preferable to losing it. The feeling passed, and out of regret and denial became sadness, honest and true. Liannos collected the pieces of his bow with a quick sweep, cradling it like a stillborn child.
It was the Amani's laugther that brought him back to the present. Liannos's eyes darted up instantly, and his eyes grew hard once Troll had not moved since throwing his axe, but now he moved forward again as he sneered at Liannos with a mixture of amusement and condescension.
Reluctantly, Liannos let go of his bow's shards and hauled himself to his feet, grinding his teeth against the sharp pain of his shoulder and angry throbbing of the multitude of other wounds. He casually rested his hands upon the pommels of his two identical short swords and loosened the blades in their sheaths. He knew that, without his bow, he stood little chance against the Amani, who held the advantages of strength, reach and resilience. All he had to go on was his dexterity, and even that was doubtful at best, even with the Troll making no move to draw his remaining weapon. But what other choice did he have? Giving up was not an option, not while there was still a shred of life left within his body, and if that meant to engage an Amani brute in hand to hand fighting, then that was just how it was going to be.
He sure as the sun would not go quietly.
The Amani fell into a trod, then slowly built up his speed as he closed in on Liannos. The trod soon gave way to a hustle, and that to a full-blown spring, but Liannos did not move, listening to is own heatbeat as he waited for the right moment, savouring the sweet breaths that would most likely turn out to be his last in this wretched life. When the Amani finally reached him, he was both relieved and disappointed, not wanting to wait any longer, but also bargaining with the higher forces of fate for one more intake of Quel'thalas's beauty.
Coming at him at full speed, there was no way Liannos would have been able to stand his ground against the Amani's massive weight, but as the Troll's surged forward to grab him, Liannos dived low, evading the limbs darting after him. With a shrieking song his sword slid free, and drew a glittering arc after it as Liannos sailed past the Amani's rips. The green flesh burst open under the razor-sharp blade, the blood gushing freely.
Rolling fluently to his feet again, Liannos drew his second blade and raised them defiantly. The Amani turned around, ignoring the gaping slash in its side. He smiled as he spotted the blades in the Elf's hands, and began to circle him. It was not a sign of fear or caution. The Amani's dark eyes were filled with the feverish sheen of the hunter, savouring the moment of finally having cornered his bay and preparing for the inevitable killing that would mark the end of the hunt. Almost casually, the Amani drew his last remaining axe from a looped leather band and raised the weapon with a flourish.
Then the fight began.
A glittering arc cut through the air and hammered into Liannos's defence. It was a clumsy strike, lacking precision and easily anticipated, but the sheer force of it sent him reeling to the right. Another wide swing followed, then another and another, and Liannos realized that the Troll was toying with him, trying to demoralize his enemy by reminding him of the Amani's superior strength and reach. But Liannos refused to let such thoughts seep in. Even though his arms were already throbbing painfully, he stubbornly parried attack after attack, bidding his time, waiting for his chance to strike back.
He did not have to wait much longer. Three more times the Troll's axes thundered towards him and were parried like the ones before when Liannos noticed a frown appearing on his opponent's face. Sensing the Amani's frustration, Liannos gave him one of his cockiest smiles. It sent the Amani over the Edge. Snarling, the Forest Troll adopted a heavier stance and reached back far for his next strike. Which was just when Liannos attacked.
Like a spring-loaded blade, he leapt forward and aimed a thrust at the Amani's belly. Suddenly on the defensive, the Amani barely managed to sway away from the blade, but Liannos darted after the Troll, his swords flashing and cutting as he danced nimbly around the towering Troll. Soon the Amani was bleeding from a multitude of cuts. He swung his axe hard at Liannos, sending him flying, but Liannos transformed his momentum into a fluent roll and was up and attacking again before the Amani could follow up on the attack. Diving through under savage sweep, Liannos aimed another thrust at the Troll's groin. This time the Amani parried it with his own weapon.
Their weapons had locked when a fierce head-butt cracked against Liannos's skull. Stars exploded before his eyes, and he stumbled backwards, dazed. He managed to bring up his blades in anticipation of another axe-swing, but instead a massive knee buried itself in his stomach, forcing the air from his lungs. He toppled over, a wave of nausea washing over him as the bitter taste of bile rose into his throat. He was helpless when the knee returned to hammer against his chin, snapping back his head.
Darkness threatened to engulf him, but Liannos clung on through the sea of pain, refusing to give in. Even as he stumbled backwards and fell over, he sent a blind slash towards the Amani, hoping that if he had to die, he would at least be able to make the Troll suffer for it. He thought he felt his sword cutting into something, but he wasn't sure.
He hit the ground with a thud and tried to blink the world back into focus, a mixture of bile and blood on his tongue. Any second, he expected the Troll to appear above him, his barbaric axe raised to deliver the killing blow. But nothing happened.
Slowly, Liannos's vision cleared, and he saw the towering Amani standing a few feet away from him, with one of his hands clutched tightly over his throat and blood gushing through between the three fingers. Liannos's half-closed eyes moved towards his bloodied blade, then back to his opponent. A half-mad, wolfish grin appeared on his face. It was not over yet.
His head pounding like an Amani war drum, he scrambled to his feet. His legs trembled beneath his weight and he stumbled around, struggling to find his balance; an effort that was thwarted when his body suddenly convulsed and he threw up, falling to his knees once more. For several moments he huddled on the ground this way, gagging and groaning as he sullied the forest floor. When his stomach finally settled down Liannos wiped his mouth with the back of his glove and spit, disgusted by himself and his show of weakness.
The Amani smiled at his enemy's plight. He tried to chuckle, but his face winced in pain, and only a gurgling sound could be heard, sending fresh blood bubbling through his fingers. The elven ranger looked up at him in response and chuckled grimly himself. Then he hauled his ruined body to its feet for the second time, and the two enemies faced each other again, gathering their strength for another clash of arms.
Something about the situation struck Liannos as odd. Sure, his cut to the Amani's throat had severely injured the Troll – and would have taken any less resilient foe out of the fight for good – but the Amani was still standing and armed and squatting on the ground Liannos had been helpless. So why was he still alive?
He was still pondering on this question when the wind shifted and a fresh breeze washed over the two combatants. The Amani blinked, then sniffed the air and tilted his head. He waited, then sniffed again. His mouth curled into a snarl and he turned fully, raising his weapon.
Something small ripped through the bushes and cut through the air, hitting the Amani hard in the chest. For a second Liannos thought that help had arrived, but then he spotted the crude crossbow bolt that had sunk into the Troll's flesh. His eyes darted towards the bushes once more. Hunchbacked, ragged creatures erupted from the thicket, some sniggering, others with their long tongues dangling droolingly from their hyena-like faces, whipping around wildly as the creatures charged.
Three of the Gnolls headed straight for the wounded Amani, keen finish off what they considered to be an easy kill. But the Forest Troll still had some life in him, and with a mute warcry he leapt to meet his attackers. A spear ripped into his side, tearing through skin and flesh and cracking a rip, but ultimately bouncing off the bone. Off balance, the Gnoll tumbled after his weapon. His surprised yelp was cut short when the trollish hatchet split his skull. The Amani sent the corpse crashing into a second attacker, then swung his axe and buried it in the Gnoll's guts. The weapon was still embedded when the last of the vanguards jumped him. Bereft of choices the Amani let go of his own throat and clubbed a backhanded strike into his attacker, tossing him aside like an insolent child. Then he paused, probing carefully with his fingers at his wounded neck. The seeping had stopped, and a thin layer of fresh tissue had formed over the cut, not yet closing the wound entirely but at least sealing off the otherwise lethal injury. The Amani smiled, then set his eyes upon his next victim.
A few feet away, Liannos was busy dealing with his own batch of raiders. He swayed away from a sword thrust and downed its wielder with a deadly riposte that cut through the beast's jugular. A spear lanced past face, nicking his left ear. Liannos brushed the spear aside and kicked out, hitting the Gnoll in the stomach. But before he was able to follow through, two more Gnolls came at him, forcing him backwards. Hard-pressed, Liannos decided to switch tactics. He feinted a charge, and as the Gnolls halted to defend themselves he turned around and fled. Gleeful sniggering rose behind him as the Gnolls gave chase, urging each other on. They thought he was running from them. Liannos suppressed a cruel smile. Apparently these Gnolls had never fought elves before.
Liannos chose his route with care, heading to where the forest was most dense, slipping as gracefully as his torn body allowed through narrow gabs and jumping over bushes and boulders. Far less agile and skilful, the Gnolls were unable to follow in the same manner and were forced to go around the obstacles their prey so easily overcame. Slowly, the terrain of the eternal forest spread them apart, little by little, one step at a time. The raiders were so focused on chasing him that they either did not notice or care.
After a hundred yards, Liannos was ready to make his move. Jumping over a low-grown bush, he cut hard to the left, darting into the shadow of a particularly thick tree. But instead of running past it as before, Liannos used it for cover as he looped around it and charged at the Gnoll closest to him. The raider gave a high-pitched howl as the ranger suddenly came at him, but even startled the beast turned out tougher than Liannos had hoped, parrying two of his attacks before he managed to punch the point of his blade through the Gnoll's heart. Letting go of his sword, he snatched a knife from his baldric and hurled it at into the face of his next pursuer. The raider collapsed as the missile buried itself to the hilt right between his eyes. The third Gnoll slowed down and hesitated, casting an uneasy glance at his fallen comrades before turning tails and fleeing back to the rest of the group. He did not get far. Another knife punched into his back, and the Gnoll toppled face-first to the ground. Liannos moved up to him and finished the job with his sword, then collected his weapons and snuck back to the ambush site.
To his surprise, the Amani was still standing. Surrounded by enemies, he sported at least half a dozen fresh cuts and bruises, and another crossbow bolt stuck out of both sides of his forearm. Liannos assumed that – once again – the missile had initially been aimed at the Troll's head, and he felt a fiery sting of respect for the skill and endurance of the Amani that he was barely able to stomach. After watching the brute slaughtering their pack members, the remaining Gnolls had grown more carefully and were keeping their distance. The Amani lashed out to his left and right, but the Gnolls managed to sway out of reach at the last second, chuckling stupidly. None of them tried to engage the Troll. They were merely buying time. For a single Gnoll had remained further back. He was smaller than his brethren, dressed in dark leathers and a cowl, grinning widely as he reloaded the crude crossbow that rested within his paws.
Cursing under his breath, Liannos reached for a knife, but he blinked and froze before he could draw it. What are you doing? he asked himself. He wanted for the Amani to die. In fact, his very reason for being here had been to kill him. Now, through a fortunate turn of events, a bunch of stinking Gnolls were about to fulfil his wish. Just sit back and enjoy the show, a voice whispered in his head, and normally Liannos would have been inclined to do just that. Yet this time was different somehow. Maybe he was growing soft, thinking that this Troll deserved a better death than to be devoured by one of the few species more despicable than his own. He gave the thought some room, then shook his head decisively, as if to reassure himself. No, it was more simple than that, he decided. He just wanted the pleasure of killing the Troll himself.
He drew the knife, confident now, drawing comfort from the familiar weight of the blade and the perfect balance it possessed. He aimed carefully, breathed out, and threw.
The knife sailed through the air, spinning wildly to ultimately thud into the Gnoll assassin's head, just as he was about to pull the release. The corpse kept standing for a brief moment, as if to make sure its demise had not been an error of fate. Then it collapsed without a sound. The remaining Gnolls glanced at their now lifeless leader. One followed him quickly as the Amani took advantage of the distraction, leaping forward and bashing in the Gnoll's skull as he turned around. Now the Gnolls had two fresh corpses to stare at, but they turned again when they heard the Thalassian warcry that followed. And so did the Amani. They all watched as Liannos emerged from between the trees, charging at them with gore-smeared swords and gleaming eyes aflame with cold fury.
The Gnolls yelped and exchanged surprised glances, a few of them reluctantly turning their backs on the Troll and moving to meet the new threat. Yet nobody looked more surprised than the Amani himself. For a moment he seemed to forget the Gnolls still swarming around him, staring at the encroaching ranger with utterly bewildered and aghast eyes, as if the world had suddenly stopped to make sense.
Liannos came at the first Gnoll. He feinted a move to the right and jumped left instead, spinning and sending a vicious slash into the Gnoll's face. The beastman hissed as the blade ripped a nasty gash into his flesh, but he did not went down just yet. Two other raiders came to his help. Liannos barely managed to deflect the thrust of a spear when the flail of the third Gnoll whipped towards him. At the last second Liannos spun away and the heavy head of the flail missed his face by mere inches. The attack had been reckless, and without the Elf to stop the weapon's momentum, it flew on and exploded into the back of the first Gnoll. The sound of shattering bones was clearly audible, and the Gnoll was catapulted from his feet and hammered head-first to the ground. He spasmed a few more times, then lay still. The third Gnoll blinked dumbstruck, his eyes travelling between the corpse of his packmate and his weapon. He came to his senses just in time so see the blade flash up that ripped out his throat, and collapsed choking on his own blood.
A spear-shaft cracked against Liannos's temple, then something hooked in behind his legs and swept them away from under him. He tumbled to the ground, hitting it hard and gasping for air. A shadow fell upon him. Half-dazed, Liannos kicked out, hitting the raider in the knee. The Gnoll winced, but still raised his spear to impale the prone ranger. Liannos kicked out again, and this time the leg snapped. The Gnoll toppled to the side. He rammed his weapon into the ground, trying to remain upright, but the next second Liannos's blade sliced clean through the shaft of the spear, and the Gnoll fell completely.
Scrambling to his knees and Liannos threw himself on top on his enemy. He tried to bring his weapons to bear, but the Gnoll grabbed both of his wrists and kept him at bay. Both of their arms trembled under the effort, but Liannos knew that in the end the Gnoll's strength would gain the upper hand. Remembering his fight with the Amani, he sent a thundering head butt into the Gnoll's disgusting face, right onto the nose. The Gnoll yelped as if his body was set on fire, immediately letting go of Liannos's wirsts and covering his nose, his tear-stung eyes closed as he writhed around in agony. Liannos wasted no time, and using all his weight plunged his sword through both hands and into the Gnoll's brain.
He was just about to get up when he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. He spun around, and froze when a jagged blade touched his throat. Sniggering behind him stood another Gnoll raider, who had snuck up upon him during the fight. The rancid breath of the creature almost made Liannos gag. His mind raced, searching for a way out, trying to come up with some sort of lure or feint that would allow him to take his blade to the Gnoll. But there was nothing he could do.
The Gnoll knew it too. It was written all over his stupid, distorted grin and he chuckled gleefully, so absorbed in his perverted joy that he did not hear the alarmed cries that rose around him. Then something smashed into his back, something big and green and the approximate size of a charging Forest Troll. The Gnoll was flung through the air as if he was almost weightless, crashing into one of the nearby trees and sagging to the ground, knocked out cold.
A giant hand reached for Liannos and yanked him roughly to his feet. Bloodshot eyes appeared before him, staring balefully at him from within the bruised and sullied face of the Amani. The Troll tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse croak.
Liannos gave the Amani a tired smile. ''No argument there,'' he said, as if he had understood. ''Let's just get over with this, shall we?''
The Amani trembled with rage and for a moment Liannos thought he would snap his neck right there on the spot, but then the axethrower snorted and turned towards the Gnolls once more.
Eight of the them were still standing, and they had encircled the unlikely companions from all sides. They looked a little shaken, which was no surprise given the amount of corpses already littering the ground around them. More than anything, though, they looked hungry.
Not caring much for defence, the Amani attacked first and thundered into his attackers. His cleaver rose and fell, wrecking awesome carnage among the raiders. Within moments he had downed two Gnolls and maimed a third, but also had left his back totally exposed in the process. Multiple weapons sought to plunge themselves into the Troll's back, but they were all cast aside by the flashing blades of a slender elf, that deflected blades and flail-heads alike with great skill.
It was a pace they could not keep up. Liannos turned away a chipped blade when a second Gnoll lounged at him and thrust his sword into Liannos's shoulder. Liannos cried out, and drove his own blade into the hyena-man's mouth, the tip erupting from his head on the other side. Liannos yanked the blade free, but another raider with a wooden maul rushed passed him then, and Liannos was too slow to stop him. The swing that followed connected with the Amani's knee, and the joint was shattered with a sickening crunch. The Amani wailed in a mixture of cries and gurgling sounds, the bigger part of his voice briefly returning for just that occasion. A club exploded against his cheek, snapping a tusk and bursting open the skin. Mad with pain by now, the Amani spilled one Gnoll's guts with a desperate backhanded stroke.
The wooden maul rose again, but Liannos threw himself at the wielder, even as something struck him a wicked blow in the back. They collapsed together, the impact of hitting the ground ripping one of Liannos's swords from his hand. The Gnoll also let go of his weapon, knowing fully well that his hefty weapon would be of no use to him in a grapple. They struggled with each other, throwing around their weight, as well as yanking at clawing with everything available to them. But Liannos was tiring fast now. He could feel how his strength was ebbing away, seeping out of him just as his blood began to drench through his clothing. He fought on, but to no avail. The Gnoll rolled on top of him, pinning him beneath his weight. Liannos tried to bring his sword to bear, but the Gnoll grabbed his wrists and then lounged at his forearm. His jaws closed around the limb, the teeth sinking deep into Liannos's flesh, and the awesome power of the bite pressing down onto the bone that seemed all to willing so snap. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Liannos buckled and thrashed around, but the Gnoll's grip was iron. Through his blinding pain, Liannos did not know what else to do, and replied in kind. With his remaining strength, he powered against the Gnoll's hold on his uninjured arm, and then bit as hard as he could into the creature's paw. It failed to loosen the raider's bite, but he did let go of Liannos's arm to wrench his paw free. The next moment the paw hammered into Liannos's face, splitting his lip. Liannos ignored it. Frantically, he scrambled for his belt, dragging free his dagger and plunging it into the Gnoll's exposed throat. The Gnoll's eyes flared open in shock and he trembled for a few moments before sagging against Liannos. Slowly, the pressure on his arm subsided.
Liannos pulled his dagger free – causing a gush of blood to spit forth and sully his face and torso – and used it to wrench open the Gnoll's jaw. Liannos felt bone-weary, and struggled to even push the corpse from his body with his left arm now being completely useless. He was on the verge of succeeding, when the corpse suddenly seemed to double in weight. A foot had stepped onto ir, holding it in place and pinning the helpless ranger beneath it to the ground. Liannos glimpsed through his blood-splattered eyes, half expecting to see the Amani looming above him with a sneer, but it was yet another Gnoll, his sword already lifted and ready to strike. The canine face curled up into a smile. The next moment, it disappeared in a red cloud when a thrown cleaver smashed into it. The Gnoll's headless body fell to the ground with a dull thud. Then everything was quiet.
The fight was over.
With tired eyes, Liannos turned to gaze upon his saviour. Empty-handed now, the Amani limbed towards him on his one good leg. Half his face had been reduced to a bloody pulp, and he was covered in gore from head to toe, daggers and shafts protruding from his body like broken bones. Worse still, the bolts had most likely been coated in poison, and by now it would run freely through the Troll's system.
For more than a minute, neither of them moved, content with just breathing and letting their sluggish gazes roam over the site of the battle. Almost twenty corpses littered the ground around them. Three more were lying in the forest about a hundred yards away. A good number, Liannos thought, but it failed to lift his spirits. He shivered, and coughed.
Eventually, the Amani managed to muster the strength to move and pick up one of his axes. Liannos groaned, unwilling to allow the Troll to outshine him, and hauled the dead Gnoll from his body. Fresh agony seared through his body, and he barely managed to suppress a scream. Once upright, he looked around, weary and with a growing sense of displacement.
Looking at the cadavers around him, he felt empty. Miserable. Lost. The truth was that the Gnolls did not matter, regardless of the numbers they were slain in. They were no threat to Quel'thalas. not really. What achieved killing them? Absolutely nothing.
His eyes travelled towards the Amani. Now there was an enemy worth defeating, a true menace to his people. And with the Gnolls gone, they were finally free to continue where they had left off.
Only that Liannos found that he couldn't.
Something was holding him back, some misplaced sense that attacking the Troll would have been wrong. It had been out of sheer necessity, but they had just fought and bleed together and even though Liannos despised the truth of it, that counted for something in his book. He didn't want to sully that.
You did not have to come back, he tried to reason with himself. The Amani had saved him, yes, but only because Liannos had saved him first, not once but a couple of times. He did not owe the axethrower anything exceeding a good death.
And Liannos did want to see the Amani dead, but the voice in his head would not be silenced. Killing the Troll would mean to give up any sense of dignity and honour, to give up anything that separated him from the inferior races of the world. One righteous act might not have sufficed to grant honour to a mindless brute, but unfortunately one dishonourable deed was more than enough to shatter it. Liannos did not dare to make that sacrifice, and he hated himself for it.
With nowhere else to direct his anger, he helplessly turned around and kicked one of the dead Gnolls in the face. If they had not turned up when they did, the fight would have continued as it had been supposed to. They had cheated him of his victory, and now had forced upon him a violation of the Ranger's creed that sent a cold shiver down his spine. He kicked the corpse again and again until his head swam and he felt faint.
The Amani ignored the outburst. His unblinking eye shifted torpidly between the surrounding corpses and his weapon, confused, as though he had forgotten its purpose, and by proxy his own. Liannos understood the sentiment. The Troll raised his maimed arm and drew his thumb over the edge of the weapon, drawing blood despite the almost tender nature of the gesture. A few drops trickled from his hand, and the Amani looked how they seeped into the land beneath him. He stared long at the spot, lost deep in thought.
When he finally turned towards Liannos again, his face still had not lost its pondering heaviness. They looked at each other in silence, and Liannos thought how weird the Troll's face looked, not because of the injuries, but simply because he had never seen an Amani's face displaying anything other than pain, fury or hate. Neither had he ever seen what followed next.
The Amani breathed in, his enormous chest expanding as he forced air into his lungs, only to be released in a long, raspy sigh. His face relaxed, the contemplative scowl fading away as the warrior came to terms with whatever he was thinking about. Then, slowly and purposefully, he raised his cleaver, and presented it in a challenging salute.
And Liannos understood. His body moved as if in a trance. His back straightened, and his feet shifted into a balanced position, almost slipping at one point on his own blood pooling beneath him. The leather of his sword's hilt creaked as his slippery fingers tightened around it, and his muscles ached as they slowly hefted the blade upwards to mirror the Troll's motion. Searing pain lashed him with every movement, but at the same time a deep, nurturing calm took hold of him.
He nodded, and the Amani nodded back, sharing an understanding that was beyond words. Liannos found himself filled with a strange notion of gratitude. He could not explain why. Even when they readied themselves and charged, he did not have the slightest clue.
After all, things were merely as they were supposed to be.
The End